Trusia Part 22

XIX

IT WAS JUDSON'S FAULT

Calvert Carter had a very democratic conversation with His Majesty of Krovitch. They were standing on the platform of the station at Vienna waiting with ill-concealed impatience for the train which was to carry them into Krovitch. Needless to say, their talk turned upon the King's recent misbehavior. It contained a sketchy outline of what the American considered would happen did the monarch again put such an affront upon Her Grace.

"You threaten, Major Carter?" asked Stovik with the insolence inseparable from a recent exaltation from humble life.

"No, Your Majesty," replied Carter, no whit annoyed by the other's ill-temper; "I never threaten. I promise." That was all that was said.

Neither Eugene Delmotte in his proper person nor the future ruler of Krovitch was able, however, to withstand the cool, hard glitter in the American's eyes.

They boarded the waiting train as they came to this understanding. King Stovik's conduct for this new journey was exemplary. Nor were there other pretty coquettes available. He even exerted himself sufficiently to take an interest in the general conversation, at which Trusia's face brightened with appreciation.

Houses, fields, woods, mountains and sky fled by as the train sped on.

At last the Vistula was crossed. Trusia's face grew radiant as the landmarks of her country began to appear on every hand. With grumbling wheels the cars drew nearer Schallberg.

"See, away off there to the northeast. There, that tiny speck against the sky," she cried rapturously as one returning home from a long sojourn abroad. "That is my castle. Do you see it, Your Majesty?" she asked, as she turned appealingly to him. "Schallberg, your capital, lies this side of it. The city is in a valley on the far side of this mountain we are now climbing." The whole party were peering out of the windows on the rapidly changing landscape, eagerly awaiting the first view of the place of their hopes.

The train, sobbing out its protests against the steep ascent, soon brought them into a region of puzzling circ.u.mstances. Flashing past rural crossroads, they could see large groups of excited peasants talking, gesticulating and laughing, as they one and all were pointing in the direction of the capital. To their greater bewilderment, videttes in jaunty black and gold could be seen, as if courting publicity, patroling the public highways.

"What can it mean?" asked Trusia, whose heart beat wildly with a surmise she dare not voice.

The crest of the mountain was reached. The city lay spread before them.

Over the Government buildings floated the Lion of Krovitch. The standard, waving gently in the breeze, seemed beckoning them to approach.

"The city is ours," burst simultaneously from their lips. The train in one headlong descent drew up at the station at Schallberg.

Looking out they could see a mult.i.tude of eager, expectant faces turned trainward. All Schallberg and most of the surrounding country had congregated to welcome their sovereign.

In the front rank Carter espied his former friends, while last but not least a jubilant Carrick awaited his alighting. A guard was drawn up about the platform on which stood the little group of officers.

Urged to the front, King Stovik was the first to step into view of the throng. Recognizing him, the officers drew their swords and raised them high above their heads.

"Long live King Stovik!" they cried.

For the life of a sigh there was a silence while the mult.i.tude realized that this man was their King. Then a pandemonium of cheers shattered the air. A roar of two centuries of repressed loyalty greeted him. He would indeed have been of meagre soul not to have been touched by such devotion. Handkerchiefs, hats, and flags were waved by his people--his people--at sight of him. What could be the limited fame of an artist compared to the devotion of an entire people for their sovereign? He stood erect, proudly lifting his hat to the full height of his arm in dignified response. There came a mightier cheer.

"Long live Stovik Fourth!"

"G.o.d save the King of Krovitch!"

"A Lion for the Bear!"

Filled with the moment's majesty, Stovik stepped down to greet his officers.

Next came Trusia. The crowd caught sight of her happy, inspired face.

She was recognized by all; they knew and worshiped her. A wilder cry, a mightier joy, made up of mingled cheers and tears, went up at sight of her. Her bosom heaved, her lips trembled. At the thought of her country's salvation her glorious eyes grew soft and moist. Lovingly, almost maternally, she held out her arms to her beloved countrymen.

Somewhere in the crowd a woman's voice was heard to cry: "Saint Trusia; angel!" Ten thousand voices took up the acclaim. She shook her head reprovingly as she, too, joined the group about His Majesty. After Carter and the others stepped upon the platform, the former looked about him for his whilom chauffeur. Carrick, with some difficulty, pushed his way through the crowd and was soon at his master's side.

"'Ave a pleasant trip, sir?" he asked, his mobile countenance abeam with joy at the meeting. The aide cast a significant glance at the crowd, then at the Krovitch standard, before replying.

"Fairly, Carrick," he said. "I notice that you and our friends have been busy hereabouts in our absence," he added, hinting at an enlightenment.

The c.o.c.kney's face grew red with embarra.s.sment as he answered lightly, "Yes, we 'ave sort of kept our hands in, sir. It's a long story," he appended, appreciating that his master must have some natural curiosity regarding the premature change in plans which had resulted in the capture of the city before the coming of the King. The American smiled, he felt sure that the fellow had had a greater part in the proceedings than he would like to confess in public. Something on Carrick's sleeves seemed to confirm this supposition.

"All right," he answered, "I guess it will keep until we have reached our quarters. By the way how did you get the chevrons of a sergeant-major? That's the highest rank a non com. can aspire to."

Carrick grinned. "That's part of the story, sir," he retorted.

Zulka, having made his devoirs to the sovereign, now approached his friend.

"Surprised, Cal?" he queried.

"I surely am, Zulka. How----" Carter began when he was interrupted by the Count who laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder.

"Things are moving," said the Krovitzer with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm busy, ask Carrick." He chuckled as if it were a huge joke.

"I feel as if I had missed something big," the American replied with the generous regret of one who would have thoroughly enjoyed his own share of the labor.

"Thank Carrick for that. Here comes Sutphen. He'll be Marshal for this,"

he said as the grizzled commanding officer approached. All three saluted.

"Congratulations, Colonel," said Carter as the elder man acknowledged their formal courtesies.

"Sorry I can't congratulate you, Major," the veteran replied with a dry chuckle; "the truth is that you have lost a valuable a.s.set by the victory." Calvert was properly mystified.

"So?" he questioned; "I haven't missed anything yet."

"A good attendant," the other explained, pointing to the c.o.c.kney. "Our army will never let him go, now. They'd sooner give him my place.

Nothing but continued obstinacy on his part hinders him from wearing shoulder straps."

"Carrick seems in high favor about here," Carter remarked as a more p.r.o.nounced hint for enlightenment. Sutphen grunted.

"Let him tell you, then," he said. "Excuse me. Her Grace is looking this way." He straightway departed to escape explanations and Zulka followed him.

While these greetings were being exchanged, the populace were not idle.

With enthusiastic vigor they had removed the horses from the equipages meant for the royal party, and now, through a spokesman, begged permission to draw the carriages themselves as a token of their devoted allegiance. Stovik gaily agreed when their request was explained to him.

"Come with me, Sergeant," Calvert requested. Elated at the opportunity, the c.o.c.kney leaped into the landau beside him. Pulled, pushed and surrounded by a cheering, happy pack, the entire suite was whirled along toward Trusia's castle. When well under way, the New Yorker turned to the man beside him. He seemed to beg Carrick for an explanation of the day's mystery.

"Well," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in the a.s.surance that the c.o.c.kney always comprehended his monosyllabic meanings. Carrick reddened sheepishly under the other's gaze.

"You remember Judson? Sergeant Judson, of old E Troop?" he inquired, not knowing how to commence his narrative.

"Yes," Carter replied, "what of him?"

"It's his fault," Carrick answered, pointing at the densely packed ma.s.s of Krovitzers about them.