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  THE CRUISE OF THE MAKE-BELIEVES

  "'TO ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES I AM A RICH MAN.'"

  (_See page 97_) FRONTISPIECE]

  THE CRUISE OF THE MAKE-BELIEVES

  BY TOM GALLON AUTHOR OF "TATTERLEY," "MEG THE LADY," ETC.

  _Illustrated by_ CH. GRUNWALD

  BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1907

  _Copyright, 1907_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.

  _All rights reserved_

  Published October, 1907

  COLONIAL PRESS ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS & CO. BOSTON, U.S.A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. THE PRINCESS NEXT DOOR 1 II. THE KING OF A LEAN KINGDOM 17 III. THE PRINCE JUMPS OVER THE WALL 38 IV. THE PRINCESS GOES TO DINNER 56 V. THE GREAT GAME OF MAKE-BELIEVE 72 VI. SCHEMERS AND DREAMERS 87 VII. FAREWELL TO ARCADIA STREET 103 VIII. THE PRINCE CUTS THE KNOT 118 IX. AND THE PRINCESS TIES IT AGAIN 138 X. A DESPERATE REMEDY 160 XI. PURSUIT 175 XII. MISS MAKE-BELIEVE WAKES UP 191 XIII. MISERY MAKES STRANGE BOAT-FELLOWS 213 XIV. THE CASTAWAYS 229 XV. THE SIMPLE LIFE 244 XVI. THE AMAZING PRINGLE 255 XVII. EXPLANATIONS 270 XVIII. MISS MAKE-BELIEVE ESCAPES 286 XIX. THE LAMPS ARE LIT IN ARCADIA STREET 309

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  "'TO ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES I AM A RICH MAN'" _Frontispiece_ PAGE "'I MAY GO AWAY AGAIN AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE'" 66 "SHE TURNED HER OWN FACE THEN, AND HID IT ON THE FRIENDLY BREAST OF SIMON QUARLE" 212 "THEY STOOD HERE IN THE MOONLIGHT AND SILENCE" 253

  THE CRUISE OF THE MAKE-BELIEVES

  CHAPTER I

  THE PRINCESS NEXT DOOR

  THE thin young man with the glossy hat got out of the cab at the end ofthe street, and looked somewhat distrustfully down that street; glancedwith equal distrust at the cabman. A man lounging against the cornerpublic-house, as though to keep that British institution from falling,and leaving him without refreshment, got away from it, and insertedhimself between the driver and the fare, ready to give information oradvice to both, on the strength of being a local resident.

  "Are you quite sure that this is Arcadia Street?" asked the youngman in the glossy hat. He had a thin, meagre, precise sort ofvoice--delicate and mincing.

  "Carn't yer see it wrote up?" demanded the driver, pointing with hiswhip to the blank wall that formed one side of the street. "Wotjerthink I should want to drop yer in the wrong place for?" He was across driver, for he had already been driving about in the wilds ofIslington in search of Arcadia Street for a long time, and he wasdoubtful whether or not that fact would be remembered in the fare.

  "Yus--this is Arcadia Street, guv'nor," said the man from thepublic-house. "You take it from me; I've bin 'ere, man an' boy, sincebefore I could remember. Wot part of it was you wantin', sir?"

  But the young man had already given the cabman a substantial fare, andhad turned away. The man from the public-house jogged along a littlebehind him, eager to be of service for a consideration to a man towhom a shilling or two seemed to mean nothing at all; a few bedraggledstaring children had sprung up, as if by magic, and were also lendingassistance, by the simple expedient of walking backwards in frontof the stranger, and stumbling over each other, and allowing him tostumble over them. And still the young man said nothing, but onlyglanced anxiously at the houses.

  He did not fit Arcadia Street at all. For he was particularly welldressed, with a neatness that made one fear almost to brush againsthim; while Arcadia Street, Islington, is not a place given tocareful dressing, or even to neatness. Moreover, silk hats are notgenerally seen there, save on a Monday morning, when a gentleman ofsad countenance goes round with a small book and a pencil, in thesomewhat cheerless endeavour to collect rents; and his silk hat is onethat has seen better days. So that it is small wonder that the youngman was regarded with awe and surprise, not only by the stragglingchildren, but also by several women who peered at him from behinddoubtful-looking blinds and curtains.

