SOME HONEYMOON!

BY CHARLES EVERETT HALL

ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT GASTON HERBERT

New York GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY

Copyright, 1918, by GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY All Rights Reserved

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I The Man of Business II "Needles and Pins" III "When a Man Marries—" IV "His Trouble Begins!" V The Arrow of Suspicion VI Business Methods VII Shock Upon Shock VIII The Bridal Night IX With the World Shut Out X The Beginning of a Nightmare XI The Nightmare Continues XII Some Experiences of a Bridegroom XIII The Eagle Eye of the House Detective XIV Some Sleuth XV The Cat Shows Her Claws XVI The Duty Again Devolves XVII The Private Buccanneer XVIII It Is No Longer Farce XIX An Outlaw in Fact XX The Name On the Billboard XXI In the Part of the Injured Husband XXII "Who Is My Wife?" XXIII In the Maze XXIV Nemesis XXV John Ryder Forgives Fate

ILLUSTRATIONS

The first quarter of the Honeymoon! Frontispiece

"No manager can dispossess me. I refuse to get out."

Flung herself with abandon into John Ryder's arms. (See page 129.)

"I am another woman. I am not the person you married." (See page 243.)

SOME HONEYMOON!

CHAPTER I THE MAN OF BUSINESS

When John Ryder put his foot upon the plank of the Minnequago on his return journey from Europe he was a bachelor of thirty-five summers—and had never counted his winters at all. He believed, with many another upholder of single blessedness, that a man did not begin to count his wintry years until he was married.

Just the same, as he walked up the incline of the runway he was walking to his fate. Indeed, he came face to face with it as he trod upon the deck of the ship and, almost bumping into it, politely lifted his hat and said:

"Pardon me!"

The lady bowed silently and turned upon him a careless shoulder. John Ryder allowed himself a second glance—and then let the steward take his hand luggage below while he did something he had not done since his early crossings. He hung about on deck to see the hawsers cast off—a mark of curiosity that usually stamps the traveler as quite new to the game.

Even then he did not know why he did this.

Business. Business with a big B. Business first, last, and all the time. That was John Ryder, and so plain was it to most people who met him that a tag on his back stating that he was a hustling American business man would have been quite unnecessary.

Ryder had been in the chase after the nimble dollar since he was breeched. He was a self-made man, and although he was proud of that fact he did not go around blowing about the quality of the product.

People could take him for what he was—or what they thought he was. He was not personally assertive, although he fully knew his own opinion upon any subject to which he had given thought. He did not consider it necessary to tell every person who interviewed him, or show them by his manner, that he was really too busy with weighty affairs to give their own little matter its proper attention. He seldom cared what people thought of him as long as he impressed them with his honesty of purpose, and that he was in earnest.

That is, he had seldom cared until now. But he confessed to himself, in the secrecy of his inner thoughts and the privacy of his stateroom, that he was desirous of having at least one person aboard the Minnequago think of him as being every whit as good as he really was, if not a little better.

When a man's hard hit, that is about his first thought. He wants the woman to think of him as the finest and best who has ever crossed her path. And before bumping into Miss Mont as he boarded the ship, he had actually never looked twice at a woman.

She was a good sailor, and he had crossed back and forth so many times that he was only seasick when the Old Salt in the story was ill—on the occasion "that the ship went down and all hands were lost."

Ryder accepted his fate manfully on that very first time that they paced the deck together. It was not easy for Ryder to admit that he had met and fallen in love with a woman at first sight. It was opposed to all his well-established theories. At his age he considered himself case-proof.

Yet never had a woman impressed him as did Miss Mont. When they became so quickly such very good friends and she showed plainly that she enjoyed his society, and even took him into her confidence with little urging on his part, Ryder began to see that he would be tempting Providence if he went ashore at New York without letting her know just how he felt toward her.

He had nobody to consider in this matter but himself; he had no family. Miss Mont, she said, was in a similar situation.

She had been adopted by people in Manchester when she was a small child and had lived with them as their daughter until these foster parents died.

Other children had come into the family after her adoption, and they did not look kindly upon the alien. So Miss Mont had come away.

