Jerry

‘Hotel Sole d’Oro,‘Riva, Austria.

‘Dear Nan: Who in thunder is Constance Wilder? She wants us to stop and make a visit in Valedolmo. I wouldn’t step into that infernal town, not if the king himself invited me—it’s the deadest hole on the face of the earth. You can stay if you like and I’ll go on through the Dolomites alone. There’s an American family stopping here who are also planning the trip—a stunning girl; I know you’d like her.

‘Of course the travelling will be pretty rough. Perhaps you and Aunt Kate would rather visit your friends and meet me later in Munich. If you decide to take the trip, you will have to come on down to Riva as soon as you get this letter, as we’re planning to pull out Thursday morning.

‘Sorry to hurry you, but you know my vacation doesn’t last for ever.

‘Love to Aunt Kate and yourself,

‘Yours ever,‘Jerry.’

He turned the letters over to Gustavo with a five-franc note, leaving Gustavo to decide with his own conscience whether the money was intended for himself or the steward of the Regina Margarita. This accomplished, he slipped out unobtrusively   and took the road toward Villa Rosa.

He strode along with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the path until he nearly bumped his nose against the villa gate-post. Then he stopped and thought. He had no mind to be ushered to the terrace, where he would have to dissemble some excuse for his visit before Miss Hazel and Mr. Wilder. His business to-night was with Constance, and Constance alone. He turned and skirted the villa wall, determined on reconnoitring first. There was a place in the wall—he knew well—where the stones were missing, and a view was obtainable of the terrace and parapet.

He reached the place to find Lieutenant Carlo di Ferara already there. Now the Lieutenant’s purpose was exactly as innocent as Tony’s own; he merely wished to assure himself that Captain Coroloni was not before him. It was considered a joke at the tenth cavalry mess to detail one or the other of the officers to call on the Americans at the same time that Lieutenant di Ferara called. He was not spying on the family, merely on his meddling brother officers.

Tony of course could know nothing of this, and as his eyes fell upon the lieutenant, there was apparent in their depths a large measure of contempt. A lieutenant in the Royal Italian Cavalry can afford to   be generous in many things, but he cannot afford to swallow contempt from a donkey-driver. The signorina was not present this time; there was no reason why he should not punish the fellow. He dropped his hand on Tony’s shoulder—on his collar to be exact—and whirled him about. The action was accompanied by some vigorous colloquial Italian—the gist of it being that Tony was to mind his own business and mend his manners. The lieutenant had a muscular arm, and Tony turned. But Tony had not played quarterback four years for nothing; he tackled low, and the next moment the lieutenant was rolling down the bank of a dried stream that stretched at their feet. No one likes to roll down a dusty stony bank, much less an officer in immaculate uniform on the eve of paying a formal call upon ladies. He picked himself up and looked at Tony; he was quite beyond speech.

Tony looked back and smiled. He swept off his hat with a deferential bow. ‘Scusi,’ he murmured, and jumped over the wall into the grounds of Villa Rosa.

The lieutenant gasped. If anything could have been more insultingly inadequate to the situation than that one word Scusi, it did not at the moment occur to him. Jeering, blasphemy, vituperation, he might have excused, but this! The shock jostled him back to a thinking state.

Here was no ordinary donkey-driver. 151] The hand that had rested for a moment on his arm was the hand of a gentleman. The man’s face was vaguely, elusively familiar; if the lieutenant had not seen him before, he had at least seen his picture. The man had pretended he could not talk Italian, but—Scusi—it came out very pat when it was needed.

An idea suddenly assailed Lieutenant di Ferara. He scrambled up the bank and skirted the wall, almost on a run, until he reached the place where his horse was tied. Two minutes later he was off at a gallop, headed for the house of the prefect of police of Valedolmo.

CHAPTER XVI

Tony jumped over the wall. He might have landed in the midst of a family party; but in so much luck was with him. He found the Farfalla bobbing at the foot of the water-steps with Mr. Wilder and Miss Hazel already embarked. They were waiting for Constance, who had obligingly run back to the house to fetch the rainbow shawl (finished that afternoon) as Miss Hazel distrusted the Italian night breeze.

Constance stepped out from the door as Tony emerged from the bushes. She regarded him in startled surprise; he was still in some slight disarray from his encounter with the lieutenant.

‘May I speak to you, Miss Wilder? I won’t detain you but a moment.’

She nodded and kept on, her heart thumping absurdly. He had received the letter, of course; and there would be consequences. She paused at the top of the water-steps.