  Still appearing utterly oblivious of the questions showered upon himby the now frantic man who had constituted himself as guide, the youngman had got midway up the street, and was still searching with hiseyes the windows of the houses. If you know Arcadia Street at all,you will understand that in order to search the windows he had but tokeep his head turned in one direction; for the habitable part of thestreet lies only on the left-hand side, the other being formed by ahigh blank wall, shutting in what is locally known as "The Works." Frombehind this wall a noise of hammering and of the clang of metal floatssometimes to the ears of Arcadia Street, and teaches them that there isbusiness going on, although they cannot see it.

  Now, just as the young man had reached the middle of the street, andthe loafer who had accompanied him was almost giving up in despair,the eyes of the young man looked into the eyes of a young girl on theother side of a sheet of glass. The sheet of glass represented one partof one window of a house, and at the moment the young man turned hisgaze in that direction, she was setting up against the glass a cardwhich bore the modest inscription--"Board and Residence." And she wasso unlike Arcadia Street generally that the young man stopped, and madea faltering movement with one arm, as though he would have raised hishat, and looked at her helplessly. Instantly, something to his relief,she raised the window, careless of what became of the card, and lookedout at him.

  "Perhaps, sir, you might be looking for--" So she began; and thenfaltered and stopped.

  "You're very good," he responded, in his precise voice. "Name ofByfield--Mr. Gilbert Byfield. Does he live here?"

  "Next door, sir," she said, as she slowly lowered the window. And itseemed to the young man that for a moment, although she was evidentlyinterested in him, a shadow of disappointment crossed her face.

  He raised his hat, disclosing for a moment a very neatly arranged headof fair hair, parted accurately in the middle; and then rang the bellat the adjoining house. By this time his guide, seeing that he wasabout to escape, began rapidly to urge his claims, the while the youngman took not the faintest notice of him, but kept his eyes fixed on thedoor he expected to see open every moment.

  "Didn't I tell yer w'ere it was, guv'nor?" demanded the man. "Where'dyou 'ave bin, if it 'adn't bin for me; you might 'ave lorst yerselfa dozen times. I says to meself, w'en I sees yer gettin' out of thecab--I says to meself--''E's a gent--that's wot 'e is--'e's one of thetip-tops. You look arter 'im,' I says, 'an' see if 'e don't do the'andsome by yer.' . . . Well--of all the ugly smug-faced dressed-up----"

  For the door had opened, and the young man of the glossy hat had beenswallowed up inside. Mr. Byfield was at home. The loafer looked thehouse up and down aggressively, and seemed on the point of expressinghis opinion concerning it and its inhabitants publicly; deemed thata waste of breath apparently; and drifted away, to take up his oldposition at the corner of the street. The children, coming reluctantlyto the understanding that there was not likely to be a fight, or evenan altercation, drifted away also.

  Above the curtain of the window of the
next house the plaintive prettyface of the girl appeared again for a moment, and then was withdrawn.So far as the street was concerned, the incident was closed, and themystery of the young man's appearance had been transferred to the houseitself. For his inquiry for Mr. Byfield had led to his being directedup certain shabby stairs, until he came to a door; he had just raisedhis knuckles delicately to knock upon it, when it was flung open, andthe man he had come to see stood before him.

  It would be difficult indeed to imagine a greater contrast between anytwo men than that which existed between the visitor and the visited.For Gilbert Byfield was big and hearty--not in any sense of merefleshiness, but rather because there was a largeness about his actionsand his gestures--a certain impulsive eagerness in all he did, asthough each day was all too short for what he wanted to crowd into it.He was in his shirt-sleeves (for it seems always to be hot and stuffyin Arcadia Street, Islington) and a pipe was in his mouth. He grinnedamiably, but a little sheepishly, at his visitor; suddenly leanedforward, and caught the immaculate one by the hand and drew him intothe room.

  "Of all wonders," he ejaculated--"how did you get here?"

  The thin young man, who had removed his hat, was glancing round thedingy walls of the room, and at the table in the centre that wasstrewn with books and papers. "My dear Byfield," he said, in his thinvoice, "I might almost repeat that question to you. I am amazed,Byfield; I am pained and outraged. Why are you hiding in this place?"

  Gilbert Byfield threw himself into his chair, and laughed. "No questionof hiding," he said. "I came here for a change of air--change ofscene--change of surroundings. I'm studying."

  "What for?" demanded the visitor.

