Soldiers of Fortune | Page 7

have quite inspired Mr. King, he was never so amusing. But I should like to hear the end of that adventure; won't you tell it to me in the other room?''
Clay bowed. ``If I haven't thought of something more interesting in the meantime,'' he said.
``What I can't understand,'' said King, as he moved up into Miss Langham's place, ``is how you had time to learn so much of the rest of the world. You don't act like a man who had spent his life in the brush.''
``How do you mean?'' asked Clay, smiling--``that I don't use the wrong forks?''
``No,'' laughed King, ``but you told us that this was your first visit East, and yet you're talking about England and Vienna and Voisin's. How is it you've been there, while you have never been in New York?''
``Well, that's partly due to accident and partly to design,'' Clay answered. ``You see I've worked for English and German and French companies, as well as for those in the States, and I go abroad to make reports and to receive instructions. And then I'm what you call a self-made man; that is, I've never been to college. I've always had to educate myself, and whenever I did get a holiday it seemed to me that I ought to put it to the best advantage, and to spend it where civilization was the furthest advanced--advanced, at least, in years. When I settle down and become an expert, and demand large sums for just looking at the work other fellows have done, then I hope to live in New York, but until then I go where the art galleries are biggest and where they have got the science of enjoying themselves down to the very finest point. I have enough rough work eight months of the year to make me appreciate that. So whenever I get a few months to myself I take the Royal Mail to London, and from there to Paris or Vienna. I think I like Vienna the best. The directors are generally important people in their own cities, and they ask one about, and so, though I hope I am a good American, it happens that I've more friends on the Continent than in the United States.''
``And how does this strike you?'' asked King, with a movement of his shoulder toward the men about the dismantled table.
``Oh, I don't know,'' laughed Clay. ``You've lived abroad yourself; how does it strike you?''
Clay was the first man to enter the drawing-room. He walked directly away from the others and over to Miss Langham, and, taking her fan out of her hands as though to assure himself of some hold upon her, seated himself with his back to every one else.
``You have come to finish that story?'' she said, smiling.
Miss Langham was a careful young person, and would not have encouraged a man she knew even as well as she knew King, to talk to her through dinner, and after it as well. She fully recognized that because she was conspicuous certain innocent pleasures were denied her which other girls could enjoy without attracting attention or comment. But Clay interested her beyond her usual self, and the look in his eyes was a tribute which she had no wish to put away from her.
``I've thought of something more interesting to talk about,'' said Clay. ``I'm going to talk about you. You see I've known you a long time.''
``Since eight o'clock?'' asked Miss Langham.
``Oh, no, since your coming out, four years ago.''
``It's not polite to remember so far back,'' she said. ``Were you one of those who assisted at that important function? There were so many there I don't remember.''
``No, I only read about it. I remember it very well; I had ridden over twelve miles for the mail that day, and I stopped half-way back to the ranch and camped out in the shade of a rock and read all the papers and magazines through at one sitting, until the sun went down and I couldn't see the print. One of the papers had an account of your coming out in it, and a picture of you, and I wrote East to the photographer for the original. It knocked about the West for three months and then reached me at Laredo, on the border between Texas and Mexico, and I have had it with me ever since.''
Miss Langham looked at Clay for a moment in silent dismay and with a perplexed smile.
``Where is it now?'' she asked at last.
``In my trunk at the hotel.''
``Oh,'' she said, slowly. She was still in doubt as to how to treat this act of unconventionality. ``Not in your watch?'' she said, to cover up the pause. ``That would have been more in keeping with the rest of the story.''
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