The Gem Collector | Page 5

to loot!"
And here was his leader shattering his visions with a word.
"Have another drink, Spike," said the lost leader sympathetically. "It's a
shock to you, I guess."
"I t'ought, Mr. Chames----"
"I know you did, and I'm very sorry for you. But it can't be helped.
Noblesse oblige, Spike. We of the old aristocracy mustn't do these
things. We should get ourselves talked about."
Spike sat silent, with a long face. Jimmy slapped him on the shoulder.
"After all," he said, "living honestly may be the limit, for all we know.
Numbers of people do it, I've heard, and enjoy themselves
tremendously. We must give it a trial, Spike. We'll go out together and
see life. Pull yourself together and be cheerful, Spike."
After a moment's reflection the other grinned, howbeit faintly.
"That's right," said Jimmy Pitt. "You'll be the greatest success ever in
society. All you have to do is to brush your hair, look cheerful, and
keep your hands off the spoons. For in society, Spike, they invariably
count them after the departure of the last guest."
"Sure," said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensible
precaution.
"And now," said Jimmy, "we'll be turning in. Can you manage sleeping
on the sofa for one night?"

"Gee, I've bin sleepin' on de Embankment all de last week. Dis is to de
good, Mister Chames."
CHAPTER III.
In the days before the Welshman began to expend his surplus energy in
playing football, he was accustomed, whenever the monotony of his
everyday life began to oppress him, to collect a few friends and make
raids across the border into England, to the huge discomfort of the
dwellers on the other side. It was to cope with this habit that Corven
Abbey, in Shropshire, came into existence. It met a long-felt want.
Ministering to the spiritual needs of the neighborhood in times of peace,
it became a haven of refuge when trouble began. From all sides people
poured into it, emerging cautiously when the marauders had
disappeared.
In the whole history of the abbey there is but one instance recorded of a
bandit attempting to take the place by storm, and the attack was an
emphatic failure. On receipt of one ladle full of molten lead, aimed to a
nicety by John the Novice, who seems to have been anything but a
novice at marksmanship, this warrior retired, done to a turn, to his
mountain fastnesses, and is never heard of again. He would seem,
however, to have passed the word round among his friends, for
subsequent raiding parties studiously avoided the abbey, and a peasant
who had succeeded in crossing its threshold was for the future
considered to be "home" and out of the game. Corven Abbey, as a
result, grew in power and popularity. Abbot succeeded abbot, the lake
at the foot of the hill was restocked at intervals, the lichen grew on the
walls; and still the abbey endured.
But time, assisted by his majesty, King Henry the Eighth, had done its
work. The monks had fled. The walls had crumbled, and in the
twentieth century, the abbey was a modern country house, and the
owner a rich American.
Of this gentleman the world knew but little. That he had made money,
and a good deal of it, was certain. His name, Patrick McEachern,

suggested Irish parentage, and a slight brogue, noticeable, however,
only in moments of excitement, supported this theory. He had arrived
in London some four years back, taken rooms at the Albany, and gone
into society.
England still firmly believes that wealth accrues to every resident of
New York by some mysterious process not understandable of the
Briton. McEachern and his money were accepted by society without
question. His solecisms, which at first were numerous, were passed
over as so quaint and refreshing. People liked his rugged good humor.
He speedily made friends, among them Lady Jane Blunt, the still
youthful widow of a man about town, who, after trying for several
years to live at the rate of ten thousand per annum with an income of
two and a half, had finally given up the struggle and drank himself
peacefully into the tomb, leaving her in sole charge of their one son,
Spencer Archbald.
Possibly because he was the exact antithesis of the late lamented, Lady
Jane found herself drawn to Mr. McEachern. Whatever his faults, he
had strength; and after her experience of married life with a weak man,
Lady Jane had come to the conclusion that strength was the only male
quality worth consideration. When a year later, McEachern's daughter,
Molly, had come over, it was Lady Jane who took her under her wing
and introduced her everywhere.
In the fifth month of the second year of their acquaintance, Mr.
McEachern proposed