“Well, folkses! That’s over! I’ve been in slides on the Rockies, but I never felt so queer as this one made me feel. When you understand your ground well, and can reckon on what might hold or what might give way, you feel easier. But on the Alps where all is new and strange to me, I wasn’t sure of this cliff being able to resist the impact.”

“Then it was very dangerous for us, was it?” gasped Mrs. Alexander, paling under the rouge on her face.

“Danger! Oh no—no more than jumpin’ off that precipice for a lark!” laughed Mr. Alexander, knocking the half-smoked ashes from his old pipe, and tucking the black friend away in his pocket.

“Well, Ebeneezer, when I see you waste good tobacco like that, I know you are so unbalanced that you don’t know what you’re doing,” retorted Mrs. Alexander.

This remark caused a laugh and everyone felt better immediately. Then Mr. Fabian turned to the little man and said: “We had better see how much damage is done to the roadster. Perhaps it will have to be towed to the next stopping place.”

It took another good hour to overhaul the little car and even then it was found to be too badly damaged to travel under its own power. While the two men were trying to repair the car, the girls worked to clear away the stones and débris that encumbered and blocked the road. The large rock that had caused the accident to Mrs. Alexander’s car, could be avoided, with careful steering, if the other trash was out of the way.

Polly showed her companions how to construct rough brooms of the brush that had fallen over the cliff, and soon they were sweeping for dear life, with the queer-looking implements. But the brush-brooms did the work thoroughly, and when the cars were ready to continue on the way, the road was cleared.

“Prof., before we leave here, I think we ought to place a sort of warning on the other side of that awful heap and the chasms in the roadway that the avalanche caused. We might use the red-silk shirt-waist I have in the bag,” said Polly, anxiously.

“Or go on to report to the nearest forester we meet,” said Mr. Alexander, from his western experience.

“We’ll do both,” returned Mr. Fabian. “It won’t take long to ram a pole in the débris and tie the red flag on it, but it may save others a great deal of danger.”

“Better still, if we can crawl over the slide that is piled high up on the trail, I might tie the flag to a young tree far enough down the roadway to spare anyone the climb to this narrow pass where they cannot turn around,” added Polly.

So Mr. Fabian and Polly managed to creep warily over the obstructions which were heaped over the roadway and, further down the trail, they found a tree that grew beside the road. Here the red blouse signal was left flying from the stripped young tree, and a warning was printed on the white silk cuff, telling of the dangers ahead in the path.

When the tourists were settled in the cars again, the large car leading and the crippled roadster being towed behind, they felt that they had done their duty and expressed their deep gratitude for their own safety, by leaving the signal flag for others to see and read.

It was slow work zig-zagging down the great height, as the little car could not work its brakes very well, and it had to be held back by the rear mud-guards of the leading car. But the breathless descent was finally accomplished and in the valley they found a tiny garage, placed there for the repairing of damaged automobiles.

“I shouldn’t think it would pay you to keep up a shop in this isolated spot,” remarked Mr. Fabian, when the mechanic was working on Mrs. Alexander’s car.

“But you don’t know how many tourists cross the Alps in summer; everyone finds something wrong, or runs out of gas, by the time they reach this valley,” explained the man.

Before the tourists were ready to depart, a number of cars had driven up, asked for gas or repairs, and then were told of the land-slide on top of the peak. This spared them climbing, as they could go by another road. The passengers in these cars were most grateful to Mr. Fabian’s party for the information, thus several parties had been benefited, before a crimson car drove up and a handsome young man called to the mechanic.

“Is this the right road over Top Pass?”

“Yes, but you can’t pass,” returned the man, then he told of the experiences the people in the American party had just had.

“My, that must have been some excitement! Wish we had been there,” cried the other young man, eagerly.

“Are you an American?” asked Mr. Fabian, certain of it even as he spoke, because the accent and manner of speech was Yankee.

The two young men exchanged looks with each other, and one replied: “We lived in the United States for many years.”

This speaker was about twenty-two or three, but the other one was younger. They both were exceptionally good-looking and free in their manner. It could be readily seen that their car and clothes were of the best, and one would naturally conclude that they were wealthy young men touring Europe for pleasure.

The roadster was now repaired and ready to be used, so the bill was paid and Mrs. Alexander got in. Mrs. Fabian was rather timid about trusting herself with such a chauffeur again, so Mr. Fabian seated himself beside the owner of the car.

“Which way do you go from here?” called out one of the strange young men.

“On to Turin,” answered Mr. Alexander.

“Do you mind if we follow you? We lost our way to Turin, somewhere, back there, and when we found ourselves here we decided to go on and not stop at Turin.”

This sounded rather lame for an excuse, but no one could refuse permission for the boys to follow, if they wanted to—so Mr. Alexander shouted back at them: “This air is free, and so is the earth! Foller what you like, as long as you don’t run us down and make us stop for another over-haulin’ of the cars.”

The young men laughed and thanked the sarcastic little man, but the girls smiled as they wondered if this change in route—or minds of the two young men—was caused by seeing a number of pretty misses in the touring car?

The day was far spent when the roadster was in a shape to continue the tour, and Turin was many a mile away. So it was found to be impossible to reach there that night. The recent experience with the avalanche had caused a reaction, too, and as everyone felt worn out with the tension, it was decided to stop at a small inn in the foot-hills of the Alps.