  Byfield leant forward over the table, and looked at his friend halfcontemptuously, half whimsically. "The world I've left behind me,"he said, "was peopled by quite a lot of men of the type of a certainJordan Tant----"

  "Thank you," said the other, with a nod.

  "All very worthy and delightful people, but unfortunately all sayingthe same thing--day after day--year in and year out. They were alwaysdressed in the same fashion, and they always had a certain considerableamount of respectable money in the pockets of their respectableclothes; and they always got up at exactly the same hour every morning,and they lived their dear little Tant-like lives, until the time camefor them to be turned, in due course, into little Tant-like corpses,and presumably after that into nice little Tant-like angels. And Igot tired of them, and finally gave them up. Now," he added, throwinghimself back in his chair, and laughing good-humouredly, "you know allabout it."

  Mr. Jordan Tant had seated himself on a chair opposite his friend,and had been listening attentively. He now hitched his trousers upcarefully over his knees, displaying rather neat ankles, and beganto speak in an argumentative fashion, with his neat head a little onone side. "You're not complimentary, Byfield," he said; "but then younever were. I should not have found you, but for the fact that some onementioned to me that you were living in a place called Arcadia Street,Islington; and as I wondered a little what reason you could possiblyhave for leaving your own natural surroundings, I decided to look youup. As for the Tant-like people of whom you speak so scornfully, Iwould remind you that they belong properly to that sphere to which youalso belong, when you are not in your present revolutionary spirit. Youare forgetting what I have endeavoured often to remind you about; youare forgetting the dividing line which must be kept between the classesand the masses. The world knows you as Mr. Gilbert Byfield--with anyamount of money, and any amount of property; you are masquerading as avery ordinary person, in a very ordinary and commonplace neighbourhood.Now what, for instance, do you pay for these rooms?" He glanced roundas he spoke.

  "Ten shillings a week--which of course includes the use of thefurniture," said Gilbert, smiling. "Meals extra."

  "Horrible!" exclaimed his friend. "Where is the comfortable set ofchambers in the West End; where is your place in the country--youryacht--everything of that kind? And what in the name of fortune are youdoing it for?"

  "I've already told you," responded the other, good-humouredly. "Iwanted to see what life really was, when you didn't have someone nearat hand to feed you, and clothe you, and make much of you; I wantedto look at a world where banking accounts and dividends were unknown,and stocks and shares something not to be considered. I wanted to seewhat people were like who had to scramble for a living--to scramble,in fact, for the crumbs that fall from tables such as mine. I had readin books of people who had a difficulty in making both ends meet--andquite nice people at that; I had dreamed of a world outside my ownvery ordinary one, where romance was to be found--and beauty--andlove and tenderness. I was sick to death of the high voices and thegracious airs and the raised eyebrows of most of the women I knew--thetime-killers, with nothing in the world to occupy them; I wanted totake off my coat, and get back to what I know my grandfather, at least,was in his time: a real hard-working citizen. A better man than everI shall be, Jordan; a clear-headed, clear-hearted fellow, with nononsense about him. He made a fortune--and my father trebled it; it hasbeen my sacred mission to spend it. There"--he got to his feet, andstretched his arms above his head, and laughed--"I've done preaching;and you shall tell me all the news from the great world out of which Ihave dropped."

  "What news can I have to give you?" demanded Mr. Tant, with an almostaggressive glance at his friend. "Oh, I know what you're going to say,"he added rapidly as he raised his hand--"that that is the best commenton what you have said. But, at all events, we live respectably--not inhovels."

  "Respectable is the word," said Gilbert, with something of a sigh. "Andyet I'm sure that you really have news--of a sort. Come--a bargain withyou: you shall give me your news, bit by bit, and item by item; andI'll see if I can match it from my experience here."

  "Well, in the first place," said Mr. Jordan Tant, shifting uneasily onhis chair, and finally drawing up his legs until his heels rested onthe front wooden rail of it--"in the first place, Miss Enid wonderswhat has become of you, and is naturally somewhat troubled about you."He said it sulkily, with the air of one to whom the delivery of themessage was a disagreeable task.

  "Exactly. And the fair Enid is in that drawing-room which is like ahot-house, and is yawning the hours away, and glancing occasionally atthe clock, to determine how long it is since she had lunch, and howbest she shall get through the time before tea is announced. To matchthat, my item of news is of a certain little lady who has a habit oftucking up her sleeves, the better to get through hours that are alltoo short for the work that must fill them, who is afraid to glance ata clock, for fear it should tell her how time is flying; and who neverby any chance had a best frock yet that wasn't almost too shabby towear before it was called best at all. Go on."