"I do not know much about my own people," she told Ryder. "Only that my mother and father are both dead. There were several of us children. We were parceled out like a brood of puppies. I know nothing now about my brothers and sisters."

So she had nobody to consider; there was no living soul to say her nay, no matter what course she took in life. To John Ryder's disappointment he found that she was on the verge of choosing a profession for which he had a strongly rooted, if narrow, dislike. Miss Mont had met some theatrical people in London. There was, indeed, a certain agent, or manager, aboard the Minnequago to whom she had been introduced.

This man had told her that he could put her on the stage. She had the presence for it, and if her ability proved anywhere equal—well, his talk had inspired her with the fever for a stage career. She had done a little in a semi-professional way in London as an entertainer, and this man, Sam Marks, had chanced to see her work.

"And you know I need to work," she told John Ryder. "My bit of money won't last forever. I should dislike teaching, and I couldn't work in a shop, I know. I have a retentive memory, and I believe I should 'make good' as you Americans say, as an imitator. I really have some talent."

"You do not know what you contemplate," cried Ryder, and he was a little angry. "The theater is no place for a domestic, home-loving woman like you."

"But it will bring me more money than other work."

"It brings you a lot besides the money. It spoils a woman. It spoils a man, too, for that matter. And it is the hardest work a woman can tackle."

"Some actresses draw large salaries."

"And what do they pay for the pedestals they gain? You don't know the mire they have to drag their skirts through. And some of it always sticks."

"I think you are prejudiced," she said softly.

"Oh, I know there are exceptions. But there are no exceptions when it comes to the hard work. When an actress achieves a lasting place in her profession, it means that she has worked harder for years than any governess, or seamstress—yes, or washwoman!"

"I know it is kind of you to advise me," she said.

"No, it isn't. It's selfish on my part. I'll tell you why. I love you!" blurted out this man of business, who was noted for his silky and diplomatic tongue when it came to a business proposition. This situation was, however, almost too much for John Ryder.

She gazed at him in utter astonishment.

"Mr. Ryder!" she gasped.

"Don't be surprised," said he, mopping his brow and glad the words were out at last. "I'm no kid. I've been bucking the world for a good many years, if my head isn't bald! I'm not likely to say a thing I don't mean, or to try to fool a woman like you. I love you, and I'll marry you the first minute we can after getting ashore, if you'll agree.

"And I'm not doing it through any foolish desire to keep you out of a business that you'll be sorry you ever got into. I want you for a strictly selfish reason. I want you because I love you—have loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you on this boat."

"But—but we know so little of each other!" she faltered.

"What more have you got to tell me? It won't take you long," said Ryder with a chuckle. He knew his drawing powers as an interviewer, and could figure on Miss Mont's having told him about everything of importance in her life.

"As for me, I'm plain John Ryder. I'm just what I appear to be, nothing more and nothing less." The sly villain, however, was hoping she would think him a deal better than he was. "I've got some money. I can make more. I'll keep you in comfort, and when I die leave you enough to live on.

"That may not sound very sentimental, but don't let it cloud your eyes to the fact that I love you just as hard as any Romeo of the lot. I'm not much on playing the lute under a lady's window; but I'll be great on hustling out and, as we Americans say, 'bringing home the bacon.'"

"Oh, dear, Mr. Ryder! You make me laugh in spite of myself." But she was actually wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's right. I'd rather you'd take it laughing than crying. And as far as in me lies," he added, solemnly, "I'll never bring tears to your eyes, but always laughter to your heart," which was a wonderfully pretty observation for John Ryder to make.

Nor was he at first disturbed in the least when Miss Mont told him she dared not answer on such short notice. She must think it over.

"I like you," she admitted. "I am fond of you, I might say. But to be bound to a man for life upon so short an acquaintance seems an—an awful thing."

"Well, it is rather sudden, I suppose," admitted the American. "Though I have often noticed that the most successful deals I have ever put through are settled in short order—on the spur of the moment, as you might say. Ahem! This, of course, is different," he added, seeing her smile. "But take your time. Take until we land. That's day after tomorrow. One can do a lot of thinking in that time."

