Laughing Bill Hyde | Page 2

hand-bills adorned with an unflattering half-tone of himself, but containing certain undeniably accurate data such as diameter of skull, length of nose, angle of ear, and the like, drove him still north and west. Bill was a modest man; he considered these statistics purely personal in character; to see them blazoned publicly on the walls of post-offices, and in the corridors of county buildings, outraged his finer feelings, so he went away from there, in haste, as usual.
Having never sailed the sea, he looked forward to such an experience with lively anticipation, only to be disappointed in the realization. It was rough off Flattery, and he suffered agonies strange and terrifying. In due time, however, he gained his sea legs and, being forever curious, even prying, he explored the ship. His explorations were interesting, for they took him into strange quarters--into the forecastle, the steerage, even into some of the first-class state-rooms, the doors of which had been left "on the hook" while their occupants were at meals. No small benefit accrued to Mr. Hyde from these investigations.
One day during the dinner-hour, as he was occupied in admiring the contents of a strange suit-case, a voice accosted him over his shoulder, and he looked up to discover a face in the cabin window. Bill realized that an explanation was due, for it was evident that the speaker had been watching him for some little time; but under the circumstances, even though the face in the window was round, youthful, good-humored, explanations promised to be embarrassing.
"How d'y?" said Mr. Hyde.
"What luck?" inquired the stranger.
Mr. Hyde sat back upon his heels and grinned engagingly. "Not much," he confessed. "Can't find it nowhere. This guy must be a missionary."
The new-comer opened the door and entered. He was a medium-sized, plump young man. "Oh, I say!" he protested. "Is it as bad as that?" Bill nodded vaguely, meanwhile carefully measuring the physical proportions of the interloper. The latter went on:
"I saw that you knew your business, and--I was hoping you'd manage to find something I had missed."
Mr. Hyde breathed deep with relief; his expression altered. "You been through ahead of me?" he inquired.
"Oh, several times; daily, in fact." The speaker tossed a bunch of keys upon the berth, saying: "Glance through the steamer-trunk while you're here and declare me in on anything-you find."
Mr. Hyde rose to his feet and retreated a step; his look of relief was replaced by one of dark suspicion. As always, in moments of extremity, he began to laugh.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"I? Why, I live here. That's my baggage. I've been through it, as I told you, but--" The young man frowned whimsically and lit a cigarette. "It doesn't diagnose. I can't find a solitary symptom of anything worth while. Sit down, won't you?"
Mr. Hyde's manner changed for a second time. He was embarrassed, apologetic, crestfallen. "Your cabin? Why, then--it's my mistake!" he declared. "I must 'a' got in the wrong flat. Mac sent me up for a deck of cards, but--Say, that's funny, ain't it?"
He began to see the joke upon himself, and the youth echoed his laughter.
"It is funny," the latter agreed. "For Heaven's sake, don't spoil it. Sit down and have a smoke; I'm not going to eat you."
"See here! You don't mean--? D'you think for a minute--?" Mr. Hyde began with rotund dignity, but the other waved his cigarette impatiently, saying:
"Oh, drop that stuff or I'll page your friend 'Mac' and show you up."
In assuming his air of outraged innocence Laughing Bill had arched his hollow chest and inhaled deeply. As a result he began to cough, whereupon his new acquaintance eyed him keenly, saying:
"That's a bad bark. What ails you?"
"Con," said Laughing Bill.
"Pardon me. I wouldn't have smoked if I'd known." The speaker dropped his cigarette and placed a heel upon it. "What are you doing here? Alaska's no place for weak lungs."
Gingerly seating himself upon the narrow settee Mr. Hyde murmured, wonderingly: "Say! You're a regular guy, ain't you?" He began to laugh again, but now there was less of a metallic quality to his merriment. "Yes sir, dam' if you ain't." He withdrew from his pocket a silver-mounted hair-brush and comb, and placed them carefully upon the washstand. "I don't aim to quit winner on a sport like you."
"Thanks, awfully!" smiled the young man. "I'd have fought you for that comb and brush. Girl stuff, you understand? That's she." He pointed to a leather-framed photograph propped against the mirror.
Laughing Bill leaned forward and studied the picture approvingly. "Some queen, all right. Blonde, I reckon."
"Sure. You like blondes?"
"Who, me? I ain't strong for no kind of women. You hate her, don't you?"
The young man smiled more widely, his whole face lit up. "I hate her so much that I kissed her good-by and