The automobiles had been left in the shed that was used for the cows and oxen, and the travellers entered the low-ceiled primitive room with ravenous appetites. The inn-keeper was cooking at a huge fireplace at the end of the room, and the odor of bacon and onions permeated the entire place.

“Oh!” sighed Eleanor, rolling her eyes upwards, “I never smelled anything so delicious!”

“Yet you abominate onions at other times,” laughed Polly.

“It all depends on the state of your appetite,” retorted Eleanor.

When the tourists were refreshed by washing and brushing, they returned to the great living-room. The two young strangers were there before them. The older of the two acted as spokesman and now introduced himself and his companion.

“This is my cousin, Alan Everard, of Winnipeg, Canada. And I am Basil Traviston, a resident of California, but not a native of that State.”

Mr. Fabian introduced his wife, and the other members of his party by name only, without mentioning the city or state whence they came. All through supper hour he maintained a dignified attitude which was meant to warn off any young men with dangerously good looks. But he might as well have tried to build a snow-man under the heat of a July sun.

Both young men were so charming, and told many witty stories which kept their audience in stitches of laughter that it was generally conceded, afterward, the two were most desirable fellow-travellers. Mr. and Mrs. Fabian sat up a full hour after the girls were asleep, however, trying to pick a flaw in the behavior of the two strangers, which might form a basis for the separation from the touring party. When all was said and done, the only tangible excuse was the fact that they were both so handsome and unknown.

The next morning the three cars started for Turin, and during the tiresome ride the two young men managed to keep up an exchange of interesting remarks that amused everyone. When they stopped for luncheon in the middle of the day, the two boys insisted upon waiting on the ladies and making themselves generally useful.

The time came for the tourists to get in their cars again, but Mrs. Alexander had taken a decided liking for the younger of the two young men—Alan Everard. So she invited him to travel in her car, and that left Mr. Fabian without a place.

“It’s only as far as Turin, you know,” explained Mrs. Alexander, trying to smile sweetly on the guide of the touring party.

Rather than create any unpleasantness, Mr. Fabian got in beside Basil Traviston. But he was determined, as long as he was forced to accept the seat, to learn more about the two new additions to his party.

After a perfunctory exchange of sentiments, Mr. Fabian said: “Your name is very English, and the fact that your cousin is from Winnipeg, leads me to judge that you both are of English descent.”

“My cousin’s real name is not Everard—that is his first name; but we both are travelling incognito on the Continent, as our titles and names are so well-known that people stand to stare, and annoy us with their interest. So we decided to travel unknown, this season.”

Mr. Fabian frowned, and glanced side-ways from his eyes, to see if the young man was presuming upon his intelligence. But Traviston was driving with a most guileless expression. In fact, no handsome babe could have appeared more innocent than he.

“It really seems as if we have been unusually blessed—or cursed, I don’t know which—with young men who claim titles. Mrs. Alexander wished so intensely for titled young men to travel with, it looks as if she attracted them to our party,” said Mr. Fabian, smiling cynically.

“Is that so?” returned Traviston, but his tone and expression failed to show any resentment or interest in the information. Mr. Fabian wondered, and decided not to tread on thin ice any more, just then.

But Mrs. Alexander was faring much better with the young man in her car. Almost immediately after they had resumed the tour she asked pointedly: “Your cousin’s name, and yours as well, is very English. Perhaps you belong to an old family?”

“Oh yes,” returned Everard. “Both of us came over, this year, on purpose to trace our family-trees. I have learned that my people go back to Adam without a break.”

“Not really!” gasped Mrs. Alexander, astonished at such a long line of ancestry.

“Yes, and Basil now believes he can antedate Adam, and trace some facts about his ancestry that started with a missing link.” Young Everard laughed softly as he spoke, but his companion never having heard of Darwin, believed every word he said; whereas he thought she knew he was joking.

“You and your cousin must be young men of leisure, or you couldn’t spend a whole summer touring Europe in such an expensive car. I noticed how sporty the car was, before I saw either of you,” said Mrs. Alexander.

“That’s just it. When Basil and I work, we have to work like Trojans. But when we finish a contract we take life easy until the next job comes up.”

“Oh, you work? I wouldn’t have said so. What sort of contract work do you do?” asked Mrs. Alexander. The pedestal she had used for her two new heroes, seemed shaking dangerously.

Everard laughed. “Some people laugh at what we call work, but they don’t realize that playing is the hardest kind of work. I sometimes think I will chuck the whole game and knuckle down to the real thing—work that is called work. But money is sweet, and if one likes to spend, then the weak little decision to work as others do, dies hard and I go on with the play.”

Mrs. Alexander suddenly realized that she had misunderstood the young man’s first words. Then he called “playing” his work, and with his money he found playing as hard a work as a poor man finds his labor. So she sympathized with his ideals and thought him a remarkable young man.

Before they reached Turin, she had her suspicions that he was a very important young man; for he had given her certain bits of information that told how well-known he and his cousin were, and how they dodged at certain places to travel incognito to avoid publicity.

CHAPTER XI—THE PLOT IN VENICE

“Of course—do you?” returned the handsome boys.

“He toured with me all through Belgium and Holland,” quickly bragged Mrs. Alexander, certain now that these two young men were “somebodies.”