‘You go on,’ she called to the others, and pick me up on your way back. Tony wants to see me about something, and I don’t like to keep Mrs. Eustace and Nannie waiting.’

Giuseppe pushed off and Constance was left standing alone on the water-steps. She turned as Tony approached; there was a touch of defiance in her manner.

‘Well?’

He came to her side and leaned carelessly against the parapet, his eyes on the Farfalla as she tossed and dipped in the wash of the Regina Margarita which was just puffing out from the village landing. Constance watched him, slightly taken aback; she had expected him to be angry, sulky, reproachful—certainly not nonchalant. When he finally brought his eyes from the water, his expression was mildly melancholy.

‘Signorina, I have come to say good-bye. It is very sad, but to-morrow, I too’—he waved his hand toward the steamer—‘shall be a passenger.’

‘You are going away from Valedolmo?’

He nodded.

‘Unfortunately, yes. I should like to stay, but’—he shrugged—‘life isn’t all play, Miss Wilder. Though one would like to be a donkey-man for ever, one only may be for a summer’s holiday. I am your debtor for a unique and pleasant experience.’

She studied his face without speaking. Did it mean that he had got the letter and was hurt, or did it perhaps mean that he had got the letter and did not care to appear as Jerry Junior? That he enjoyed the play so long as he could remain incognito and stop it where he pleased, but that he had no mind to let it drift into reality? Very possibly it meant—she flushed at the thought—that he divined Nannie’s plot, and refused also to consider the fourth candidate.

She laughed and dropped into their usual jargon.

‘And the young American man, Signor Abraham Lincoln, will he come to-morrow for tea?’

‘Ah, signorina, he is desolated, but it is not possible. He has received a letter and he must go; he has stopped too long in Valedolmo. To-morrow morning early, he and I togever, we sail away to Austria.’

His eyes went back to the trail of smoke left by the little steamer.

‘And Costantina, Tony. You are leaving her behind?’ It took some courage to   put this question, but she did not flinch; she put it with a laugh which contained nothing but raillery.

Tony sighed—a deep melodramatic sigh—and laid his hand on his heart.

‘Ah, signorina, zat Costantina, she has not any heart. She love one man one day, anozzer ze next. I go away to forget.’

His eyes dropped to hers; for an instant the mocking light died out; a questioning wounded look took its place.

She felt a quick impulse to hold out her hands, to say, ‘Jerry, don’t go! ‘If she only knew! Was he going because he thought that she wished to dismiss him, or because he wished to dismiss himself? Was it pique that bade him carry the play to the end, or was it merely the desire to get out of an awkward situation gracefully?

She stood hesitating, scanning the terrace pavement with troubled eyes; when she raised them to his face the chance was gone. He straightened his shoulders with an air of finality and picked up his hat from the balustrade.

‘Some day, signorina, in New York, perhaps I play a little tune underneaf your window.’

She nodded and smiled.

‘I will give the monkey a penny when he comes—good-bye.’

He bowed over her hand and touched it lightly to his lips.

‘Signorina, addio!’

As he strode away into the dusky lane of cypresses, she heard him whistling softly ‘Santa Lucia.’ It was the last stroke, she reflected angrily; he might at least have omitted that! She turned away and dropped down on the water-steps to wait for the Farfalla. The terrace, the lake, the beautiful Italian night, suddenly seemed deserted and empty. Before she knew it was coming, she had leaned her head against the balustrade with a deep sob. She caught herself sharply. She to sit there crying, while Tony went whistling on his way!

As the Farfalla drifted idly over the water, Constance sat in the stern, her chin in her hand, moodily gazing at the shimmering path of moonlight. But no one appeared to notice her silence, since Nannie was talking enough for both. And the only thing she talked about was Jerry Junior, how funny and clever and charming he was, how phenomenally good—for a man; when she showed signs of stopping, Mr. Wilder by a question started her on. It seemed to Constance an interminable two hours before they dropped their guests in the garden of the Hotel du Lac, and headed again for Villa Rosa.

As they approached their own water-steps it became apparent that some one—a man—was standing at the top in an   attitude of expectancy. Constance’s heart gave a sudden bound and the next instant sank deep. A babble of frenzied greetings floated out to meet them; there was no mistaking Gustavo. Moreover, there was no mistaking the fact that he was excited; his excitement was contagious even before they had learned the reason. He stuttered in his impatience to share the news.