  "Oh--so that's the secret, is it?" exclaimed Mr. Tant, nodding hishead like a smooth-plumaged young bird. "There's a woman in ArcadiaStreet--eh?"

  "Beware how you speak of her lightly," said Gilbert. "In Arcadia Streetare many women; they hang out of the windows, and they scream at theirchildren, and they tell their husbands exactly what their opinion isconcerning the characters of those husbands whenever the unfortunatemen are not at work. But--mark the difference, my Tant!--there is butone woman worthy of the name, and I have found her. She lives nextdoor."

  "Then I've seen her," replied Jordan Tant. "Rather pretty, perhaps--butpale and shabby."

  "Ah--she hadn't got her best frock on," said Gilbert. "You have to waitfor Sundays to see the best frock; and then you have to pretend that itisn't really an old frock pretending to be best. Where did you see her?"

  "Sticking a card in the window--something about apartmentsor--lodgings," said Mr. Tant. "I think she thought there was somechance that I might be insane enough to want to live in Arcadia Street."

  "Poor little girl!" said Gilbert softly, as he seated himself on theedge of the table, and thrust some of his papers out of the way. "Shedreams about lodgers--and hopes for the sort that pay. I believe shegets up in the morning, d
readfully afraid that those who owe hermoney have run away in the night; I believe she goes to bed at night,wondering if by any possibility she can squeeze another bedstead insomewhere to accommodate a fresh one. She would like to go out into thehighways and byways, and gather in all possible lodgers, and drive thembefore her to the house; and keep 'em there for ever. You've only gotto say 'Lodgers!' to that girl, and her eyes brighten at once."

  "What an extraordinary person!" exclaimed Mr. Jordan Tant, opening hiseyes very wide, and staring up at the other man. "What's she do it for?"

  "For a living, Tant--for a sordid horrible grinding sweating living."Gilbert got up in his excitement, and began to bang one fist into thepalm of his other hand close to the face of Mr. Jordan Tant. "You talkof life--and respectability--and what not; I tell you I've seen morelife in a week in Arcadia Street than ever I saw in years before. Lookout into the streets; you'll see a dozen sights that shock you--you'llsee a dozen things that are unlovely. And yet I tell you that I havestepped in this place straight into the heart of Fairyland--and thatI dream dreams, and see visions. And all on account of a pale-facedshabby girl, who lives next door, and lies in wait behind the parlourwindow to catch the lodgers who never pay her when they come!"

  "Why don't you live there yourself?" demanded Mr. Tant. "You'd pay herwell enough."

  Gilbert shook his head a little sadly. "That wouldn't do at all," hesaid, "because I should take all the romance out of the thing. Besides,in Arcadia Street you mustn't pay more than a certain amount, or youbring down suspicion upon yourself. No--my method is a more subtle one:I am the mysterious man who lives next door--(which is quite a greatway off in Arcadia Street, I can assure you)--and I appear to her onlywith a sort of halo of romance about me."

  "You're in love with her, I suppose?" suggested Mr. Tant.

  "That's crude--and untrue," said Gilbert. "That's the only thing yousort of people seem to think about: you look at a girl, and instantlyyou're in love with her. Doesn't it occur to you that it may bepossible that I, from the distance of my thirty-five years, may look atthis child of seventeen--or perhaps even less--and feel sorry for her,and desirous of helping her. Bah!--what do you know of romance?"

  "I know this about it," said Mr. Tant, a little sullenly, "that if I goback to Miss Enid, and tell her that you take a deep interest in a verypretty girl of seventeen, who lives next door to you in a slum, andwith whom you occasionally visit Fairyland, it is more than possiblethat the lady to whom you are supposed to be engaged----"

  "I am not engaged to her," exclaimed Gilbert, almost savagely.

  "May have something to say regarding romance on her own account. Istate facts." Thus Mr. Jordan Tant, very virtuously, and with his headnodding in a sideways fashion at his friend.

  "You pervert them, you mean," exclaimed Gilbert. "Besides, if you'reso deeply interested in Miss Enid Ewart-Crane, this will be a splendidopportunity for you to set yourself right with her, to my everlastingdamage."