“Why—I really believe you are the people he wrote us about!” exclaimed Everard, honestly surprised at his discovery.

“Yes—he said there were four of the prettiest girls in the party, but he never mentioned their names,” added Traviston.

Now the four girls smiled with gratification, and before they started for Milan, it was half decided to visit the Count at his Italian Estate, before going on to Rome, or other places south of Venice.

At Milan the young men said they would get in communication with the Count and arrange for their going there the next day, Mr. Fabian escorted his girls to the famous cathedral of Milan, and showed them the places of interest in the city, then they resumed the journey to Padua, where they purposed remaining over-night. From there they would drive to Chalmys Palace in the morning, just a few miles from Venice.

During the absence of Mr. Fabian and his companions on the tour of the city, Mrs. Alexander had determined to get all the information she could from the two young men, when they came back to the hotel. And they, seeing how eager she was for them to develop into superior beings of quality, thought to please her that way.

When her friends joined her at the hotel again, the two young men were not there, but she was bubbling over with wonderful news.

“I knew it! I can tell the moment I see a young man with a title. That one who calls himself Basil Traviston, is really a Marquis of France. He came into the title a few weeks ago, but he doesn’t seem to fuss about it any. And his cousin Alan Everard is the son of Count Chalmys. That is why they know him so well.”

“The Count’s son?” gasped Nancy Fabian, unbelievingly.

“Yes, and they were all in Paris together and had planned to join each other again at Venice. But they will meet at Chalmys Palace sooner than they had intended,” explained Mrs. Alexander.

“Why, Maggie, that boy Everard is only some years younger than the Count, unless the Italian looks much younger than he is; besides that, if the Count is from Italy how can the French Marquis be the boy’s cousin? And why do they come from the States?” asked Mr. Alexander deeply puzzled.

Mr. Fabian mistrusted the whole story, yet he had to admit that Traviston seemed most honest the day he spoke of his title and name. So he said nothing, but hoped to be spared further agonies from Mrs. Alexander’s worship of nobility as per her ideals.

Mrs. Fabian was back with Mrs. Alexander, and the two boys were in their car; all were travelling along the road at a good speed, and the girls were picturing what the wonderful old Chalmys’ palace would be like, when a long low car with splendid lines approached, coming from the opposite direction.

“If there isn’t Chalmys! Coming to meet us!” exclaimed Traviston, to the people in the other cars.

“How lovely of him!” sighed Mrs. Alexander, almost running her car into the ditch in her eagerness to see the Count.

The long-nosed car drew up beside the touring car and the Count leaned over the side.

“Well, this is a great pleasure, Mr. Fabian! And the ladies—how are they? As beautiful as ever, I warrant,” called he, gallantly.

The passengers in Mr. Alexander’s car exchanged pleasant greetings with the Count who then asked pardon while he welcomed his two friends. He urged his car along a few feet further until it was opposite the boys’ car, and there they conversed eagerly for a few minutes.

Mr. Alexander nudged Mr. Fabian and whispered: “Did you-all hear him say ‘I want to speak to my two friends?’ He diden’ say ‘I want to speak to my son.’”

Mr. Fabian nodded understandingly, but watched the Count closely. No look of paternal affection was given Everard, and if he was his son who had been absent from home so long, why wouldn’t the impulsive Italian father greet him eagerly? It was a puzzle that became more intricate, to Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander.

The Count seemed to forget there were others nearby, and when he said: “The wire read for us to be ready for the scene at the Palace Dario, tomorrow night at nine. That is why I drove out to meet you. I’ll be at the hotel tomorrow, myself, in time to go with you. Then we will all come back to the Palace the next day.”

The two young men seemed regretful about something, but they nodded in acceptance of the Count’s orders. Then the other members of the party were addressed.

“I find we all have to be present at Venice tomorrow night for an important engagement, and if you, my good friends, will pardon this change of plans, I will be under obligation to you if you go on to Venice now, and visit me at Chalmys Palace a few days hence.”

Of course, everyone signified perfect satisfaction at changing the plans, so they all drove along the road together, towards Venice. The Count left them before reaching the city gates, and his last words were: “I will meet you at the hotel tomorrow evening, boys.”

“Do you know, Fabian, it all sounds shady to me?” said little Mr. Alexander, puckering his forehead over the queer case.

“It may be that we think it is strange because we haven’t the key to the situation,” said Mrs. Fabian, always ready to make allowances for people.

It was a novel experience to exchange motor-cars for the picturesque gondolas of Venice. But it was a luxurious exchange. As they floated along, Mrs. Alexander was deeply annoyed because she was separated from the young folks, and placed beside her husband, who was concerned about so many pigeons living in a city; the boys entertained the girls with descriptions of romances which had a splendid setting in Venice; then they told of the prominent Motion Picture companies who came all the way from America to take their pictures on the spot.

The first evening was spent in passing through the Grand Canal and seeing the wonderful palaces on either side. Mr. Fabian knew the more famous buildings and called them out to his party in the other gondolas.

The gondolier pointed out the Custom House, the Mint, the Garden of the Royal Palace, and other buildings, before they came to a beautiful fairy-like palace.

“Isn’t that a lovely place,” remarked Polly, gazing at the very ancient-looking palace.

“That’s the Palazzo Dario, of the 15th century, famous for its beauty and preservation,” replied Alan Everard.

