Richard Harding Davis - Once Upon A Time

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"So I have been thinking," said the reporter. "I guess," he added
gravely, "what is going to happen is that before I find her husband I
will have got to know him pretty well."

Apparently, young Mrs. Ashton believed everything would come to pass
just as Ford promised it would and as he chose to order it; for the next
day, with a color not born of fever in her cheeks and courage in her
eyes, she joined Ford and the doctor at the luncheon-table. Her
attention was concentrated on the younger man. In him she saw the one
person who could bring her husband to her.

"She acts," growled the doctor later in the smoking-room, "as though
she was afraid you were going to back out of your promise and jump
overboard.

"Don't think," he protested violently, "it's you she's interested in.
All she sees in you is what you can do for her. Can you see that?"

"Any one as clever at seeing things as I am," returned the reporter,
"cannot help but see that."

Later, as Ford was walking on the upper deck, Mrs. Ashton came toward
him, beating her way against the wind. Without a trace of coquetry or
self-consciousness, and with a sigh of content, she laid her hand on his
arm.

"When I don't see you," she exclaimed as simply as a child, "I feel so
frightened. When I see you I know all will come right. Do you mind if I
walk with you?" she asked. "And do you mind if every now and then I ask
you to tell me again it will all come right?"

For the three days following Mrs. Ashton and Ford were constantly
together. Or, at least, Mrs. Ashton was constantly with Ford. She told
him that when she sat in her cabin the old fears returned to her, and in
these moments of panic she searched the ship for him.

The doctor protested that he was growing jealous.

"I'm not so greatly to be envied," suggested Ford. "'Harry' at meals
three times a day and on deck all the rest of the day becomes
monotonous. On a closer acquaintance with Harry he seems to be a decent
sort of a young man; at least he seems to have been at one time very
much in love with her."

"Well," sighed the doctor sentimentally, "she is certainly very much in
love with Harry."

Ford shook his head non-committingly. "I don't know her story," he said.
"Don't want to know it."

The ship was in the channel, on her way to Cherbourg, and running as
smoothly as a clock. From the shore friendly lights told them they were
nearing their journey's end; that the land was on every side. Seated on
a steamer-chair next to his in the semi-darkness of the deck, Mrs.
Ashton began to talk nervously and eagerly.

"Now that we are so near," she murmured, "I have got to tell you
something. If you did not know I would feel I had not been fair. You
might think that when you were doing so much for me I should have been
more honest."

She drew a long breath. "It's so hard," she said.

"Wait," commanded Ford. "Is it going to help me to find him?"

"No."

"Then don't tell me."

His tone caused the girl to start. She leaned toward him and peered into
his face. His eyes, as he looked back to her, were kind and
comprehending.

"You mean," said the amateur detective, "that your husband has deserted
you. That if it were not for the baby you would not try to find him. Is
that it?"

Mrs. Ashton breathed quickly and turned her face away.

"Yes," she whispered. "That is it."

There was a long pause. When she faced him again the fact that there was
no longer a secret between them seemed to give her courage.

"Maybe," she said, "you can understand. Maybe you can tell me what it
means. I have thought and thought. I have gone over it and over it until
when I go back to it my head aches. I have done nothing else but think,
and I can't make it seem better. I can't find any excuse. I have had no
one to talk to, no one I could tell. I have thought maybe a man could
understand." She raised her eyes appealingly.

"If you can only make it seem less cruel. Don't you see," she cried
miserably, "I want to believe; I want to forgive him. I want to think he
loves me. Oh! I want so to be able to love him; but how can I? I can't!
I can't!"

In the week in which they had been thrown together the girl
unconsciously had told Ford much about herself and her husband. What she
now told him was but an amplification of what he had guessed.

She had met Ashton a year and a half before, when she had just left
school at the convent and had returned to live with her family. Her home
was at Far Rockaway. Her father was a cashier in a bank at Long Island
City. One night, with a party of friends, she had been taken to a dance
at one of the beach hotels, and there met Ashton. At that time he was
one of a firm that was making book at the Aqueduct race-track. The girl
had met very few men and with them was shy and frightened, but with
Ashton she found herself at once at ease. That night he drove her and
her friends home in his touring-car and the next day they teased her
about her conquest. It made her very happy. After that she went to hops
at the hotel, and as the bookmaker did not dance, the two young people
sat upon the piazza. Then Ashton came to see her at her own house, but
when her father learned that the young man who had been calling upon her
was a bookmaker he told him he could not associate with his daughter.

