CHAPTER VII

I experienced a great surprise a few mornings afterwards.  I had risen quite early, and found the Celebrity’s man superintending the hoisting of luggage on top of a van.

“Is your master leaving?” I asked.

“He’s off to Mohair now, sir,” said the valet, with a salute.

At that instant the Celebrity himself appeared.

“Yes, old chap, I’m off to Mohair,” he explained.  “There’s more sport in a day up there than you get here in a season.  Beastly slow place, this, unless one is a deacon or a doctor of divinity.  Why don’t you come up, Crocker?  Cooke would like nothing better; he has told me so a dozen times.”

“He is very good,” I replied.  I could not resist the temptation to add, “I had an idea Asquith rather suited your purposes just now.”

“I don’t quite understand,” he said, jumping at the other half of my meaning.

“Oh, nothing.  But you told me when you came here, if I am not mistaken, that you chose Asquith because of those very qualities for which you now condemn it.”

“Magna est vis consuetudinis,” he laughed; “I thought I could stand the life, but I can’t.  I am tired of their sects and synods and sermons.  By the way,” said he pulling at my sleeve, “what a deuced pretty girl that Miss Thorn is!  Isn’t she?  Rollins, where’s the cart?  Well, good-bye, Crocker; see you soon.”

He drove rapidly off as the clock struck six, and an uneasy glance he gave the upper windows did not escape me.  When Farrar appeared, I told him what had happened.

“Good riddance,” he replied sententiously.

We sat in silence until the bell rang, looking at the morning sun on the lake.  I was a little anxious to learn the state of Farrar’s feelings in regard to Miss Trevor, and how this new twist in affairs had affected them.  But I might as well have expected one of King Louis’s carp to whisper secrets of the old regime.  The young lady came to the breakfast-table looking so fresh and in such high spirits that I made sure she had not heard of the Celebrity’s ignoble escape.  As the meal proceeded it was easy to mark that her eye now and again fell across his empty chair, and glanced inquiringly towards the door.  I made up my mind that I would not be the bearer of evil news, and so did Farrar, so we kept up a vapid small-talk with Mr. Trevor on the condition of trade in the West.  Miss Trevor, however, in some way came to suspect that we could account for that vacant seat.  At last she fixed her eye inquiringly on me, and I trembled.

“Mr. Crocker,” she began, and paused.  Then she added with a fair unconcern, “do you happen to know where Mr. Allen is this morning?”

“He has gone over to Mohair, I believe,” I replied weakly.

“To Mohair!” she exclaimed, putting down her cup; “why, he promised to go canoeing at ten.

“Probably he will be back by then,” I ventured, not finding it in my heart to tell her the cruel truth.  But I kept my eyes on my plate.  They say a lie has short legs.  Mine had, for my black friend, Simpson, was at that instant taking off the fruit, and overheard my remark.