“Oh, is that where you are to——” began Dodo, but Polly nudged her suddenly and checked what she was about to say.

The two young men seemed not to have heard her unfinished sentence, and Mr. Fabian was all the more puzzled over the fact.

All the next day was spent in visiting the points of interest in Venice: the Palace of the Doges, the Museum and the famous old churches and palaces being on the list. The two young men had said they would have to be excused as they would be very busy all day, in order to be ready for the evening’s engagement with the Count.

The very lack of guile and duplicity in the words and the manners of the young men, caused all the more concern over what was now looming up in the fancies of the adults in the Fabian party, as a plot that had been accidentally revealed by the Count.

Mr. Alexander said he would remain about the hotel while the others were sight-seeing, as he had no use for old buildings. So he waited until everyone had gone—the two boys to their appointment and the Fabian party to the palaces and museums, then he went upstairs and boldly entered the rooms occupied by the two suspected young men.

After half an hour of careful searching he came forth with a huge bundle under his arm and an exultant expression on his face. Late that afternoon when the tourists returned to the hotel to dress for dinner and then take a sail on the Canal, Mr. Alexander beckoned in a strange manner to Mr. Fabian.

Mr. Fabian followed the little man to his room, and when the door had been carefully closed and locked, the latter said: “Well, I unearthed the foxes! I stayed to home on purpose, today, to go through their belongings, and this is what I found!”

As he spoke, he lifted his coat from the pile on the table. Mr. Fabian wonderingly examined the articles displayed there. A number of brushes with silver backs were engraved with the name “Albert Brown.” Several handkerchiefs were initialed “B.F.S.” A fine Panama hat had a marker inside that read: “B.F. Smith.” Other small objects which evidently belonged to the two young men bore their names or initials—the same as those already read by Mr. Fabian.

“It’s all very queer, and I don’t know what to make of it,” remarked Mr. Fabian, thoughtfully.

“Well, I tell you what I’d do! I’d tell them what we know of this and then clear them out. It’s my opinion that that dark Count Chalmys fixed up something with these two good-lookers just to get us to visit his old palace and maybe play some tricks on us to get our cash,” said Mr. Alexander, rising to the very peak of tragic imagination.

Mr. Fabian laughed. “Oh no, I don’t think that; but it is all a strange experience, when you try to find a reason for it all.”

“Wall, just keep your eyes open, tonight, and see if I ain’t right in what I said. I bet those three men will get in trouble yet, and I’m going to do my part to protect the gals.”

At Mr. Alexander’s words, Mr. Fabian smiled but did not advise the little man to wait and watch before he took any further steps. He left the room to go and dress for the evening, and Mr. Alexander managed to return the articles he had taken from the boys’ rooms, without being discovered in the act.

At dinner that night, Mrs. Alexander had a very interesting story to relate.

“I was reading in the Grand Parlor of the hotel, when the Count came in. He was surprised to see me, but he said he was waiting for the two boys, who were going out with him.

“Well, we talked for a time, and then young Everard came in. He looked angry about something. He said he had had some things stolen from his room and Traviston was reporting the theft at the desk. They needed the brushes and toilet things and now they had to go without them.

“I thought it was funny, if they were only going out for an engagement, to take any toilet articles along, but I didn’t say anything. While we three were talking, Traviston came in and, oh my! wasn’t he dressed up to kill. I suppose it was the Court costume they wear when they visit royalty. He had the gold star on his breast and a wide ribbon crossed over his chest. He had a long ulster coat that his friends made him put on before they left. He never said a word about why he was dressed up, or where they were going, but I know he is going to visit some big noble—maybe a Prince.”

“Maybe they’re a lot of tricksters in disguise,” sneered Mr. Alexander.

“Why, Ebeneezer! How can you say such mean things before the girls. They know what nice young men they are,” declared Mrs. Alexander.

“I must say,” added Nancy Fabian, “that I met Count Chalmys in Paris just before the Art Classes disbanded, and I never saw anything out of the way. He was always very gallant and kind.”

“You never told me how it was you met him, Nancy,” said her father.

Nancy flushed but decided to speak out. “Well, he was studying art posing at the school, and having the dark beauty and magnificent form of a Greek, he was requested to pose as a gladiator. He explained to me later, that it was the first time in his life that he posed, but he did it for fun more than anything else. I believe him, too, because he certainly doesn’t need the money which was paid for the posing.”

Nancy’s explanation added still other tangles to the maze, and the two men wondered what would be the final ravelling of it all.

While the girls went for their long cloaks to wear, that evening, in the gondolas, Mr. Alexander slipped away to converse with an official-looking man he had met in the corridor. The Fabians and Mrs. Alexander came downstairs first, but were soon joined by the four girls. As they passed the hotel office, Mr. Alexander followed after them.

It was a beautiful night, with a clear sky overhead and twinkling lights bobbing along the Grand Canal, as gondolas passed up and down filled with happy passengers. When the Fabian party in their gondolas drew near the Palazzo Dario, they wondered at the crowd gathered in gondolas along both sides of the Canal.

A row of gondolas was stationed across the Canal on either side of the Palazzo Dario, and Mr. Fabian learned that they could not pass without a permit.

“What’s the matter? I haven’t heard of any important event about to take place here tonight?” said Mr. Fabian.