But the girl was now deeply in love with Ashton, and apparently he with
her. He begged her to marry him. They knew that to this, partly from
prejudice and partly owing to his position in the bank, her father would
object. Accordingly they agreed that in August, when the racing moved to
Saratoga, they would run away and get married at that place. Their plan
was that Ashton would leave for Saratoga with the other racing men, and
that she would join him the next day.

They had arranged to be married by a magistrate, and Ashton had shown
her a letter from one at Saratoga who consented to perform the ceremony.
He had given her an engagement ring and two thousand dollars, which he
asked her to keep for him, lest tempted at the track he should lose it.

But she assured Ford it was not such material things as a letter, a
ring, or gift of money that had led her to trust Ashton. His fear of
losing her, his complete subjection to her wishes, his happiness in her
presence, all seemed to prove that to make her happy was his one wish,
and that he could do anything to make her unhappy appeared impossible.

They were married the morning she arrived at Saratoga; and the same day
departed for Niagara Falls and Quebec. The honeymoon lasted ten days.
They were ten days of complete happiness. No one, so the girl declared,
could have been more kind, more unselfishly considerate than her
husband. They returned to Saratoga and engaged a suite of rooms at one
of the big hotels. Ashton was not satisfied with the rooms shown him,
and leaving her upstairs returned to the office floor to ask for others.

Since that moment his wife had never seen him nor heard from him.

On the day of her marriage young Mrs. Ashton had written to her father,
asking him to give her his good wishes and pardon. He refused both. As
she had feared, he did not consider that for a bank clerk a gambler made
a desirable son-in-law; and the letters he wrote his daughter were so
bitter that in reply she informed him he had forced her to choose
between her family and her husband, and that she chose her husband. In
consequence, when she found herself deserted she felt she could not
return to her people. She remained in Saratoga. There she moved into
cheap lodgings, and in order that the two thousand dollars Ashton had
left with her might be saved for his child, she had learned to
type-write, and after four months had been able to support herself.
Within the last month a girl friend, who had known both Ashton and
herself before they were married, had written her that her husband was
living in London. For the sake of her son she had at once determined to
make an effort to seek him out.

"The son, nonsense!" exclaimed the doctor, when Ford retold the story.
"She is not crossing the ocean because she is worried about the future
of her son. She seeks her own happiness. The woman is in love with her
husband."

Ford shook his head.

"I don't know!" he objected. "She's so extravagant in her praise of
Harry that it seems unreal. It sounds insincere. Then, again, when I
swear I will find him she shows a delight that you might describe as
savage, almost vindictive. As though, if I did find Harry, the first
thing she would do would be to stick a knife in him."

"Maybe," volunteered the doctor sadly, "she has heard there is a woman
in the case. Maybe she is the one she's thinking of sticking the knife
into?"

"Well," declared the reporter, "if she doesn't stop looking savage
every time I promise to find Harry I won't find Harry. Why should I act
the part of Fate, anyway? How do I know that Harry hasn't got a wife in
London and several in the States? How do we know he didn't leave his
country for his country's good? That's what it looks like to me. How can
we tell what confronted him the day he went down to the hotel desk to
change his rooms and, instead, got into his touring-car and beat the
speed limit to Canada. Whom did he meet in the hotel corridor? A woman
with a perfectly good marriage certificate, or a detective with a
perfectly good warrant? Or did Harry find out that his bride had a devil
of a temper of her own, and that for him marriage was a failure? The
widow is certainly a very charming young woman, but there may be two
sides to this."

"You are a cynic, sir," protested the doctor.

"That may be," growled the reporter, "but I am not a private detective
agency, or a matrimonial bureau, and before I hear myself saying, 'Bless
you, my children!' both of these young people will have to show me why
they should not be kept asunder."

II

On the afternoon of their arrival in London Ford convoyed Mrs. Ashton to
an old-established private hotel in Craven Street.

"Here," he explained, "you will be within a few hundred yards of the
place in which your husband is said to spend his time. I will be living
in the same hotel. If I find him you will know it in ten minutes."

The widow gave a little gasp, whether of excitement or of happiness Ford
could not determine.

"Whatever happens," she begged, "will you let me hear from you
sometimes? You are the only person I know in London--and--it's so big it
frightens me. I don't want to be a burden," she went on eagerly, "but if
I can feel you are within call--"

"What you need," said Ford heartily, "is less of the doctor's nerve
tonic and sleeping draughts, and a little innocent diversion. To-night I
am going to take you to the Savoy to supper."