  "You know perfectly well that she'd never look at me," said Mr. Tant."She's a glorious creature--a wonderful woman, and in your own sphereof life; I can't see why you neglect her as you do."

  "I have been told ever since I was a mere boy that at some future dateI should marry Enid--if I were good. It's just like a small boy beingoffered anything--if he is good; he begins to loathe the idea of it atonce. Enid is all that you say--and I like her very much; but if I'vegot to marry her I'll choose my own time for it. At present I'm inFairyland--and I mean to stop there."

  "What do you mean by Fairyland?" asked Mr. Tant testily.

  "You wouldn't understand if I told you," replied Gilbert. Then he addedquickly, and with contrition--"There--there--my dear fellow, I didn'tmean to hurt your feelings; you're not really a bad sort, if you'd comeout of your shell sometimes, and let the real wind of the real earthruffle your hair a bit. I must talk to someone--and I'm not sorry tofind you here to-day; only you mustn't tell anyone outside."

  "Of course not," almost snapped Mr. Tant.

  "I came here in the first place, Tant," began Gilbert, seating himselfagain on the table, "with the expectation of finding that I had gotamong commonplace people--and not nice commonplace people at that. ThenI saw this girl--this mere child, that even a hard world and a hardand sordid life had not changed, struggling on day by day to make aliving--not for herself, or for any selfish reason--but to keep thosewho should by rights have kept her. And I saw her, above all things,doing something else, and doing it rather splendidly."

  "I don't understand you. What else was she doing?" asked Jordan Tant.

  It was growing dark in Arcadia Street, and the lamps were beinglighted. With the dying of the day a sort of hush had fallen upon theplace; the sounds outside were subdued, as though even Arcadia Streetmight be inclined for rest. Gilbert had walked across to the window,and stood there, looking out; his face was turned from his friend.

  "This child to whom life was a mean and sordid struggle had taughtherself a lesson--had shown herself how best to live another life.You'll think it mean and commonplace, perhaps; but this littledrudge--child alike in years and in thoughts--had learnt how tomake-believe to perfection; knew how to gild the commonplace bricks andmortar of Arcadia Street so that the mean houses became palaces--themean back gardens places of beauty, wherein one might stroll beneaththe light of the moon, and listen even unto nightingales. Think of it,Tant; this child who had never known anything but the mean streets ofa great city had yet learnt how to dream, and almost how to make herdreams come true. I tell you, man, you've only got to look into hereyes to understand that there is in her that brave spirit that defiespoverty and disaster--that brave spirit that aims straight for theskies."

  Mr. Jordan Tant sat still for a moment or two without speaking. He wasused by this time to this impulsive friend, who was for ever doingunconventional things; and now, with this new unconventional thing toface, he had no words either of reproof or admonition. Very slowly helifted first one foot and then the other from the wooden rail of thechair, and stood up; picked up his hat, and brushed it carefully on hissleeve.

  "I've nothing to say to you," he said at last. "I expect, if the truthwere known, you'd find that the lady who dwells in Fairyland in herspare moments has a scheming mind, and a money-grubbing soul; you'dfind she thought more of the price of chops than she does of all theromances that ever were invented for fools to read. What am I to tellMiss Enid?"

  Gilbert Byfield laughed good-humouredly. "Tell her," he said, "thatI shall come and see her very soon. But you need not, of course, sayanything about----"

  "About the Princess next door? I suppose not." Mr. Jordan Tant walkedto the door of the room, and laid his hand upon the handle. "It'll beall right for you--and you'll give up this madness, just as you havegiven up many, many others. But what about the--the Princess?"

  "You don't understand in the least," said Gilbert, a little hastily."She thinks no more of me than she might think of anybody who was goodto her--kind to her."

  "But so very few people have been good or kind to her, you see," Mr.Tant reminded him, as he opened the door.

  "I'll come with you, and find a cab for you; you might get lost,"said Gilbert. "And pray get all those silly notions out of your head;if you knew this child as well as I do, you'd look at the matterin a different light. At the same time, as people are so apt tomisunderstand even our best motives, perhaps you'd better not sayanything to Enid--or to her mother. If there's any explaining to bedone, I can do it when I come to see them."

  He found the cab for his friend, and saw him drive away. Walking backslowly into Arcadia Street, he determined that he would if possible seethat little Princess next door that very evening--if only to assurehimself that she was the child he knew her to be, and he her bigfriend--years and years older and wiser.