“No! But ’tis so. Meester Griffet pay much money for use of Palazzo this night. You wait here on line and see the play go on,” said the officer, as he made an opening for the gondolas of the generous Americans to wedge in on the front line.

Thus it happened that not long after the Fabian party reached the spot, a camera-man climbed upon a platform built opposite the Palazzo Dario, and took his seat behind the apparatus. The blinding Cooper-Hewitt lights used in Studios, were so placed over the balcony and entrance of the Palazzo that they would reflect and bring out every detail in the picture about to be taken.

Not a word was heard from anyone in Mr. Fabian’s party, but when a Marquis of France challenged a handsome young nobleman of Italy to a duel over a lovely English girl, and the father of the handsome Italian youth intercepted, the girls in Mr. Fabian’s gondola laughed hysterically. Even Mr. Fabian had to smile.

It was most exciting to watch the two handsome young men they had known in everyday life, now play the leads in this Motion Picture Play. The Count was exceptionally good in playing his part, while the good looks of the two young men made up for any shortcomings in their acting.

“Well, that explains everything!” sighed Mr. Alexander, as the audience in the gondolas were allowed to travel onwards along the Canal.

“Oh, but I can’t believe those nice young men really have no titles!” cried Mrs. Alexander, tears of vexation filling her eyes.

“They have! Didn’t you see for yourself, Maggie?” laughed her husband. “Alan is the heir to the Count’s title, and Basil is a Marquis.”

“I wonder if their fancy names are only for stage use?” said Polly, smiling at the way everyone had been hoaxed.

“Sure! I know their real names,” returned Mr. Alexander, triumphantly. “I knew them before tonight, and I told Mr. Fabian, diden’ I, Fabian?”

“Yes, we know both their reel names,” laughed Mr. Fabian.

“Do tell us who they are? Maybe we’ve seen them at home,” said Eleanor.

“Well, one is Albert Brown and t’other is B. Smith. Both are from the States, and that one from Californy is likely from Hollywood, where this Comp’ny hails from,” chuckled Mr. Alexander.

Early the following morning, before the tourists left the breakfast room, Count Chalmys and his two friends hurried in.

“Well, when will you be ready to visit my palace?” said he.

“What palace?” asked Mr. Alexander, frowning at what he considered a Movie joke from the actor.

“Why, my palace. I expected you to come with me to visit at Chalmys Palace, today. You said you would!” wondered the Count.

“Have you really got a palace?” asked Dodo, innocently.

Her expression caused the others to laugh, and Count Chalmys returned: “Of course I have. Would I invite you to visit me if I had no place to entertain?”

Everyone looked at everyone else, and then at the three actors. Finally the Count began to understand that the Fabian party had not had the slightest inkling of the scene that took place the night before, and so the facts began to come forth.

Mrs. Alexander was the only member in the party who had no interest in visiting the Count, now. When he said that another scene in the play was to take place that afternoon at his palace, the girls were eager to go and watch the interesting picture-making.

So they all started out, Mrs. Alexander going, too; but she insisted upon having it understood that she was not interested in the visit other than to accompany her friends.

Count Chalmys had made elaborate preparations for the guests, and when they sat down to luncheon in the grand old palace, Mrs. Alexander stared in amazement at the crest embroidered on the napkins. The liveried servants came and went noiselessly, carrying services of old plate with the coat of arms in filigree on the engraved edges.

After luncheon the Count showed his visitors the gardens, and then they visited the picture collection he had spoken of at the Paris Art Sale. Mr. Fabian recognized several Old Masters and felt still more puzzled over all he had learned.

Then the Griffet Company arrived and the scenes in the gardens of the Palace began, then several interiors were taken. After the Motion Picture Company had gone, Mr. Fabian said something about returning to Venice.

“Oh, not yet, surely!” exclaimed the Count. “I have ordered dinner for tonight, thinking surely you would remain and spend the evening.”

Thus persuaded, they remained and passed a very enjoyable time. On the way back to the hotel, that night, Mr. Alexander decided to ask the two young men outright, how it was their fellow actor called himself “Count” and lived in such a gorgeous manner.

B. Smith alias Basil Traviston laughed. “Why, Chalmys is a born Italian but he went to America as a boy. He was so handsome that he was engaged over there to take a lead in a picture where his type was needed. He never knew he could act until that trial, but he made so good that they offered him a wonderful salary to stay on with them.

“During the recent war the male line of descent in his family were killed off, so that he came into the title and property of the Chalmys. He never dreamed of such a possibility, as he was but distantly connected with the Count’s family.

“The estate is heavily taxed and debts are greater to pay, than the incomes to be collected, so the Count uses the palace for picture purposes and derives a nice little income that way, also. It is enough to pay the upkeep of the place, anyway, so that he does not have to draw on his own salary to maintain the estate.”

“Then he is a real live Count after all?” gasped Mrs. Alexander, sorrowing because she discovered it too late to avail herself of the information.

“A reel man in America, and a real Count in Italy,” laughed Alan Everard, alias Brown.

One more day was given to Venice, while the tourists visited the collections at the Accademia, took pictures of the beautiful churches and admired the wonderful paintings and sculpturings of San Marco, and other famous buildings.

The two handsome young men bid them good-by that afternoon, as they were going back to Paris to meet the rest of the Company and then go on to Havre where they were to sail soon, for America. And the touring party prepared to leave Venice and start for Florence, the Tuscan City where Mr. Fabian expected to find many wonders to show his students.