Mrs. Ashton exclaimed delightedly, and then was filled with misgivings.

"I have nothing to wear," she protested, "and over here, in the evening,
the women dress so well. I have a dinner gown," she exclaimed, "but
it's black. Would that do?"

Ford assured her nothing could be better. He had a man's vanity in
liking a woman with whom he was seen in public to be pretty and smartly
dressed, and he felt sure that in black the blond beauty of Mrs. Ashton
would appear to advantage. They arranged to meet at eleven on the
promenade leading to the Savoy supper-room, and parted with mutual
satisfaction at the prospect.

* * * * *

The finding of Harry Ashton was so simple that in its very simplicity it
appeared spectacular.

On leaving Mrs. Ashton, Ford engaged rooms at the Hotel Cecil. Before
visiting his rooms he made his way to the American bar. He did not go
there seeking Harry Ashton. His object was entirely self-centred. His
purpose was to drink to himself and to the lights of London. But as
though by appointment, the man he had promised to find was waiting for
him. As Ford entered the room, at a table facing the door sat Ashton.
There was no mistaking him. He wore a mustache, but it was disguise. He
was the same good-natured, good-looking youth who, in the photograph
from under a Panama hat, had smiled upon the world. With a glad cry
Ford rushed toward him.

"Fancy meeting _you_!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Ashton's good-natured smile did not relax. He merely shook his head.

"Afraid you have made a mistake," he said.

The reporter regarded him blankly. His face showed his disappointment.

"Aren't you Charles W. Garrett, of New York?" he demanded.

"Not me," said Mr. Ashton.

"But," Ford insisted in hurt tones, as though he were being trifled
with, "you have been told you look like him, haven't you?"

Mr. Ashton's good nature was unassailable.

"Sorry," he declared, "never heard of him."

Ford became garrulous, he could not believe two men could look so much
alike. It was a remarkable coincidence. The stranger must certainly have
a drink, the drink intended for his twin. Ashton was bored, but
accepted. He was well acquainted with the easy good-fellowship of his
countrymen. The room in which he sat was a meeting-place for them. He
considered that they were always giving each other drinks, and not only
were they always introducing themselves, but saying, "Shake hands with
my friend, Mr. So-and-So." After five minutes they showed each other
photographs of the children. This one, though as loquacious as the
others, seemed better dressed, more "wise"; he brought to the exile the
atmosphere of his beloved Broadway, so Ashton drank to him pleasantly.

"My name is Sydney Carter," he volunteered.

As a poker-player skims over the cards in his hand, Ford, in his mind's
eye, ran over the value of giving or not giving his right name. He
decided that Ashton would not have heard it and that, if he gave a false
one, there was a chance that later Ashton might find out that he had
done so. Accordingly he said, "Mine is Austin Ford," and seated himself
at Ashton's table. Within ten minutes the man he had promised to pluck
from among the eight million inhabitants of London was smiling
sympathetically at his jests and buying a drink.

On the steamer Ford had rehearsed the story with which, should he meet
Ashton, he would introduce himself. It was one arranged to fit with his
theory that Ashton was a crook. If Ashton were a crook Ford argued that
to at once ingratiate himself in his good graces he also must be a
crook. His plan was to invite Ashton to co-operate with him in some
scheme that was openly dishonest. By so doing he hoped apparently to
place himself at Ashton's mercy. He believed if he could persuade Ashton
he was more of a rascal than Ashton himself, and an exceedingly stupid
rascal, any distrust the bookmaker might feel toward him would
disappear. He made his advances so openly, and apparently showed his
hand so carelessly, that, from being bored, Ashton became puzzled, then
interested; and when Ford insisted he should dine with him, he
considered it so necessary to find out who the youth might be who was
forcing himself upon him that he accepted the invitation.

