Rose Orchid | Page 5

disagreeable shock when the door
was suddenly opened and a man appeared in the room.
It was Hurley.
Rita sprang from her chair and ran to him.
"Tota!" she cried.
Hurley folded her in his arms and kissed her.
"Well, little one, I kept my promise." Then he turned to th' se–or, "You
must excuse us," he smiled, utterly unabashed.
Rita had an arm about his neck and was clinging to the lapel of his
jacket with the other hand.
The lieutenant-commander was experiencing a curious and hitherto
undreamed-of sensation. A lump in his throat was choking him, and he
felt a tight gripping in his chest. But his mind was working rapidly; and
he made his decision almost without hesitation.
"I've been waiting for you," he said to Hurley. "I understand you found
my pony. Bring him up."
At the tone of command the man started and glanced keenly at the
lieutenant-commander, who remembered too late that he should have
attempted to disguise his voice. He thought of his broken arm, and
braced himself for whatever might come.
Hurley walked over to the couch and stood looking down at him in
silence. The expression in his eyes was distinctly unpleasant; but the
lieutenant-commander perceived that it was alloyed with doubt.

"Have I ever seen you before?" Hurley said finally
The lieutenant-commander achieved a smile of surprise.
"What makes you think so?" he asked.
"Why did you speak to me--like that?"
The lieutenant-commander, being rather clever, did not make the
mistake of apologizing. Instead, his tone was one of irritation as he said:
"How do I know? Do you expect a man with a broken arm to get up
and bow?"
For another minute Hurley stood above him, eyeing him keenly. Then
he turned.
"I don't know," he muttered. "I'll bring up your pony. Come Rita; you
come with me."
They returned shortly with the pony, saddled and bridled. Hurley,
sending Rita to another room, helped the lieutenantcommander put on
his coat and boots, placed the injured arm in a sling, and strapped his
poncho back of the saddle. Then he steadied him with both hands,
carefully, while he mounted.
"You ought to be in San Juan by seven," said Hurley, standing in the
doorway. "That's a good hour and a half before dark. The trail runs over
there," pointing to the west, "by that first blue cliff. You can't miss it.
And I guess I made a mistake in there," he continued, a little
awkwardly. "I meant no offense, sir."
For more reasons than one the lieutenant-commander made no reply.
He started the pony as gently as possible out of respect for the broken
arm, and nodded a farewell. As he met the trail under the cliff, he
turned and looked back. Hurley and Rita were standing together in the
doorway.
Lieutenant-Commander Reed was a man of decision. Whenever he met

a problem he liked to face it squarely, analyze it thoroughly, and decide
it quickly. This he had always done.
But the problem which was now before him defied analysis. It seemed
somehow intangible, fleeting, ungraspable. He tried one after another
of his cherished rules, and found that none of them fitted.
For the first three hours of the last stage of his journey to San Juan his
mind was in an uncomfortable and entirely unique condition of
flexibility. As might have been expected, the weight of habit
preponderated and he decided in favor of duty.
Owing to the broken arm, the four hours' ride was slow and painful, but
he suffered no further mishap. As Hurley had predicted, exactly at
seven o'clock he climbed from the Naval Station wharf at San Juan into
the Commandant's gig.
On board the Helena all was confusion and despair. They had not
expected their Commanding Officer for another four days, and they
were having the time of their lives.
The first luff, who was an easygoing, good-natured fellow, who
possessed a hearty dislike for his skipper, had taken advantage of his
absence.
There had been no inspections or drills of any kind, the brasswork had
not been touched, the decks had received merely a gentle flushing with
the hose, and every classed man on the ship had been granted shore
liberty.
You may imagine the effect of this state of affairs on
Lieutenant-Commander Reed. Within two hours after his arrival every
man and officer on board was ready for insubordination or mutiny, or
worse, and the first luff heard his skipper's voice in his dreams.
At eleven o'clock the following morning Lieutenant-Commander Reed
sat in his cabin, holding a pen in his hand and gazmg thoughtfully at a
pad of official memorandum paper on the desk before him.

He had got his disordered ship and crew in something like a presentable
and tractable condition,