CHAPTER XII—ESCAPING AN EARTHQUAKE

The second day was given to visiting at the Piazzale Michelangelo, and to see the Cathedral Santo Maria del Fiore, with its beautiful façade.

Mr. Fabian conducted the girls to Pisa, the third day, but the elders in the party preferred to remain in the cars when the ardent admirers of antiquity visited the places of past glories.

Then they drove on from Florence and stopped over night at Arretzo; and in the morning they went to Perugia, a mediaeval town with ancient buildings and still more ancient churches.

From Perugia the route lay due south to Rome. It proved to be a delightful trip through the wonderful country-lanes and spreading fields which were cultivated to the last inch.

As they came nearer Rome, they began to feel the oppressive heat which had been gradually growing more intense all that day. Mr. Fabian had planned to spend a full week, or more, in Rome in order to give the girls ample time to see everything there, worth while.

The first day they visited the Coliseum, the Forum and other famous places. Then he escorted them to the Cloaca Maxima to study Etruscan Art. Next they visited the Museum in the Villa of Pope Julius; then the Etruscan Museum of the Vatican; also the Mamertine Prison, and many places famed for their collections of antiquities and art.

One day they went to see the famous façade and bits of architecture still to be found in Rome, such as the “Spanish Steps” of the Piazza di Spagna, and the Triumphal Arch of Septimus Severus. Mr. Fabian had unwillingly to end the day’s visits, however, because of the terrific heat.

The sun had been shining through a red haze for several days, and the reflection from the Mediterranean was so oppressive that the tourists decided to cut their stay in Rome short and drive on across Italy to Naples, which always boasted a fine breeze from the Bay.

So the hotel bill was paid that night, and the baggage made ready for an early start. The travelling trunk was locked on the rack of the automobile, and everything else was prepared that no time would be lost in the morning.

The heat that evening was even worse than at any time during their stay in Rome, and rumors were heard that the seismograph had registered tremors and slight earthquakes, all day. This was not encouraging to the Americans, and they retired at night with all apparel on excepting shoes and their coats.

Fatigue and the drowsiness produced by the heat overcame everyone after a time, and they slept until about one o’clock. A strange shaking of Polly’s bed woke her suddenly. She sat up and felt the room swaying. She reached out and called to Eleanor.

“Get up, Nolla! Get up—it’s the earthquake!” cried she, springing from the bed.

“Uh! Wh-a-d you s-ay?” mumbled Eleanor drowsily.

“Quick! We’ve got to get out. The earthquake’s here!” shouted Polly, trying in vain to catch hold of the bed-post while everything rocked as if on a vessel at sea.

A falling picture upon Eleanor’s feet startled her so that she jumped up and gazed in affright at Polly. “What is it?” asked she, seeing the toilet dishes on the stand roll upon the floor.

“Earthquakes! Hurry—hurry!” screamed Polly, almost too frightened to find the buttons on her dress.

Dodo and Nancy tumbled headlong into the room now, both crying and wishing they had “left this old Rome before this happened.”

The girls managed to get into their shoes in short order and when Mrs. Fabian rushed in to drag them forth, they were all dressed. Polly and Eleanor remembered to catch up their bags, and then ran after the Fabians who had roused the Alexanders and told them to run for the open street.

But the street presented such a scene that Mr. Fabian instantly decided to leave whatever they had forgotten in the hotel rooms and get away in the automobiles.

“Oh, see that chimney topple over!” cried Nancy, as the brick structure of a distant building was seen to fall in.

Screams and cries, pushing and huddling of the mobs in the streets, created a panic with the excitable Latin people, and Mr. Alexander quickly turned and said to his party: “I’m going to get out the cars. Dodo can go with me to handle Ma’s roadster. You-all follow Mr. Fabian through the safest streets and go out along the Appian Way. I’ll meet you there and pick you up. We’ll get out of Rome at once!”

He had not been gone a minute before another severe quake shook the city so that it seemed as if the earth rose and fell in billows. Collapsing buildings were heard crashing down upon the streets, dogs howled, other animals added their fearful noises to the panic-stricken cries of the populace, and a pandemonium was the result.

Mr. Fabian and his wife kept their presence of mind in all this distraction, but Mrs. Alexander wept loudly and dragged at her blonde hair in despair when she realized that this was her end. “Oh why did I ever want to come to Europe to be killed in Rome, when I could have lived a long life peacefully in Denver!” wailed she, hysterically.

It took all of Polly’s and Eleanor’s time and temper to soothe the fear-paralyzed woman. But she was able to follow the Fabians when they started for the Appian Way—in fact she wanted to run ahead and get out of the city.

It took a long time of trial and tortuous going before they reached the quieter sections of Rome; and finally they began to glimpse the Appian Way through the haze of fire and smoke that now spread a pall over the city.

They had just heard the welcome sounds of Mr. Alexander’s voice, when another tremor shook the city so that the girls clung to each other in support. Instantly a man’s genial voice called: “Well, I’ll be gol-durned if I had to come all the way to Rome to get an earthquake! We can get these sort nearer Denver, without charge.”

In spite of their fear everyone smiled at the little man who could joke in the face of such disasters. But he created the effect of releasing the tension, and thus destroying much of the fear.