‘Signore! Dio mio! A calamity has happened. Zat Tony, zat donk’-man! he has got hisself arrested. Zay say it is a lie, zat he is American citizen; he is an officer who is dessert from ze Italian army. Zay say he just pretend he cannot spik Italian—but it is not true. He know ten—leven words.’

They came hurrying up the steps and surrounded him, Mr. Wilder no less shocked than Gustavo himself.

‘Arrested—as a deserter? It’s an outrage!’ he thundered.

Constance laid her hand on Gustavo’s sleeve and whirled him about.

‘What do you mean? I don’t understand. Where is Tony?’

Gustavo groaned.

‘In jail, signorina. Four carabinieri are come to take him away. And he fight—Dio mio! he fight like ze devil. But zay put—’ he indicated handcuffs—‘and he go.’

Constance dropped down on the upper step, and leaning her head against the balustrade, she laughed until she was weak.

Her father whirled upon her indignantly.

‘Constance! Haven’t you any sympathy for the man? This isn’t a laughing matter.’

‘I know, Dad, but it’s so funny—Tony an Italian officer! He can’t pronounce the ten—’leven words he does know right.’

‘Of course he can’t; he doesn’t know as much Italian as I do. Can’t these fools tell an American citizen when they see one? I’ll teach ’em to go about chucking American citizens in jail. I’ll telegraph the consul in Milan; I’ll make an international matter of it!’

He fumed up and down the terrace, while Constance rose to her feet and followed after with a pretence at pacification.

‘Hush, Dad! Don’t be so excitable. It was a very natural mistake for them to make. But if Tony is really what he says he is it will be very easily proved. You must be sure of your ground, though, before you act. I don’t like to say anything against poor Tony now that he is in trouble, but I have always felt that there was a mystery connected with him. For all we know he may be a murderer or a brigand or an escaped convict in disguise. We only have his word, you know, that he is an American citizen.’

‘His word!’ Mr. Wilder fairly exploded. ‘Are you utterly blind? He’s exactly as much an American citizen as I   am. He’s–’ He stopped and fanned himself furiously. He had sworn never to betray Tony’s secret, and yet, the present situation was exceptional.

Constance patted him on the arm. ‘There, Dad. I haven’t a doubt his story is true. He was born in Budapest, and he’s a naturalized American citizen. It’s the duty of the United States Government to protect him—but it won’t be difficult; I dare say he’s got his naturalization papers with him. A word in the morning will set everything straight.’

‘Leave him in jail all night?’

‘But you can’t do anything now; it’s after ten o’clock; the authorities have gone to bed.’

She turned to Gustavo; her tone was reassuring.

‘In the morning we’ll get some American warships to bombard the jail.’

‘Signorina, you joke!’ His tone was reproachful.

She suddenly looked anxious. ‘Gustavo, is the jail strong?’

‘Ver’ strong, signorina.’

‘He can’t escape and get over into Austria? We are very near the frontier, you know.’

‘No, signorina, it is impossible.’ He shook his head hopelessly.

Constance laughed and slipped her hand through her father’s arm.

‘Come, Dad. The first thing in the   morning we’ll go down to the jail and cheer him up. There’s not the slightest use in worrying any more to-night. It won’t hurt Tony to be kept in—er—cold storage for a few hours—I think on the whole it will do him good!’

She nodded dismissal to Gustavo, and drew her father, still muttering, toward the house.

CHAPTER XVII

Jerry Junior’s letter of regret arrived from Riva on the early mail. In the light of Constance’s effusively cordial invitation, the terse formality of his reply was little short of rude; but Constance read between the lines and was appeased. The writer, plainly, was angry, and anger was a much more becoming emotion than nonchalance. As she set out with her father toward the village jail, she was again buoyantly in command of the situation. She carried a bunch of oleanders, and the pink and white egg basket swung from her arm. Their way led past the gate of the Hotel du Lac, and Mr. Wilder, being under the impression that he was enjoying a very good joke all by himself, could not forgo the temptation of stopping to inquire if Mrs. Eustace and Nannie had heard any news of the prodigal. They found the two at breakfast in the courtyard, an open letter spread before   them. Nannie received them with lamentations.

‘We can’t come to the villa! Here’s a letter from Jerry wanting us to start immediately for the Dolomites—did you ever know anything so exasperating?’

She passed the letter to Constance, and then as she remembered the first sentence, made a hasty attempt to draw it back. It was too late; Constance’s eyes had already pounced upon it. She read it aloud with gleeful malice.

