the lost road-第75章

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The　crew　of　the　armored　car　tumbled　off　the　rear　seat；　and　one　of
them　beat　upon　the　green　gate。　　Marie　felt　a　hand　of　ice　clutch　at　her
throat。　　But　she　controlled　herself。

〃And　what　is　this？〃　she　cried　gayly。

At　her　side　Captain　Thierry　was　smiling　down　at　her；　but　his
smile　was　hateful。

〃It　is　the　prison　of　St。　Lazare；〃　he　said。　　〃It　is　not　becoming；〃
he　added　sternly；　〃that　the　name　of　the　Countess　d'Aurillac
should　be　made　common　as　the　Paris　road！〃

Fighting　for　her　life；　Marie　thrust　herself　against　him；　her
arm　that　throughout　the　journey　had　rested　on　the　back　of　the
driving…seat　caressed　his　shoulders；　her　lips　and　the　violet　eyes
were　close　to　his。

〃Why　should　you　care？〃　she　whispered　fiercely。　　〃You　have　me！　Let
the　Count　d'Aurillac　look　after　the　honor　of　his　wife　himself。〃

The　charming　Thierry　laughed　at　her　mockingly。

〃He　means　to；〃　he　said。　　〃I　am　the　Count　d'Aurillac！〃



THE　DESERTER

In　Salonika；　the　American　consul；　the　Standard　Oil　man；　and
the　war　correspondents　formed　the　American　colony。　　The
correspondents　were　waiting　to　go　to　the　front。　　Incidentally；
as　we　waited；　the　front　was　coming　rapidly　toward　us。　　There
was　〃Uncle〃　Jim；　the　veteran　of　many　wars；　and　of　all　the
correspondents；　in　experience　the　oldest　and　in　spirit　the
youngest；　and　there　was　the　Kid；　and　the　Artist。　　The　Kid
jeered　at　us；　and　proudly　described　himself　as　the　only　Boy
Reporter　who　jumped　from　a　City　Hall　assignment　to　cover　a
European　War。　　〃I　don't　know　strategy；〃　he　would　boast；　〃neither
does　the　Man　at　Home。　　He　wants　'human　interest'　stuff；　and　I　give
him　what　he　wants。　　I　write　exclusively　for　the　subway　guard　and
the　farmers　in　the　wheat　belt。　　When　you　fellows　write　about　the
'Situation；'　they　don't　understand　it。　　Neither　do　you。　　Neither　does
Venizelos　or　the　King。　　I　don't　understand　it　myself。　　So；　I　write　my
people　heart…to…heart　talks　about　refugees　and　wounded；　and　what
kind　of　ploughs　the　Servian　peasants　use；　and　that　St。　Paul　wrote
his　letters　to　the　Thessalonians　from　the　same　hotel　where　I　write
mine；　and　I　tell　'em　to　pronounce　Salonika　'eeka；'　and　not　put
the　accent　on　the　'on。'　　This　morning　at　the　refugee　camp　I　found
all　the　little　Servians　of　the　Frothingham　unit　in　American　Boy
Scout　uniforms。　　That's　my　meat。　　That's　'home　week'　stuff。　　You
fellows　write　for　the　editorial　page；　and　nobody　reads　it。　　I　write
for　the　man　that　turns　first　to　Mutt　and　Jeff；　and　then　looks　to　see
where　they　are　running　the　new　Charlie　Chaplin　release。　　When
that　man　has　to　choose　between　'our　military　correspondent'　and
the　City　Hall　Reporter；　he　chooses　me！〃

The　third　man　was　John；　〃Our　Special　Artist。〃　　John　could　write
a　news　story；　too；　but　it　was　the　cartoons　that　had　made　him
famous。　　They　were　not　comic　page；　but　front　page　cartoons；　and
before　making　up　their　minds　what　they　thought；　people　waited　to
see　what　their　Artist　thought。　　So；　it　was　fortunate　his　thoughts
were　as　brave　and　clean　as　they　were　clever。　　He　was　the　original
Little　Brother　to　the　Poor。　　He　was　always　giving　away　money。
When　we　caught　him；　he　would　prevaricate。　He　would　say　the　man
was　a　college　chum；　that　he　had　borrowed　the　money　from　him；
and　that　this　was　the　first　chance　he　had　had　to　pay　it　back。　　The　Kid
suggested　it　was　strange　that　so　many　of　his　college　chums　should
at　the　same　moment　turn　up；　dead　broke；　in　Salonika；　and　that
half　of　them　should　be　women。