Mr. Alexander directed the Fabian party to their cars, and when they had climbed in and wished the tourists who crowded around, a safe escape from the city, the two drivers started away.

They had not gone more than a mile, when another very severe shock seemed to move the ground from under the cars. The screams from the crowded city streets could be heard at this distance from the scene, and Polly said: “It makes me feel like a criminal to run away and leave all those people to their doom.”

“It’s better for as many to get out of the city as can go, unless they are trained to help in this emergency,” said Mrs. Fabian.

Mrs. Alexander had calmed down considerably when she was seated in the car, and now she began to question her husband.

“Ebeneezer, did you bring my travelling bag?”

“I dun’no. I grabbed up everything in sight, from my old razor strop to my scarf-pin,” returned her spouse, jovially.

“My bag held that new evening coat,” cried Mrs. Alexander.

“Never mind a little thing like that!” advised her lord.

“That’s all you care for a two-hundred dollar wrap, but I know you didn’t forget that horrid pipe!” retorted she.

“I know I diden’, too, ’cause it’s goin’ in my mouth this minute!” chuckled Mr. Alexander, making his companions laugh.

“Call Dodo—stop her, this minute,” commanded Mrs. Alexander. “I must ask her if she took my bag. If she didn’t I’m going back for it!”

To pacify her, the cars stopped and Dodo was asked if she saw the bag that had held her mother’s evening wrap.

“No, but I thought I caught up one of Ma’s belongings,” Dodo called back. “When I got to the garage and turned the light on to see what I had saved I found it was a bed-pillow!”

A laugh greeted this reply, and Nancy then admitted: “I didn’t know what I was doing when I first jumped out of bed, but I intended getting my hair-brush and comb in case of need. When we got out on the street I found I had the cake of soap and the telephone pad that was kept on the stand beside the bed.”

“Well, Ma,” asked Mr. Alexander, as Dodo started her car again, “are you going to get out and go back for them things?”

“You are a bad cruel man, Ebeneezer Alexander, and I wonder that I could live with you as long as I have,” snapped his wife.

“I wonder at it myself,” chuckled the cheerful “cruel” man.

But they drove on and no more was said about the elaborate evening wrap that was lost in the earthquake that night.

As they sped away, determined to get as far from the scene of disaster as possible, that night, Eleanor spoke.

“I wonder if there is anything else I have to live through before I can settle down quietly.”

“Now what’s the matter?” demanded Polly.

“Oh nothing, but I was just thinking—I went through a snow-slide on Grizzly Peak; a land-slide on the Flat Top; a great mountain blizzard, on the Rockies; a hold-up in New York, one night; an avalanche on the Alps, and now an earthquake in Rome. What next, I wonder?”

“You ought to be grateful that you never experienced a sinking at sea caused by a German submarine,” said Polly, earnestly.

The very seriousness of her remark made her friends laugh, so that spirits rose accordingly, and just as they felt that the worst was over, another severe quake shook the ground they were speeding over.

Dodo’s car was ahead, with its headlights streaming in advance upon the roadway. Immediately after the last shake, a deep rumbling and crackling was heard as if something ahead of them had parted and fallen down. Dodo leaned forward anxiously and gasped.

Mrs. Fabian was with her in the roadster, and the girl quickly put on the brakes and reversed the wheel. “Just look out, Mrs. Fabian, and see if you can see a gap across the road.”

Even as she spoke, Mr. Alexander passed the little car and shouted to Dodo: “What’d you stop for—right in the middle of the road?”

The next moment he was biting his tongue when the front wheels on his car caved into the newly made crevice across the road. Everyone was jounced up and down frightfully as the wheels settled into the soft earth, and Dodo jumped out to see if anyone was injured.

“Oh, oh! I know Pa’s broken my neck!” cried Mrs. Alexander, as she caught her plump neck between two fat hands.

“Blame it all on the pesky earthquake!” shouted Mr. Alexander, thickly, while the end of his tongue began swelling where his teeth had cut into it.

Everyone was ordered out, while Mr. Alexander tried to back the touring car out of the cleft across the roadway. But it was a deep trench and the front of the car had settled into the earth.

“The only way to get her up is to plank down several rails and run her out on them,” said Mr. Alexander, lispingly, as he studied the situation.

“It’s too dark to hunt for rails or boards, and there isn’t a house in sight,” Dodo replied.

“What can we do, then?” asked the perplexed little man, scratching his head for an idea to start from his brain.

It was nearly dawn when the peasants started from their homes for the city, to sell their market-goods, so the tourists had not long to sit and wait, before a cart drawn by two sturdy oxen rumbled along.

“Hey, there! If you hook them beasts to my car and pull it out of this hole fer me, I’ll pay fer the animals!” called Mr. Alexander, hoping the man understood his English.

Mr. Fabian then interpreted what had been said, and the man examined the condition of the ditch before he replied. Then he gave Mr. Fabian to understand that he could remove two heavy side-boards from the cart and try in that way to help run the wheels out.

After strenuous labor and many pulls and tugs on the part of the oxen, the car was backed to the road again. But the ditch was still there, and it was too deep to cross without a bridge, or by filling it in.

By the time the peasant had been paid his price, a number of other carts had driven up and the men sat pondering how to get over. It was Mr. Alexander who waved his arms like a wind-mill in Holland, and shouted to make them understand.