‘“Who in thunder is Constance Wilder?”—If that’s an example of the famous Jerry Junior’s politeness, I prefer not to meet him, thank you.—It’s worse than his last insult; I shall never forgive this!’ She glanced down the page and handed it back with a laugh; from her point of vantage it was naïvely transparent. From Mr. Wilder’s point, however, the contents were inscrutable; he looked from the letter to his daughter’s serene smile, and relapsed into a puzzled silence.

‘I should say, on the contrary, that he doesn’t want you to start immediately for the Dolomites,’ Constance observed.

‘It’s a girl,’ Nannie groaned. ‘I suspected it from the moment we got the telegram in Lucerne. Oh, why did I ever let that wretched boy get out of my sight?’

‘I dare say she’s horrid,’ Constance put in. ‘One meets such frightful Americans travelling.’

‘We will go up to Riva on the afternoon boat and investigate.’ It was Mrs. Eustace who spoke. There was an undertone in her voice which suggested that she was prepared to do her duty by her brother’s son, however unpleasant that duty might be.

‘American girls are so grasping,’ said Nannie plaintively. ‘It’s scarcely safe for an unattached man to go out alone.’

Mr. Wilder leaned forward and reexamined the letter.

‘By the way, Miss Nannie, how did Jerry learn that you were here? His letter, I see, was mailed in Riva at ten o’clock last night.’

Nannie examined the postmark. ‘I hadn’t thought of that! How could he have found out—unless that beast of a head waiter telegraphed? What does it mean?’

Mr. Wilder spread out his hands and raised his shoulders. ‘You’ve got me!’ A gleam of illumination suddenly flashed over his face; he turned to his daughter with what was meant to be a carelessly off-hand manner. ‘Er—Constance, while I think of it, you didn’t discharge Tony again yesterday, did you?’

Constance opened her eyes.

‘Discharge Tony? Why should I do that? He isn’t working for me.’

‘You weren’t rude to him?’

‘Father, am I ever rude to any one?’

Mr. Wilder looked at the envelope again and shook his head. ‘There’s something mighty fishy about this whole business. When you get hold of that brother of yours again, my dear young woman, you make him tell what he’s been up to this week—and make him tell the truth.’

‘Mr. Wilder!’ Nannie was reproachful. ‘You don’t know Jerry; he’s incapable of telling anything but the truth.’

Constance tittered.

‘What are you laughing at, Constance?’

‘Nothing—only it’s so funny. Why don’t you advertise for him? Lost—a young man, age twenty-eight, height five feet eleven, weight one hundred and seventy pounds, dark hair, grey eyes, slight scar over left eyebrow; dressed when last seen in double-breasted blue serge suit and brown russet shoes. Finder please return to Hotel du Lac and receive liberal reward.’

‘He isn’t lost,’ said Nannie. ‘We know where he is perfectly; he’s at the Hotel Sole d’Oro in Riva, and that’s at the other end of the lake. We’re going up on the afternoon boat to join him.’

‘Oh!’ said Constance meekly.

‘You take my advice,’ Mr. Wilder put in. ‘Go up to Riva if you must—it’s a pleasant trip—but leave your luggage here. See this young man in person and bring him back with you; tell him we have   just as good mountains as he’ll find in the Dolomites. If by any chance you shouldn’t find him–’

‘Of course, we’ll find him!’ said Nannie.

Constance looked troubled.

‘Don’t go, it’s quite a long trip. Write instead and give the letter to Gustavo; he’ll give it to the boat steward who will deliver it personally. Then if Jerry shouldn’t be there–’

Nannie was losing her patience.

‘Shouldn’t be there? But he says he’s there.’

‘Oh! yes, certainly, that ends it. Only, you know, Nannie, I don’t believe there really is any such person as Jerry Junior! I think he’s a myth.’

Gustavo had been hanging about the gate looking anxiously up the road as if he expected something to happen. His brow cleared suddenly as a boy on a bicycle appeared in the distance. The boy whirled into the court and dismounted; glancing dubiously from one to the other of the group, he finally presented his telegram to Gustavo, who passed it on to Nannie. She ripped it open and ran her eyes over the contents.

‘Can any one tell me the meaning of this? It’s Italian!’ She spread it on the table while the three bent over it in puzzled wonder.

‘Ceingide mai maind dunat comtu Riva stei in Valedolmo geri.’

Constance was the first to grasp the meaning; she read it twice and laughed.

‘That’s not Italian; it’s English, only the operator has spelt it phonetically—I begin to believe there is a Jerry,’ she added, ‘no one could cause such a bother who didn’t exist.’ She picked up the slip and translated—

‘“Changed my mind. Do not come to Riva; stay in Valedolmo—Jerry.”’