John　smiled　disarmingly。　　〃It　was　a　large　college；〃　he　explained；
〃and　coeducational。〃　　There　were　other　Americans；　Red　Cross
doctors　and　nurses　just　escaped　through　the　snow　from　the
Bulgars；　and　hyphenated　Americans　who　said　they　had　taken
out　their　first　papers。　　They　thought　hyphenated　citizens　were
so　popular　with　us；　that　we　would　pay　their　passage　to　New　York。
In　Salonika　they　were　transients。　　They　had　no　local　standing。　　They
had　no　local　lying…down　place；　either；　or　place　to　eat；　or　to　wash；
although　they　did　not　look　as　though　that　worried　them；　or　place
to　change　their　clothes。　　Or　clothes　to　change。　　It　was　because　we
had　clothes　to　change；　and　a　hotel　bedroom；　instead　of　a　bench　in
a　cafe；　that　we　were　ranked　as　residents　and　from　the　Greek　police
held　a　〃permission　to　sojourn。〃　　Our　American　colony　was　a　very
close　corporation。　　We　were　only　six　Americans　against　300；000
British；　French；　Greek；　and　Servian　soldiers；　and　120；000　civilian
Turks；　Spanish　Jews；　Armenians；　Persians；　Egyptians；　Albanians；
and　Arabs；　and　some　twenty　more　other　races　that　are　not　listed。
We　had　arrived　in　Salonika　before　the　rush；　and　at　the　Hotel　Hermes
on　the　water…front　had　secured　a　vast　room。　　The　edge　of　the　stone
quay　was　not　forty　feet　from　us；　the　only　landing　steps　directly
opposite　our　balcony。　　Everybody　who　arrived　on　the　Greek
passenger　boats　from　Naples　or　the　Piraeus；　or　who　had　shore
leave　from　a　man…of…war；　transport；　or　hospital　ship；　was　raked
by　our　cameras。　　There　were　four　windowsone　for　each　of　us
and　his　work　table。　　It　was　not　easy　to　work。　　What　was　the　use？
The　pictures　and　stories　outside　the　windows　fascinated　us；　but
when　we　sketched　them　or　wrote　about　them；　they　only　proved
us　inadequate。　　All　day　long　the　pinnaces；　cutters；　gigs；　steam
launches　shoved　and　bumped　against　the　stone　steps；　marines
came　ashore　for　the　mail；　stewards　for　fruit　and　fish；　Red　Cross
nurses　to　shop；　tiny　midshipmen　to　visit　the　movies；　and　the
sailors　and　officers　of　the　Russian；　French；　British；　Italian；
and　Greek　war…ships　to　stretch　their　legs　in　the　park　of　the　Tour
Blanche；　or　to　cramp　them　under　a　cafe　table。　　Sometimes　the
ambulances　blocked　the　quay　and　the　wounded　and　frost…bitten
were　lifted　into　the　motor…boats；　and　sometimes　a　squad　of　marines
lined　the　landing　stage；　and　as　a　coffin　under　a　French　or　English
flag　was　borne　up　the　stone　steps　stood　at　salute。　　So　crowded
was　the　harbor　that　the　oars　of　the　boatmen　interlocked。

Close　to　the　stone　quay；　stretched　along　the　three…mile　circle；
were　the　fishing　smacks；　beyond　them；　so　near　that　the　anchor
chains　fouled；　were　the　passenger　ships　with　gigantic　Greek　flags
painted　on　their　sides；　and　beyond　them　transports　from　Marseilles；
Malta；　and　Suvla　Bay；　black　colliers；　white　hospital　ships；　burning
green　electric　lights；　red…bellied　tramps　and　freighters；　and；　hemming
them　in；　the　grim；　mouse…colored　destroyers；　submarines；　cruisers；
dreadnaughts。　　At　times；　like　a　wall；　the　cold　fog　rose　between　us
and　the　harbor；　and　again　the　curtain　would　suddenly　be　ripped
asunder；　and　the　sun　would　flash　on　the　brass　work　of　the　fleet；
on　the　white　wings　of　the　aeroplanes；　on　the　snow…draped
shoulders　of　Mount　Olympus。　　We　often　speculated　as　to　how
in　the　early　days　the　gods　and　goddesses；　dressed　as　they　were；
or　as　they　were　not；　survived　the　snows　of　Mount　Olympus。　　Or
was　it　only　their　resort　for　the　summer？

It　got　about　that　we　had　a　vast　room　to　ourselves；　where　one
might　obtain　a　drink；　or　a　sofa　for　the　night；　or　even　money　to
cable　for　money。　　So；　we　had　many　strange　visitors；　some　half
starved；　half　frozen；　with　terrible　tales　of　the　Albanian　trail；
of　the　Austrian　prisoners　fallen　by　the　wayside；　of　the　mountain
passes　heaped　with　dead；　of　the　doctors　and　nurses　wading
waist…high　in　snow…drifts　and　for　food　killing　the　ponies。　　Some
of　our　visitors　wanted　to　get　their　names　in　the　American　papers
so　that　the　folks　at　home　would　know　they　were　still　alive；
others　wanted　us　to　keep　their　names　out　of　the　papers；　hoping
the　police　would　think　them　dead；　another；　convinced　it　was　of
pressing　news　value；　desired　us　to　advertise　the　fact　that　he　had
invented　a　poisonous　gas　for　use　in　the　trenches。　　With　difficulty
we　prevented　him　from　casting　it　adrift　in　our　room。　　Or；　he　had
for　sale　a　second…hand　motor…cycle；　or　he　would　accept　a　position
as　barkeeper；　or　for　five　francs　would　sell　a　state　secret　that；　once
made　public；　in　a　month　would　end　the　war。　　It　seemed　cheap　at
the　price。