And, from that moment, he religiously refrained from recurring to the theme in conversation with her, which showed plainly that John Ryder was a novice at the game of winning a woman's love.

But before the Minnequago steamed safely through the Narrows into New York Bay, Ryder saw Marks, the theatrical agent, walking with Miss Mont on the upper deck. They were in close talk for more than an hour.

He had never particularly noticed Marks before. Now he found him a most objectionable looking person—squatty, with bulbous arms and legs, and his eyes half hidden behind heavily creased lids. Ryder was stabbed by jealousy, and did not know what the strange emotion meant. He went to his stateroom and wrote a note to Miss Mont.

It was a kind note, a just note. It pointed out the fact that he was still waiting for his answer, that he could prove to her an hour after they landed just who and what he was, and that he could do all for her that he had said. He added that he desired her answer by the time the Minnequago docked.

Strictly business, you see. If he had been pulling off a deal with another man and somebody like this Sam Marks had put in an oar, this was about how John Ryder would have handled the situation. She must choose at once between Marks and him—between the position she would gain by wedding him, and possible success upon the vaudeville stage. Had the ideas expressed in the note not been clothed in the kindest terms and had not a strong current of downright love permeated it, any woman might have taken umbrage.

Ryder knew he had said nothing that could offend. Therefore, he was the more surprised that no response to his letter was brought to him. He remained away from the general table at dinner that last night purposely. He did not wish to meet Miss Mont again until he knew exactly what her answer was to be.

The evening passed without his receiving any reply. In the morning as they swung into the dock at an early hour he asked the steward if there was any message for him and received a negative answer.

He had made his declaration and waited with his repacked bag until most of the passengers, he was certain, had gone ashore. Until the last moment, when he came to the gangway, he hoped to get some reply from her. Or was she waiting for him to tell him verbally her answer?

She was! There she stood upon the dock as he went down the gangplank. She was looking eagerly toward the ship. Ryder felt a sudden tingling warmth at his heart. His love for this girl, so strangely born, made his pulse go at a gallop and brought a flush into his sea-tanned face.

She saw him, and the faint flicker of a dawning smile overspread her sweet countenance. He approached with outstretched hand, his heart in his eyes—an expression that no woman could mistake. It told her—that look—as plainly as though he cried it aloud: "I love you!"

The girl put out her hand—both her hands indeed—impulsively and met his grasp with one quite as warm. Her eyes searched his face, perhaps with a puzzled expression at first when he approached; but afterward with decided approval.

"What have you to say to me, my dear?" asked John Ryder, strong in his belief that she could have only waited for him with good news.

A blush suffused her face. Her lips parted—parted in such a shy and lovely smile—as she said in a low voice: "I—I will marry you."

"Good!" he almost shouted, and immediately added: "When?"

"Whenever you like," she whispered, and no woman since the world began ever gave herself so completely into her lover's keeping, John Ryder was sure, as did this woman whom he loved.

"Then as soon as we can get the license and I can arrange certain matters," he said quite composedly, despite the accelerated beat of his pulse. "We will drive first to the City Clerk's office. There is some red tape about the matter, I believe. Then I will take you to a hotel where you may lunch. I shall need several hours for business before the banks close. Then we can go at once to a minister of whom I know."

"Oh! can it be done so quickly?" and she caught her breath, though with a little laugh.

"Don't be frightened," he said tenderly. "It will be all right. Where are your trunks?"

"On their way to the Pennsylvania Railway station, I believe."

"So soon? Were you getting ready to run away from me?" he asked in some little surprise.

"No-o." Then she laughed and tossed her head with that gesture that had become familiar to him—which he had noticed so many times aboard ship. "I was getting ready to run away with you," she whispered.

He laughed, tucked her hand under his arm, and they walked up the dock. Near the gate he saw Marks standing. Miss Mont did not chance to look his way, but Ryder saw that the theatrical man observed him and smiled sardonically as they passed.

"Confound his impudence!" muttered Ryder.

Then he glanced at the woman at his side. She was certainly beautiful, with plenty of warm, rich color in her cheeks, the blackest of level brows, the very whitest of skin.

