Trusia: A Princess of Krovitch by Davis Brinton
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CARRICK WAS FAR BEHIND]
TRUSIA
A PRINCESS OF KROVITCH
By
DAVIS BRINTON
With Illustrations by WALTER H. EVERETT
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON GEORGE W. JACOBS AND COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_Published, September, 1906_
_Reprinted, October_, 1906
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
_To A. M. P. this volume is gratefully inscribed_
CONTENTS
I. A WAGER IS MADE 9
II. "STRANGE COUNTRIES FOR TO SEE" 18
III. A DUEL--OF WITS 24
IV. THE GRAY MAN 34
V. I AM THE LADY TRUSIA 46
VI. THE GRAY MAN AGAIN 53
VII. A COOL RECEPTION 61
VIII. THE SPECTRE OF THE STAR 72
IX. IF ZULKA WERE HERE 80
X. THE GLIMMER OF SUSPICION 98
XI. YOU LOVE TRUSIA 101
XII. CARTER FINDS AN ALLY 115
XIII. A NEW MAJOR OF HUSSARS 121
XIV. FOUND IN THE COURTYARD OF THE INN 134
XV. THE DREAM KISS 149
XVI. YOU ARE THE KING OF KROVITCH 159
XVII. AT THE HOTEL DES S. CROIX 172
XVIII. I SAW--I KNOW 194
XIX. IT WAS JUDSON'S FAULT 202
XX. A SOUND AT MIDNIGHT 214
XXI. CARRICK WAS FAR BEHIND 228
XXII. CARRICK IS KING 240
XXIII. NOBLESSE OBLIGE 257
XXIV. STOLEN SLEEP 263
XXV. THEY MEET JOSEF 271
XXVI. THE VISTULA! 277
XXVII. YOU ARE STILL MY KING 284
XXVIII. A RE-UNION 294
ILLUSTRATIONS
Carrick was far behind _Frontispiece_
Mounted the steps and seated herself on the throne 82
"Don't let 'im carry your sweet face to the grave with 'im unless your love goes with it" 242
"For Trusia!" they shouted, and then, "For Krovitch!" 260
TRUSIA
I
A WAGER IS MADE
After the termination of a three months' struggle on the floor of'Change, resulting in the rout of his adversaries, who had counted on aneasy acquisition of his heritage in the P. & S. system, Calvert Carterwas grateful for that particular armchair in the reading-room of theRacquet Club.
"Those gentlemen, in banking on my inexperience in manipulations," hechuckled audibly, "evidently forgot that I had been a campaigner inCuba. Even though I didn't learn much there about Wall Street ortickers, I did gather some very valuable knowledge of human nature. Iguess that counts a little in deals, after all." His thoughts, releasedfrom the pressure of financial altercations, were a trifle tumultuousand wandering. They went bounding back now, at the mere mentalsuggestion of Cuba, to that tropic island, the scene of his stirringmilitary experiences.
Event followed event on the lightened screen of reminiscence. Herecalled with a quick surge of pulse the fervor of El Caney and the tidethat swept San Juan Hill by the chivalry of American manhood. There,too, was Santiago where his mastery of men had resulted in his beingappointed Provost Marshal of the conquered Spanish citadel. Then hismind inconsequently turned to the man who had passed through so manycrises with him.
"Carrick came through it all, too," he mused. "The veteran is now thevalet. Poor chap, his life has been a strange one." He recalled thestory the fellow had told of his past--a tale which had won for him thefriendship and aid of the man who had been his captain and was now hisemployer.
It had occurred in the white stuccoed house on the Plaza which had beenhis official quarters as Provost.
The picture of it, with its stately old-world balconies where violetshadows nested lovingly, arose before his memory's eyes with a strangeyearning. The recollection of those striped awnings in the white lightof mid-day had potency to cool, even now, the fever of his thoughts. Thebarren dignity of Carrick's story had contrasted vividly with thetropical colorings in which its recital had been inspired.
Prompted by a kindly interest in his orderly's career and ambitions, hehad asked the man as to his past in general and his future inparticular. He was totally unprepared for the undammed flood ofconfidence which had burst from the lips of the habitually taciturnCarrick. The tattered rags of the fellow's humble past were spreadbefore him in all their pathetic squalor. He saw, as though a livingthing, the barren, inarticulate childhood. He heard, under compulsion,the tale of youth's indefinable longings, with the meagre story of alove which lacked not its own shabby tragedy. The delicacy of agentleman, who had intruded where he had no right, had caused him todraw back with an apology; but the orderly had insisted on telling him.He could almost see the raw, quivering heart in Carrick's breast.
"I wonder," he pondered, "what that medal was he wore under his shirt?He said it was an heirloom. It looked devilishly like an order ofnobility." He referred to an incident in the man's narrative, when thelatter had drawn from beneath the blue army blouse what had at firstappeared to be a Star of the Bath. It had been solemnly handed to himfor inspection, with the information that the trooper's father had alsoworn it.
It was old. The circular scroll, which at one time had doubtless bornean inscription, was smooth save for a few dimples which indicatedfaintly where words had been. The centre was a slightly raised discabout an inch and a quarter in diameter. Upon this, of blue enamel,cracked and chipped with age and usage, was the figure of a lionrampant, a royal crown upon its head. From the central disc, intersectedby the scroll, radiated points of equal length, making a star of thewhole. Something also had been said about papers. Supposing that Carrickhad meant insurance policies, he had paid but passing heed to theallusion.
