Castle Craneycrow | Page 3

a piece of
steel.

II
SOME RAIN AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

New York had never been so nasty and cold and disagreeable. For three
weeks it had rained--a steady, chilling drizzle. Quentin stood it as long
as he could, but the weather is a large factor in the life of a gentleman
of leisure. He couldn't play Squash the entire time, and Bridge he
always maintained was more of a profession than a pastime. So it was
that one morning, as he looked out at the sheets of water blowing
across the city, his mind was made up.
"We'll get out of this, Turk. I've had enough of it."
"Where do we go, sir?" calmly asked the servant.
"Heaven knows! But be ready to start tomorrow. We'll go somewhere
and dodge this blessed downpour. Call me a cab."
As he drove to the club, he mentally tossed coppers as to his destination.
People were already coming back from Aiken and Palm Beach, and
those who had gone to the country were cooped up indoors and
shivering about the fireplaces. Where could he go? As he entered the
club a man hailed him from the front room.
"Quentin, you're just the man I'm looking for. Come in here."
It was the Earl of Saxondale--familiarly "Lord Bob"--an old chum of
Quentin's. "My missus sent me with an invitation for you, and I've
come for your acceptance," said the Englishman, when Quentin had
joined him.
"Come home with us. We're sailing on the Lucania to-morrow, and
there are going to be some doings in England this month which you
mustn't miss. Dickey Savage is coming, and we want you."
Quentin looked at him and laughed. Saxondale was perfectly serious.
"We're going to have some people up for Goodwood, and later we shall
have a house-boat for Henley. So you'd better come. It won't be bad
sport."
Quentin started to thank his friend and decline. Then he remembered

that he wanted to get away--there was absolutely nothing to keep him at
home, and, besides, he liked Lord Bob and his American wife.
Fashionable New York recalls the marriage of the Earl of Saxondale
and Frances Thornow when the '90's were young, and everybody said it
was a love match. To be sure, she was wealthy, but so was he. She had
declined offers of a half-dozen other noblemen; therefore it was not
ambition on her part. He could have married any number of wealthier
American girls; therefore it was not avarice on his part. He was a
good-looking, stalwart chap with a very fetching drawl, infinite
gentility, and a man despite his monocle, while she was beautiful, witty
and womanly; therefore it is reasonable to suspect that it must have
been love that made her Lady Saxondale.
Lord Bob and Lady Frances were frequent visitors to New York. He
liked New York, and New Yorkers liked him. His wife was enough of a
true American to love the home of her forefathers. "What my wife likes
I seem to have a fondness for," said he, complacently. He once
remarked that were she to fall in love with another man he would feel
in duty bound to like him.
Saxondale had money invested in American copper mines, and his wife
had railroad stocks. When they came to New York, once or twice a year,
they took a furnished apartment, entertained and were entertained for a
month or so, rushed their luggage back to the steamer and sailed for
home, perfectly satisfied with themselves and--the markets.
Quentin looked upon Lord Bob's invitation as a sporting proposition.
This would not be the first time he had taken a steamer on twenty-four
hours' notice. The one question was accommodation, and a long
acquaintance with the agent helped him to get passage where others
would have failed.
So it happened that the next morning Turk was unpacking things in Mr.
Quentin's cabin and establishing relations with the bath steward.

III
PRINCE UGO

Several days out from New York found the weather fine and Lord
Saxondale's party enjoying life thoroughly. Dickey and the capricious
Lady Jane were bright or squally with charming uncertainty. Lady Jane,
Lord Bob's sister, certainly was not in love with Mr. Savage, and he
was too indolent to give his side of the case continuous thought. Dimly
he realized, and once lugubriously admitted, that he was not quite
heartwhole, but he had not reached a positive understanding with
himself.
"How do they steer the ship at night when it is so cloudy they can't see
the north star?" she asked, as they leaned over the rail one afternoon.
Her pretty face was very serious, and there was a philosophical pucker
on her brow.
"With a rudder," he answered, laconically.
"How very odd!" she said, with a malicious gleam