They adjourned to dress and an hour later, at Ford's suggestion, they
met at the Carlton. There Ford ordered a dinner calculated to lull his
newly made friend into a mood suited to confidence, but which had on
Ashton exactly the opposite effect. Merely for the pleasure of his
company, utter strangers were not in the habit of treating him to
strawberries in February, and vintage champagne; and, in consequence, in
Ford's hospitality he saw only cause for suspicion. If, as he had first
feared, Ford was a New York detective, it was most important he should
know that. No one better than Ashton understood that, at that moment,
his presence in New York meant, for the police, unalloyed satisfaction,
and for himself undisturbed solitude. But Ford was unlike any detective
of his acquaintance; and his acquaintance had been extensive. It was
true Ford was familiar with all the habits of Broadway and the
Tenderloin. Of places with which Ashton was intimate, and of men with
whom Ashton had formerly been well acquainted, he talked glibly. But, if
he were a detective, Ashton considered, they certainly had improved the
class.

The restaurant into which for the first time Ashton had penetrated, and
in which he felt ill at ease, was to Ford, he observed, a matter of
course. Evidently for Ford it held no terrors. He criticised the
service, patronized the head waiters, and grumbled at the food; and
when, on leaving the restaurant, an Englishman and his wife stopped at
their table to greet him, he accepted their welcome to London without
embarrassment.

Ashton, rolling his cigar between his lips, observed the incident with
increasing bewilderment.

"You've got some swell friends," he growled. "I'll bet you never met
_them_ at Healey's!"

"I meet all kinds of people in my business," said Ford. "I once sold
that man some mining stock, and the joke of it was," he added, smiling
knowingly, "it turned out to be good."

Ashton decided that the psychological moment had arrived.

"What _is_ your business?" he asked.

"I'm a company promoter," said Ford easily. "I thought I told you."

"I did not tell you that I was a company promoter, too, did I?" demanded
Ashton.

"No," answered Ford, with apparent surprise. "Are you? That's funny."

Ashton watched for the next move, but the subject seemed in no way to
interest Ford. Instead of following it up he began afresh.

"Have you any money lying idle?" he asked abruptly. "About a thousand
pounds."

Ashton recognized that the mysterious stranger was about to disclose
both himself and whatever object he had in seeking him out. He cast a
quick glance about him.

"I can always find money," he said guardedly. "What's the proposition?"

With pretended nervousness Ford leaned forward and began the story he
had rehearsed. It was a new version of an old swindle and to every
self-respecting confidence man was well known as the "sick engineer"
game. The plot is very simple. The sick engineer is supposed to be a
mining engineer who, as an expert, has examined a gold mine and reported
against it. For his services the company paid him partly in stock. He
falls ill and is at the point of death. While he has been ill much gold
has been found in the mine he examined, and the stock which he considers
worthless is now valuable. Of this, owing to his illness, he is
ignorant. One confidence man acts the part of the sick engineer, and the
other that of a broker who knows the engineer possesses the stock but
has no money with which to purchase it from him. For a share of the
stock he offers to tell the dupe where it and the engineer can be found.
They visit the man, apparently at the point of death, and the dupe gives
him money for his stock. Later the dupe finds the stock is worthless,
and the supposed engineer and the supposed broker divide the money he
paid for it. In telling the story Ford pretended he was the broker and
that he thought in Ashton he had found a dupe who would buy the stock
from the sick engineer.

As the story unfolded and Ashton appreciated the part Ford expected him
to play in it, his emotions were so varied that he was in danger of
apoplexy. Amusement, joy, chagrin, and indignation illuminated his
countenance. His cigar ceased to burn, and with his eyes opened wide he
regarded Ford in pitying wonder.

"Wait!" he commanded. He shook his head uncomprehendingly. "Tell me," he
asked, "do I look as easy as that, or are you just naturally foolish?"

Ford pretended to fall into a state of great alarm.

"I don't understand," he stammered.

"Why, son," exclaimed Ashton kindly, "I was taught that story in the
public schools. I invented it. I stopped using it before you cut your
teeth. Gee!" he exclaimed delightedly. "I knew I had grown
respectable-looking, but I didn't think I was so damned
respectable-looking as that!" He began to laugh silently; so greatly was
he amused that the tears shone in his eyes and his shoulders shook.

"I'm sorry for you, son," he protested, "but that's the funniest thing
that's come my way in two years. And you buying me hot-house grapes,
too, and fancy water! I wish you could see your face," he taunted.

Ford pretended to be greatly chagrined.

"All right," he declared roughly. "The laugh's on me this time, but just
because I lost one trick, don't think I don't know my business. Now
that I'm wise to what _you_ are we can work together and--"

[Illustration: "Do I look as easy as that, or are you just naturally
foolish?"]

The face of young Mr. Ashton became instantly grave. His jaws snapped
like a trap. When he spoke his tone was assured and slightly
contemptuous.