Each　of　us　had　his　〃scouts〃　to　bring　him　the　bazaar　rumor；　the
Turkish　bath　rumor；　the　cafe　rumor。　　Some　of　our　scouts　journeyed
as　far　afield　as　Monastir　and　Doiran；　returning　to　drip　snow　on
the　floor；　and　to　tell　us　tales；　one…half　of　which　we　refused　to
believe；　and　the　other　half　the　censor　refused　to　pass。　　With　each
other's　visitors　it　was　etiquette　not　to　interfere。　　It　would　have
been　like　tapping　a　private　wire。　　When　we　found　John　sketching
a　giant　stranger　in　a　cap　and　coat　of　wolf　skin　we　did　not　seek
to　know　if　he　were　an　Albanian　brigand；　or　a　Servian　prince
incognito；　and　when　a　dark　Levantine　sat　close　to　the　Kid；
whispering；　and　the　Kid　banged　on　his　typewriter；　we　did　not
listen。

So；　when　I　came　in　one　afternoon　and　found　a　strange　American
youth　writing　at　John's　table；　and　no　one　introduced　us；　I　took
it　for　granted　he　had　sold　the　Artist　an　〃exclusive〃　story；　and
asked　no　questions。　　But　I　could　not　help　hearing　what　they　said。
Even　though　I　tried　to　drown　their　voices　by　beating　on　the　Kid's
typewriter。　　I　was　taking　my　third　lesson；　and　I　had　printed；　〃I
Amm　5w　writjng　This；　5wjth　my　own　lilly　w？ite　handS；〃　when　I
heard　the　Kid　saying：

〃You　can　beat　the　game　this　way。　　Let　John　buy　you　a　ticket　to　the
Piraeus。　　If　you　go　from　one　Greek　port　to　another　you　don't　need
a　vise。　　But；　if　you　book　from　here　to　Italy；　you　must　get　a　permit
from　the　Italian　consul；　and　our　consul；　and　the　police。　　The　plot
is　to　get　out　of　the　war　zone；　isn't　it？　Well；　then；　my　dope　is　to　get
out　quick；　and　map　the　rest　of　your　trip　when　you're　safe　in　Athens。〃

It　was　no　business　of　mine；　but　I　had　to　look　up。　　The　stranger
was　now　pacing　the　floor。　　I　noticed　that　while　his　face　was
almost　black　with　tan；　his　upper　lip　was　quite　white。　　I　noticed
also　that　he　had　his　hands　in　the　pockets　of　one　of　John's　blue
serge　suits；　and　that　the　pink　silk　shirt　he　wore　was　one　that
once　had　belonged　to　the　Kid。　　Except　for　the　pink　shirt；　in　the
appearance　of　the　young　man　there　was　nothing　unusual。　　He　was
of　a　familiar　type。　　He　looked　like　a　young　business　man　from　our
Middle　West；　matter…of…fact　and　unimaginative；　but　capable　and
self…reliant。　　If　he　had　had　a　fountain　pen　in　his　upper　waistcoat
pocket；　I　would　have　guessed　he　was　an　insurance　agent；　or　the
publicity　man　for　a　new　automobile。　　John　picked　up　his　hat；
and　said；　〃That's　good　advice。　　Give　me　your　steamer　ticket；　Fred；
and　I'll　have　them　change　it。〃　　He　went　out；　but　he　did　not　ask
Fred　to　go　with　him。

Uncle　Jim　rose；　and　murmured　something　about　the　Cafe　Roma；
and　tea。　　But　neither　did　he　invite　Fred　to　go　with　him。　　Instead；
he　told　him　to　make　himself　at　home；　and　if　he　wanted　anything
the　waiter　would　bring　it　from　the　cafe　downstairs。　　Then　the　Kid；
as　though　he　also　was　uncomfortable　at　being　left　alone　with　us；
hurried　to　the　door。　　〃Going　to　get　you　a　suit…case；〃　he　explained。
〃Back　in　five　minutes。〃

The　stranger　made　no　answer。　　Probably　he　did　not　hear　him。　　Not　a
hundred　feet　from　our　windows　three　Greek　steamers　were　huddled
together；　and　the　eyes　of　the　American　were　fixed　on　them。　　The
one　for　which　John　had　gone　to　buy　him　a　new　ticket　lay　nearest。
She　was　to　sail　in　two　hours。