‘I’m a clairvoyant, you see. I told you he wouldn’t be there!’

‘But where is he?’ Nannie wailed.

Constance and her father glanced tentatively at each other, and were silent. Gustavo, who had been hanging officiously in the rear, approached and begged their pardon.

‘Scusi, signora, but I sink I can explain. Ecco! Ze telegram is dated from Limone—zat is a village close by here on ze ozzer side of ze lake. He is gone on a walking trip, ze yong man, of two—tree days wif an Englishman who is been in zis hotel. If he expect you so soon he would not go. But patience, he will come back. Oh, yes, in a little while, after one—two day he come back.’

‘What is the man talking about?’ Mrs. Eustace was both indignant and bewildered. ‘Jerry was in Riva yesterday at   the Hotel Sole d’Oro. How can he be on a walking trip at the other end of the lake to-day?’

‘You don’t suppose’—Nannie’s voice was tragic—‘that he has eloped with that American girl?’

‘Good heavens, my dear!’ Mrs. Eustace appealed to Mr. Wilder. ‘What are the laws in this dreadful country? Don’t banns or something have to be published three weeks before the ceremony can take place?’

Mr. Wilder rose hastily.

‘Yes, yes, dear lady. It’s impossible; don’t consider any such catastrophe for a moment. Come, Constance, I really think we ought to be going.—Er, you see, Mrs. Eustace, you can’t believe—that is, don’t let anything Gustavo says trouble you. With all respect for his many fine qualities, he has not Jerry’s regard for truth. And don’t bother any more about the boy; he will turn up in a day or so. He may have written some letters of explanation that you haven’t got. These foreign mails–’ He edged toward the gate.

Constance followed him and then turned back.

‘We’re on our way to the jail,’ she said, ‘to visit our donkey-driver, who has managed to get himself arrested. While we’re there we can make inquiries if you like; it’s barely possible that they might have got hold of Jerry on some false   charge or other. These foreign jails–’

‘Constance!’ said Nannie reproachfully.

‘Oh, my dear, I was only joking; of course it’s impossible. Good-bye.’ She nodded and laughed and ran after her father.

CHAPTER XVIII

If one must go to jail at all one could scarcely choose a more entertaining jail than that of Valedolmo. It occupies a structure which was once a palace; and its cells, planned for other purposes, are spacious. But its most gratifying feature, to one forcibly removed from social intercourse, is its outlook. The windows command the Piazza Garibaldi, which is the social centre of the town; it contains the village post, the fountain, the tobacco shop, the washing-trough, and the two rival cafés, the ‘Independenza’ and the ‘Libertà.’ The piazza is always dirty and noisy—that goes without saying—but on Wednesday morning at nine o’clock, it is peculiarly dirty and noisy. Wednesday is Valedolmo’s market day, and the square is so cluttered with booths and hucksters and anxious buyers, that the peaceable pedestrian can scarcely wedge his way through. The noise moreover is deafening; above the cries of vendors and buyers rises a shriller chorus of bleating kids and squealing pigs and braying donkeys.

Mr. Wilder, red in the face and short of temper, pushed through the crowd with little ceremony, prodding on the right with his umbrella, on the left with his fan, and using his elbows vigorously. Constance, serenely cool, followed in his wake, nodding here and there to a chance acquaintance, smiling on every one; the spectacle to her held always fresh interest. An image vendor close at her elbow insisted that she should buy a Madonna and Bambina for fifty centesimi, or at least a San Giuseppe for twenty-five. To her father’s disgust she bought them both, and presented them to two wide-eyed children who in bashful fascination were dogging their footsteps.

The appearance of the foreigners in the piazza caused such a ripple of interest, that for a moment the bargaining was suspended. When the two mounted the steps of the jail and jerked the bell, as many of the bystanders as the steps would accommodate mounted with them. Nobody answered the first ring, and Constance pulled again with a force which sent a jangle of bells echoing through the interior. After a second’s wait—snortingly impatient on Mr. Wilder’s part; he was being pressed close by the none too clean citizens of Valedolmo—the door was opened a very small crack by a frowsy jailoress. Her eye fell first upon the crowd, and she was disposed to close it again; but in the act   she caught sight of the Signorina Americana dressed in white, smiling above a bouquet of oleanders. Her eyes widened with astonishment. It was long since such an apparition had presented itself at that door. She dropped a curtsy, and the crack widened.