"Not with _me_ you can't work!" he said.

"Don't think because I fell down on this," Ford began hotly.

"I'm not thinking of you at all," said Ashton. "You're a nice little
fellow all right, but you have sized me up wrong. I am on the 'straight
and narrow' that leads back to little old New York and God's country,
and I am warranted not to run off my trolley."

The words were in the vernacular, but the tone in which the young man
spoke rang so confidently that it brought to Ford a pleasant thrill of
satisfaction. From the first he had found in the personality of the
young man something winning and likable; a shrewd manliness and tolerant
good-humor. His eyes may have shown his sympathy, for, in sudden
confidence, Ashton leaned nearer.

"It's like this," he said. "Several years ago I made a bad break and,
about a year later, they got on to me and I had to cut and run. In a
month the law of limitation lets me loose and I can go back. And you
can bet I'm _going_ back. I will be on the bowsprit of the first boat.
I've had all I want of the 'fugitive-from-justice' game, thank you, and
I have taken good care to keep a clean bill of health so that I won't
have to play it again. They've been trying to get me for several
years--especially the Pinkertons. They have chased me all over Europe.
Chased me with all kinds of men; sometimes with women; they've tried
everything except blood-hounds. At first I thought _you_ were a 'Pink,'
that's why--"

"I!" interrupted Ford, exploding derisively. "That's _good!_ That's one
on _you_." He ceased laughing and regarded Ashton kindly. "How do you
know I'm not?" he asked.

For an instant the face of the bookmaker grew a shade less red and his
eyes searched those of Ford in a quick agony of suspicion. Ford
continued to smile steadily at him, and Ashton breathed with relief.

"I'll take a chance with you," he said, "and if you are as bad a
detective as you are a sport I needn't worry."

They both laughed, and, with sudden mutual liking, each raised his glass
and nodded.

"But they haven't got me yet," continued Ashton, "and unless they get
me in the next thirty days I'm free. So you needn't think that I'll help
you. It's 'never again' for me. The first time, that was the fault of
the crowd I ran with; the second time, that would be _my_ fault. And
there ain't going to be any second time."

He shook his head doggedly, and with squared shoulders leaned back in
his chair.

"If it only breaks right for me," he declared, "I'll settle down in one
of those 'Own-your-own-homes,' forty-five minutes from Broadway, and
never leave the wife and the baby."

The words almost brought Ford to his feet. He had forgotten the wife and
the baby. He endeavored to explain his surprise by a sudden assumption
of incredulity.

"Fancy you married!" he exclaimed.

"Married!" protested Ashton. "I'm married to the finest little lady that
ever wore skirts, and in thirty-seven days I'll see her again.
Thirty-seven days," he repeated impatiently. "Gee! That's a hell of a
long time!"

Ford studied the young man with increased interest. That he was speaking
sincerely, from the heart, there seemed no possible doubt.

Ashton frowned and his face clouded. "I've not been able to treat her
just right," he volunteered. "If she wrote me, the letters might give
them a clew, and I don't write _her_ because I don't want her to know
all my troubles until they're over. But I know," he added, "that five
minutes' talk will set it all right. That is, if she still feels about
me the way I feel about her."

The man crushed his cigar in his fingers and threw the pieces on the
floor. "That's what's been the worst!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Not
hearing, not knowing. It's been hell!"

His eyes as he raised them were filled with suffering, deep and genuine.

Ford rose suddenly. "Let's go down to the Savoy for supper," he said.

"Supper!" growled Ashton. "What's the use of supper? Do you suppose cold
chicken and a sardine can keep me from _thinking_?"

Ford placed his hand on the other's shoulder.

"You come with me," he said kindly. "I'm going to do you a favor. I'm
going to bring you a piece of luck. Don't ask me any questions," he
commanded hurriedly. "Just take my word for it."

They had sat so late over their cigars that when they reached the
restaurant on the Embankment the supper-room was already partly filled,
and the corridors and lounge were brilliantly lit and gay with
well-dressed women. Ashton regarded the scene with gloomy eyes. Since he
had spoken of his wife he had remained silent, chewing savagely on a
fresh cigar. But Ford was grandly excited. He did not know exactly what
he intended to do. He was prepared to let events direct themselves, but
of two things he was assured: Mrs. Ashton loved her husband, and her
husband loved her. As the god in the car who was to bring them together,
he felt a delightful responsibility.

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