The Honorable Peter Stirling | Page 3

point; that to meet romance one must
have it. Boccaccio said he did not write novels, but lived them. Try to
imagine Peter living a romance! He could be concerned in a dozen and
never dream it. They would not interest him even if he did notice them.
And I'll prove it to you." Mr. Pierce raised his voice. "We are
discussing romance, Peter. Won't you stop that unsocial tramp of yours
long enough to give us your opinion on the subject?"
A moment's silence followed, and then a singularly clear voice, coming
from the forward part of the yacht, replied: "I never read them, Mr.
Pierce."
Mr. Pierce laughed quietly. "See," he said, "that fellow never dreams of
there being romance outside of novels. He is so prosaic that he is
unconscious of anything bigger than his own little sphere of life. Peter
may obtain what he wants in this world, for his desires will be of the

kind to be won by work and money. But he will never be controlled by
a great idea, nor be the hero of a true romance."
Steele once wrote that the only difference between the Catholic Church
and the Church of England was, that the former was infallible and the
latter never wrong. Mr. Pierce would hardly have claimed for himself
either of these qualities. He was too accustomed in his business to
writing, "E. and O.E." above his initials, to put much faith in human
dicta. But in the present instance he felt sure of what he said, and the
little group clearly agreed. If they were right, this story is like that
recounted in Mother Goose, which was ended before it was begun. But
Mr. Pierce had said that romance is everywhere to those who have the
spirit of it in them. Perhaps in this case the spirit was lacking in his
judges--not in Peter Stirling.

CHAPTER II.
APPEARANCES.
The unconscious illustration of Mr. Pierce's theory was pacing
backwards and forwards on the narrow space between the cuddy-roof
and the gunwale, which custom dignifies with the name of deck. Six
strides forward and turn. Six strides aft and turn. That was the extent of
the beat. Yet had Peter been on sentry duty, he could not have
continued it more regularly or persistently. If he were walking off his
supper, as most of those seated aft would have suggested, the
performance was not particularly interesting. The limit and rapidity of
the walk resembled the tramp of a confined animal, exercising its last
meal. But when one stands in front of the lion's cage, and sees that
restless and tireless stride, one cannot but wonder how much of it is due
to the last shin-bone, and how much to the wild and powerful nature
under the tawny skin. The question occurs because the nature and
antecedents of the lion are known. For this same reason the yachters
were a unit in agreeing that Stirling's unceasing walk was merely a
digestive promenade. The problem was whether they were right? Or
whether, to apply Mr. Pierce's formula, they merely imposed their own

frame of mind in place of Stirling's, and decided, since their sole reason
for walking at the moment would be entirely hygienic, that he too must
be striding from the same cause?
Dr. Holmes tells us that when James and Thomas converse there are
really six talkers. First, James as James thinks he is, and Thomas as
Thomas thinks he is. Second James as Thomas thinks him, and Thomas
as James thinks him. Finally, there are James and Thomas as they really
are. Since this is neither an autobiography nor an inspired story, the
world's view of Peter Stirling must be adopted without regard to its
accuracy. And because this view was the sum of his past and personal,
these elements must be computed before we can know on what the
world based its conclusions concerning him.
His story was as ordinary and prosaic as Mr. and Mrs. Pierce seemed to
think his character. Neither riches nor poverty had put a shaping hand
to it. The only child of his widowed mother, he had lived in one of the
smaller manufacturing cities of New England a life such as falls to
most lads. Unquestionably he had been rather more shielded from
several forms of temptation than had most of his playmates, for his
mother's isolation had made him not merely her son, but very largely
her companion. In certain ways this had tended to make him more
manly than the average fellow of his age, but in others it had retarded
his development; and this backwardness had been further accentuated
by a deliberate mind, which hardly kept pace with his physical growth.
His school record was fair: "Painstaking, but slow," was