Frank Merriwell's Son Part 22

"You kin git a seat in our car, I guess," said Ephraim. "Not more'n half the seats was taken."

At the steps of the parlor car Greg halted.

"Are you riding in this car?" he asked.

"Shure," nodded Barney.

"Then I'm sorry," said the young socialist. "I can't ride with you."

In a breath both Mulloy and Gallup demanded to know why.

"Parlor coaches are made for aristocrats," explained Greg. "I'm one of the ma.s.ses. I'm democratic. I ride with common people in the common coaches."

"Begorra, ye'll roide in this car av we have to kidnap yez!" shouted Mulloy. "Av you're too close-fisted to buy a sate yersilf, Oi'll pay for it!"

This touched Carker's pride.

"You hurt me by such words, Barney," he protested. "Close-fisted! My boy, do you know I've given away nearly all my ready money in the last six months to the needy and suffering? I've seen big, fat-stomached, overfed men lolling in their parlor-car seats while weak invalids, wretched and faint from the strain of trouble, have sat in the common cars. Do you think I could be selfish enough to spend my money for my own comfort and luxury, knowing that such poor people might be suffering on this train?"

"Yer heart's all roight, Greg, ould bhoy," explained Barney; "but ye'll foind thot yer pocketbook isn't big enough to alleviate all th'

suffering thot ye'll discover in the world. Come on, Ephraim, we'll put him on this car or l'ave him dead on the platform."

They seized Carker and forced him up the steps. In a moment he ceased to resist and permitted them to push him into the car.

"All right, boys," he muttered regretfully, "as it's you, and we haven't seen each other for so long, I'll put aside my scruples and travel in a parlor car to-day."

They found Teresa and Juanita chatting in Spanish, quite unaware of what had taken place on the station platform. Carker was introduced to Mrs.

Gallup and her young friend. He removed his hat, flung back his mane of hair, and bowed before them with the grace of a true gentleman.

"Mrs. Gallup," he murmured, "it's the pleasure of my life to meet the wife of my old friend and comrade. And to meet Mrs. Gallup's friend, Senorita Garcia, is scarcely a smaller pleasure."

"How beauteeful he do talk!" murmured Juanita.

There was a strange flash in her dark eyes as she surveyed the young socialist. With his long hair, his pale cla.s.sical face, his sad poetic eyes, he was indeed a handsome fellow of a type seldom seen. The fact that his clothes were unconventional in their cut and that he wore a negligee shirt with a soft wide collar detracted not a whit from his striking appearance.

The train soon pulled out, and when the conductor came through a seat was secured for Carker, who restrained Mulloy with an air of dignity when Barney attempted to pay the bill.

"I'm not quite busted myself," a.s.serted Greg, with a faint smile, at the same time producing a roll of bills.

The conductor was paid and pa.s.sed on. Then they settled down for a sociable chat.

CHAPTER XIX.

AN INTRUDER.

Turned from his socialistic theories and arguments into a different channel, Carker proved to be a most delightful conversationalist and companion. He was educated, cultured, and witty, although evidently lacking in humor. Possibly this came from the fact that he had so long and so earnestly regarded and meditated on the somber side of life. He seemed to fascinate Juanita, who listened intently whenever he spoke.

"What you do, senor, when you travel so much?" inquired Teresa. "You leave Senora Carkaire at home?"

Carker smiled sadly.

"There is no Senora Carker," he answered.

"Oo!" cried Teresa. "You are not marreed?"

"No," replied Greg, "I'm not married."

"That ees so singulaire!"

"Veree, veree," murmured Juanita.

"It may seem singular," admitted Carker, "but a man like me, who has pledged his life to humanity, has little right to get married."

"I do not see why you say that," said Juanita.

"Perhaps I cannot make my reason plain to you, but there is an excellent reason. A man who marries should have a home. And a man who has a home should live in it. If I had such a home and was bound to it, I could not travel and carry on my life-work. I could not drag my wife around over the country, and it is not right for a married man to leave his wife alone a great deal."

"Gol rap it, Greg," exclaimed Ephraim, "I don't believe that's your real reason for not gittin' married! I'll bet some gal throwed you down!"

"Well, perhaps you're right," admitted the young socialist. "You can't blame her if she did."

"Why not can we blame her?" questioned Juanita. "Deed she have the other lovaire? Oh, ha! ha! Senor Carkaire! Maybe eet ees not nice to laugh, to joke, to speak of eet. I beg the pardon, senor."

She had seen a shadow flit across his face and vanish.

He forced a laugh.

"If there was another man," he said, "I'm conceited enough to think I might have captured the prize in spite of him had I been willing to sacrifice my principles and renounce my socialistic beliefs."

"Oh, the girl she not have you because of that?" breathed Juanita. "Eet ees veree strange."

"Not so very strange," he a.s.serted. "We'll say that she was a lady. Now it is a fact that nearly all ladies are extremely conventional in everything. They have a horror for the bizarre and the unconventional.

They are shocked by the man who declines to be hampered with the fashion in clothes and in similar things. I could not fall in love with a girl who was not a lady."

"Begorra, you're an aristocrat at heart!" cried Mulloy. "Ye can't git away from it, me bhoy, no mather how much ye prate about socialism and th' brotherhood av mon."

"Still I protest you do not understand me."

"By gum!" muttered Gallup; "it don't seem to me that yeou are right 'bout the gals. Yeou kinder stick for the sort that's been born in the higher strata of life, as yeou call it. Ain't thar a hull lot of mighty smart ones that come out of the lower strata somewhere?"

"Oh, I admit that most of the brainy women and most of the brainy men come from the lower strata. Nevertheless, such women are not ladies."

"Begobs, ye make me tired!" cried Mulloy. "What you nade, Greg, is a dhoctor to look afther your liver."