"By heaven! she's a treasure," thought Ryder, as he hailed a taxicab. "And I'm a lucky fellow to get her. To think that, in a few short hours, she will be Mrs. John Ryder!"

A foolish little mist obscured his vision, and he stumbled on the step as he followed her into the cab. She laughed.

"You won't get married this year if you stumble upstairs," she said.

CHAPTER II "NEEDLES AND PINS"

None of his business associates, not even his head clerk, knew just when John Ryder would return to New York. He had gone across for a rest—a pleasure trip; but he had struck some splendid contracts—"the woods were full of them," he said—and he cabled orders until his agents in America fairly begged him to stop. Prices for raw material had not yet risen to top-notch, and they were skimming the cream of the manufacturing situation.

He arrived on the Minnequago with none aware of his coming. Nor did he propose to tell anybody of the change he now contemplated to make in his private life.

Had he done so, he knew that certain "good fellows" of his acquaintance would undertake to make existence an agony for him and for this beautiful girl whom he was to marry. It seems to be the delight of a certain order of mankind to make the sweetest, most intimate hours of a newly-married couple a Saturnalia upon which they can only look back with horror.

Ryder was practically free to do as he pleased, and what he pleased to do was to take time to get acquainted with the charming woman at his side. They must go somewhere for their honeymoon where he would not be likely to run into people he knew, and where he and his wife could be quiet and undisturbed.

Getting the license was neither a long nor troublesome matter, for they were the first at the clerk's office. He signed his name "John Ryder," knowing that there were probably a dozen of the same name in the directory and the publication of it would scarcely warn his friends of what he was doing. The girl signed after him, and surely nobody—unless it was that detestable Sam Marks—would realize who she was.

"Who will marry us?" she asked, leaving all the details to him very prettily.

"We could be married right here in the chapel," he told her. "But if you would rather, I know of an old dominie on Bank Street."

"How funny!"

"Why?"

"That you should know anybody in that part of New York. That is Greenwich Village, isn't it?"

"Yes. You seem to have studied your map of the town."

"Oh, I have learned a little something about New York," she responded, smiling slightly.

Aside from this brief interchange of remarks, there was very little said as the taxicab rolled uptown to a quiet hotel. Both were doing some very serious thinking. It was not a situation to provoke trifling conversation.

Ryder arranged for a parlor where Miss Mont could remain quietly during his absence. He did not delay for luncheon himself, but did not forget to send up a dainty repast for his bride-to-be. He walked into the offices of John Ryder & Company about noon and cast the whole force into first a state of confusion, and then of wonder.

He was usually the most methodical of persons and went through with any business—even the routine work of the day—in a most exemplary manner. There was seldom any friction in John Ryder's offices when he was there. From his chief clerk and his personal stenographer down through the strata of employees to the very porter, system was inculcated into their daily lives both by precept and the example of the "boss."

Today he literally tore what little system there was left in his force to shreds. He started several people on the same errand; he dictated the same letter three times and in as many different ways. His stenographer, a very severe young woman, came closer to him than she ever had before in her life and sniffed his breath. Drink was the only explanation she could think of.

He gave Brumby, his chief clerk, orders which absolutely antagonized each other, and when the man tremblingly pointed out this fact to Ryder the latter actually lost his temper.

"Well, confound it!" ejaculated John Ryder, "you know what I mean, don't you? There's only one sensible way to do that thing. Do it, and don't bother me!"

Inexplicable! Nobody had ever seen Ryder in such a state of mind before. He was one minute as snappy as a mud turtle; the next he ran his hand through the curly red mop of hair on the errand boy's head, gave him a dollar, and told him to take in the next ball game at the Polo Grounds without troubling himself to tell Brumby that his grandmother had died.

But to capsheaf his entire performance on this occasion, Ryder sat down again to dictate a few notes on personal matters and began the first one by saying:

"Ahem! Are you ready, Miss Nelson? Here goes: 'My dear Rose'—Good Lord! that isn't it. Er—er—Write Hallett and Mayes about the renewal of the lease of my apartment. Tell them—er—— Well, write it yourself, Miss Nelson," he concluded in much confusion and beginning to perspire. "I shall not renew it. It runs out the first of November and I shall make—er—ahem!—a change."