Beverly of Graustark | Page 6

Her hearers stared at the picturesque
recruit, and Halkins so far forgot himself as to drop Mr. Lorry's lump of
sugar upon the table instead of into the cup.
"Explain yourself, sergeant!" finally fell from Lorry's lips. The eyes of
the princess were beginning to take on a rapturous glow.
"May I have a cup of coffee, please, sir? I've been so excited I couldn't
eat a mouthful at home." She gracefully slid into the chair Halkins
offered, and broke into an ecstatic giggle that would have resulted in a
court-martial had she been serving any commander but Love.
With a plenteous supply of Southern idioms she succeeded in making
them understand that the major had promised to let her visit friends in
the legation at St. Petersburg in April a month or so after the departure
of the Lorrys.
"He wanted to know where I'd rather spend the Spring--Washin'ton or
Lexin'ton, and I told him St. Petersburg. We had a terrific discussion
and neither of us ate a speck at dinner. Mamma said it would be all
right for me to go to St. Petersburg if Aunt Josephine was still of a
mind to go, too. You see, Auntie was scared almost out of her boots
when she heard there was prospect of war in Graustark, just as though a
tiny little war like that could make any difference away up in
Russia--hundreds of thousands of miles away--" (with a scornful wave
of the hand)--"and then I just made Auntie say she'd go to St.
Petersburg in April--a whole month sooner than she expected to go in
the first place--and--"
"You dear, dear Beverly!" cried Yetive, rushing joyously around the
table to clasp her in her arms.
"And St. Petersburg really isn't a hundred thousand miles from
Edelweiss," cried Beverly, gaily.

"It's much less than that," said Lorry, smiling, "But you surely don't
expect to come to Edelweiss if we are fighting. We couldn't think of
letting you do that, you know. Your mother would never--"
"My mother wasn't afraid of a much bigger war than yours can ever
hope to be," cried Beverly, resentfully. "You can't stop me if I choose
to visit Graustark."
"Does your father know that you contemplate such a trip?" asked Lorry,
returning her handclasp and looking doubtfully into the swimming blue
eyes of his wife.
"No, he doesn't," admitted Beverly, a trifle aggressively.
"He could stop you, you know," he suggested. Yetive was discreetly
silent.
"But he won't know anything about it," cried Beverly triumphantly.
"I could tell him, you know," said Lorry.
"No, you _couldn't_ do anything so mean as that," announced Beverly.
"You're not that sort."

CHAPTER III
ON THE ROAD FROM BALAK
A ponderous coach lumbered slowly, almost painfully, along the
narrow road that skirted the base of a mountain. It was drawn by four
horses, and upon the seat sat two rough, unkempt Russians, one holding
the reins, the other lying back in a lazy doze. The month was June and
all the world seemed soft and sweet and joyous. To the right flowed a
turbulent mountain stream, boiling savagely with the alien waters of the
flood season. Ahead of the creaking coach rode four horsemen, all
heavily armed; another quartette followed some distance in the rear. At
the side of the coach an officer of the Russian mounted police was

riding easily, jangling his accoutrements with a vigor that disheartened
at least one occupant of the vehicle. The windows of the coach doors
were lowered, permitting the fresh mountain air to caress fondly the
face of the young woman who tried to find comfort in one of the broad
seats. Since early morn she had struggled with the hardships of that seat,
and the late afternoon found her very much out of patience. The
opposite seat was the resting place of a substantial colored woman and
a stupendous pile of bags and boxes. The boxes were continually
toppling over and the bags were forever getting under the feet of the
once placid servant, whose face, quite luckily, was much too black to
reflect the anger she was able, otherwise, through years of practice, to
conceal.
"How much farther have we to go, lieutenant?" asked the girl on the
rear seat, plaintively, even humbly. The man was very deliberate with
his English. He had been recommended to her as the best linguist in the
service at Radovitch, and he had a reputation to sustain.
"It another hour is but yet," he managed to inform her, with a confident
smile.
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "a whole hour of this!"
"We soon be dar, Miss Bev'ly; jes' yo' mak' up yo' mine to res' easy-like,
an' we--" but the faithful old colored woman's advice was lost in the
wrathful exclamation that accompanied