Carter's ideas were growing patchwork, he confessed. He felt he wasunable, in his weariness, to sustain much connected thought. The mentaltrend was all one way, however,--pointing to a desire to escape theenforced ennui, which was sure to be consequent upon his recentexhausting contest. Nor was he particularly anxious to meet any oneuntil he had eased up the terrific pace which his nerves had set him.
Hearing a couple of his friends enter, he determined to wait until theyshould discover him before he would make his presence known. Aware thatno one would choose that room for confidenti
"I tell you, Lang," Saunderson was saying to Langdon of the DiplomaticCorps,--"I tell you that there'll be war. It isn't going to be anypolice-clubbed riot this time. It'll be the real thing." Carter felt apersonal affront in Langdon's sceptical laugh at this assertion.
"How do you figure that, Saunderson?" the government man queried.
"Immigration statistics of the last ten years prove to any sane man thatthe natives are returning to their fatherland in unprecedented numbers.Read for yourself." The pause that followed, broken only by the rustlingof papers, was evidently devoted to a perusal of documents. ThenLangdon's voice again took up the theme.
"All right, Billy, but what do you expect to prove by the fact thateighty thousand men came here from Krovitch in the last ten years andsixty thousand return this year?"
"By the fact that it is _men_ that are going back--not women orchildren; that Krovitzers don't love Russia well enough to return asvolunteers against Japan; by the fact that ten thousand are trainedsoldiers."
"How do you know the last?"
"Private information." Billy's tone was significant. "War Department;don't repeat. Their enlistment up with Uncle Sam, these men have askedfor their discharges. All first-class soldiers and non coms."
"Hm," Langdon commented, partially convinced; then, as a new objectionstruck him, his tone was once more argumentative. "They can't fightwithout a backer," he continued. "Banking houses to-day control peaceand war as immutably as Christianity should. I don't believe that anyone would back them."
"Here comes Jackson, he'll know," Saunderson said as the door opened toadmit another man who instantly joined them.
"What's that you are leaving up to me, Billy? Do I hold the stakes?"Carter recognized the voice as that of one of his bitterest opponents inthe stock battle.
"Saunderson says that there will be real fighting in Krovitch," saidLangdon. "What does the money mart say?" Appealed to unexpectedly onthis topic, Jackson laughed a trifle consciously.
"Well, in strict confidence," he replied, "I'll tell you that I am in apool to finance things over there. That coup of Carter's pretty nearlydumped me on it, too."
Not desiring to become the butt of overheard personalities, Carter aroseat this juncture, and, bowing to the trio, left the room. After hisdeparture, the eyes of the first comers turned to Jackson, as one whohad just felt the mettle of Carter's steel. The half smile which hadbeen on Carter's face Jackson was perfectly willing to misinterpret.
"Gloating over our downfall," he remarked with reference to the day'shappenings on the Street.
"Not that kind of fellow," replied Saunderson, coming to the defense ofthe absent. "You were caught dancing; he simply made you pay the piper."
"He's hard as nails," retorted Jackson, gloomily; "not a particle ofsentiment in him."
"Look here, Jackson," said Langdon at this juncture, "you are dead wrongthere. Carter's record is different. He went out to Cuba for what wediscount nowadays--patriotism. While there he picked up a poor devil ofa Cockney and made more of a man of him than the fellow had ever dreamedof becoming. Literally picked him out of the gutter--drunk. That man ofhis,--Carrick,--I think that's his name."
"Right," assented Saunderson. "Then look what he did for Marian Griggswhen Jack's western bubble burst carrying her fortune with it. Jackblew his brains out, leaving her and the kids sky high. Though they hadabsolutely no claim on him other than disinterested friendship, Cal, inthe most delicate manner in the world, fixed things so that they shouldnever want. The girl told me herself. Sentiment? Why, man, he's chockfull of it. He's the sort that, when he hears of this coming scrap inKrovitch, will throw himself body and soul into it, as his forbears havedone from Marston Moor to date, just because it's likely to be a lostcause. He's always for the under dog--and I honor him for it. I'mwilling to bet he'll go to Krovitch when he hears."
"A thousand?" inquired Jackson with speculative ardor. Saundersonnarrowed his eyes, as he looked judiciously at the broker. He flickedthe ash from his cigarette before replying.
"Too much. What's the use?" he said. "Make it even money at a hundredand I'll go you. On any other man I'd ask odds. With Carter, though,when it comes to war, to women, or to any one needing help, he's rightthere with the goods. He's in a class by himself. Do you take the bet?"
"Certainly," answered Jackson as he handed the money over to Langdon asstakeholder. "Word of honor, Billy, that you will not urge him on?"
"Word of honor, Jackson. Keep your hands off, too." The two shook handsgravely, while Langdon made a memorandum of the wager.
Before he had reached the corner, the subject of this speculation hadforgotten, for the nonce, all about Krovitch and her troubles. Hiswearied mind--like a recalcitrant hunter at a stiffish fence--had thrownoff the idea as too much weight to carry. A week later he was to bereminded of the episode at the club. Its effects led him far afield intoa tale of romance, intrigue, war and women. Intrigue, war and women areinseparable.