The Silver Horde Part 21

"Who is he?"

"He's some primitive Western fellow like yourself! I don't know his name-- never met him, in fact. But while we Chicago fellows were cantering along in a bunch, watching each other, he got the rail."

"From the way her father spoke and acted I judged he had somebody in sight." Boyd's eyes were keenly alight, and Clyde continued.

"We've just _got_ to keep her in Chicago, and you're the one to do it. I tell you, old man, she has missed you. Yes, sir, she has missed you a blamed sight more than the rest of us have. Oh, you don't know how lucky you are."

"I lucky! H'm! You fellows are rich--"

"Bah! _I'm_ not. I've gone through most of what I had. All that is left are the rents; they keep me going, after a fashion. Now that it is too late, I'm beginning to wake up; I'm getting tired of loafing. I'd like to get out and do something, but I can't; I'm too well known in Chicago, and besides, as a business man I'm certainly a nickel-plated rotter."

"I'll give you a chance to recoup," said Boyd. "I am here to raise some money on a good proposition."

The younger man leaned forward eagerly. "If you say it's good, that's all I want to know. I'll take a chance. I'm in for anything from pitch-and- toss to manslaughter."

"I'll tell you what it is, and you can use your own judgment."

"I haven't a particle," Clyde confessed. "If I had, I wouldn't need to invest. Go ahead, however; I'm all ears." He pulled his chair closer and listened intently while the other outlined the plan, his weak gray eyes reflecting the old hero-worship of his college days. To him, Boyd Emerson had ever represented the ultimate type of all that was most desirable, and time had not lessened his admiration.

"It looks as if there might be a jolly rumpus, doesn't it?" he questioned, when the speaker had finished.

"It does."

"Then I've got to see it. I'll put in my share if you'll let me go along."

"You go! Why, you wouldn't like that sort of thing," said Emerson, considerably nonplussed.

"Oh, wouldn't I? I'd _eat_ it! It's just what I need. I'd revel in that out-door life." He threw back his narrow shoulders. "I'm a regular scout when it comes to roughing it. Why, I camped in the Thousand Islands all one summer, and I've been deer-hunting in the Adirondacks. We didn't get any--they were too far from the hotel; but I know all about mountain life."

"This is totally different," Boyd objected; but Clyde ran on, his enthusiasm growing as he tinted the mental picture to suit himself.

"I'm a splendid fisherman, too, and I've plenty of tackle."

"We shall use nets."

"Don't do it! It isn't sportsmanlike. I'll take a book of flies and whip that stream to a froth." Emerson interrupted him to explain briefly the process of salmon-catching, but the young man was not to be discouraged.

"You give me something to do--something where I don't have to lift heavy weights or carry boxes--and watch me work! I tell you, it's what I've been looking for, and I didn't know it; I'll get as husky as you are and all sunburnt. Tell me the sort of furs and the kind of pistols to buy, and I'll put ten thousand dollars in the scheme. That's all I can spare."

"You won't need either furs or firearms," laughed Boyd. "When we get back to Kalvik the days will be long and hot, and the whole country will be a blaze of wild flowers."

"That's fine! I love flowers. If I can't catch fish for the cannery, I'll make up for it in some other way."

"Can you keep books?"

"No; but I can play a mandolin," Clyde offered, optimistically. "I guess a little music would sound pretty good up there in the wilderness."

"Can you play a mandolin?" inquired "Fingerless" Fraser, observing the young fellow with grave curiosity.

"Sure; I'm out of practice, but--"

"Take him!" said Fraser, turning upon Emerson.

"He can set on the front porch of the cannery with wild flowers in his hair and play _La Paloma_. It will make those other fish-houses mad with jealousy. Get a window-box and a hammock, and maybe Willis Marsh will run in and spend his evenings with you."

"Don't josh!" insisted Clyde, seriously. "I want to go--"

"Me josh?" Fraser's face was like wood.

"I'll think it over," Emerson said, guardedly.

Without warning, the adventurer burst into shrill laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?" angrily demanded the city youth.

Fraser composed his features, which seemed to have suddenly disrupted.

"Certainly not! I just thought of something that happened to my father when I was a little child." Again he began to shake, at which Clyde regarded him narrowly; but his merriment was so impersonal as to allay suspicion, and the young fellow went on with undiminished enthusiasm:

"You think it over, and in the mean time I'll get a bunch of the fellows together. We'll all have lunch at the University Club to-morrow, and you can tell them about the affair."

Fraser abruptly ended his laughter as Boyd's heel came heavily in contact with his instep under the table. Clyde was again lost in an exposition of his fitness as a fisherman when Fraser burst out:

"h.e.l.lo! There's George. He's walking in his sleep, and thinks this is a manicure stable."

Emerson turned to behold Balt's huge figure all but blocking the distant door. It was evident that he had been vainly trying to attract their attention for some time, but lacked the courage to enter the crowded room, for, upon catching Boyd's eye, he beckoned vigorously.

"Call him in," said Clyde, quickly. "I want to meet him. He looks just my sort." And accordingly Emerson motioned to the fisherman. Seeing there was no help for it, Big George composed himself and ventured timidly across the portal, steering a tortuous course toward his friends; but in these unaccustomed waters his bulk became unmanageable and his way beset with perils. Deeming himself in danger of being run down by a waiter, he sheered to starboard, and collided with a table at which there was a theatre party. Endeavoring to apologize, he backed into a great pottery vase, which rocked at the impact and threatened to topple from its foundation.

"I'd rather take an ox-team through this room than him," said Fraser.

"He'll wreck something, sure."

Conscious of the attention he was attracting on all sides, Big George became seized with an excess of awkwardness; his face blazed, and the perspiration started from his forehead.

"I hope the head waiter doesn't speak to him," Boyd observed. "He is mad enough to rend him limb from limb." But the words were barely spoken when they saw a steward hasten toward George and address him, following which the big fellow's voice rumbled angrily:

"No, I ain't made any mistake! I'm a boarder here, and you get out of my way or I'll step on you." He strode forward threateningly, at which the waiter hopped over the train of an evening dress and bowed obsequiously.

The noise of laughter and many voices ceased. In the silence George pursued his way regardless of personal injury or property damage, breaking trail, as it were, to his destination, where he sank limply into a chair which creaked beneath his weight.

"Gimme a lemonade, quick; I'm all het up," he ordered. "I can't get no footholt on these fancy floors, they're so dang slick."

After a half-dazed acknowledgment of his introduction to Alton Clyde, he continued: "I've been trying to flag you for ten minutes." He mopped his brow feebly.

"What is wrong?"

"Everything! It's too noisy for me in this hotel. I've been trying to sleep for three hours, but this band keeps playing, and that elevated railroad breaks down every few minutes right under my window. There's whistles blowing, bells ringing, and--can't we find some quiet road-house where I can get an hour's rest? Put me in a boiler-shop or a round-house, where I can go to sleep."

"The hotels are all alike," Boyd answered. "You will soon get used to it."