“Let’s all get busy and scoop the earth into the ditch. Some of us can dig it from that field and others can carry it in their hats to fill in.”

Mr. Fabian tried to explain, but the peasants shook their heads. One man jumped out and ran back in haste along the road.

“What’s the matter? Is he afraid we’ll make him work?” demanded Mr. Alexander, impatiently.

“No,” explained Mr. Fabian, “he said he knew where he could get a shovel and other implements. There’s a farm a bit farther on.”

Shortly after that, the man returned and with him came two young men, all carrying shovels, and one pushed a cart. With these tools for work, every man went at the job, and in half an hour the crevice caused by the quake was temporarily filled up.

While they worked the men asked Mr. Fabian about the earthquake in the city, and he told them what havoc it had made. The sun had risen by the time the two cars were able to cross the bridged crevice, and then waited to allow the ox-carts to get past.

“Say, there! Are you going to take that stuff to Rome, to sell?” called Mr. Alexander, eagerly.

The men comprehended and nodded their heads.

“Well, here! We’re starved now and will buy the fruit and ready-to-eat stuff. Got anything cooked?” called he.

One farmer had fowl, another had fruit and still another had a load of vegetables, so the tourists bought all the fruit they wanted, and the peasants went their way, rejoicing at the good luck the quake had brought them in the form of rich Americans who paid so well for filling the ditch, and then selling them fruit.

As soon as the tourists reached a quiet spot beside the road, they halted the cars and enjoyed the fruit, for that was all the breakfast they would have until they reached Naples.

Late in the afternoon they stopped at a good hotel and sighed in relief to think they could have a good, long, night’s rest. The daily papers were filled with the account of the damage done in Rome by the recent earthquake, but the list of those dead or lost was not yet complete, as so many were buried under the débris of fallen buildings.

Suddenly Mr. Alexander threw back his head and roared.

“What’s the matter, Pa?” asked Dodo, frowning at his shout.

“Ho, I just read how we’re all dead. Did you know we were lost in the ’quake last night?”

They all stared at him. Mr. Fabian ran over to see the article for himself. Then he read it aloud: “Among those stopping at the Hotel —— in Rome, which collapsed at the third severe shock, were a party of American tourists who were with Mr. Fabian, the well-known authority on Antiques. Mrs. Fabian and daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander and daughter, and two young misses, were members in this party. A few other guests of the hotel are also unaccounted for.”

“If that isn’t the strangest thing,” exclaimed Mr. Fabian, “to sit here and read our own death-notice. Now I’ll have to wire Ashby that we’re all right, and we’ll have to cable to the States that this report is false.”

The girls wanted to read the notice, too, and Nancy said they ought to keep the notice as a joke on journalism in Italy.

“No joke about it, say I. Now I have to wear crêpe fer myself, because everyone out West will celebrate when they believe me done for,” said Mr. Alexander.

CHAPTER XIII—UNEXPECTED VICISSITUDES OF TRAVEL

“Let the men at the garage attend to it for you. We will be away about a week, or so, and by that time the cars will have been delivered at Genoa,” said Dodo.

“I should think it would save time and costs to send a chauffeur with each car, to leave them with a garage at Genoa,” suggested Mr. Fabian, so his idea was acted upon.

Everything was packed and the ladies were in the cars ready to start, when Mr. Fabian turned to look for Mr. Alexander. He was not there.

“Did anyone see him during the last ten minutes?” asked he.

“No, he carried my suit-case downstairs fifteen minutes ago, but he did not come back,” said Mrs. Alexander.

Mr. Fabian went to the hotel office again, and inquired of the clerk whether he had seen Mr. Alexander.

He had not been seen, nor had he left any message at the desk. “Well, then, I’ll have him paged, as we are ready to start,” said Mr. Fabian.

But the boys came back without any news of the missing man. Everyone got out of the cars again and started in different directions in search of their necessary “chauffeur.” By-standers were asked but no information was gained of the man they all were seeking.

“Dear me, if that isn’t just like Ebeneezer!” complained Mrs. Alexander, powdering her nose while she awaited results.

“I don’t see anything else to do, except to carry our luggage back to the hotel and postpone our trip until tomorrow,” said Mr. Fabian.

“Don’t worry, Pa’ll come along soon and wonder why we worried over his delay. He’s sure to give a splendid reason for this absence,” said Dodo.

A few moments after she had spoken, little Mr. Alexander was seen running at top speed along the street. His hat was in his hand and he was mopping his perspiring brow with a large silk handkerchief.

“Eben, what made you leave us? Didn’t you know we were ready to start?” complained his wife, the moment she saw him.

“Yeh, but I couldn’t help it, Maggie. Just as I got your duds to the car, I stepped on a little dog. He yelped so I had to see what ailed him, and that’s how I saw the child what owned the animal.

“If the little shaver hadn’t yelled as hard as the dog, I wouldn’t have gone wid him. But I had to quiet the boy, and the dog limped so I had to carry that. The boy lived a long way down a side street, and then through an alley. But when I got to his home, the dog could jump about and bark, so he is all right again.”

“Good gracious, Pa, did you waste all this time on carrying a mongrel home?” laughed Dodo.

“Um, not all the time!” admitted Mr. Alexander. “When I saw that boy’s home and his sick mother in bed, I hunted up a woman in the house and made her go out for some things to eat. It seems they ain’t had any money and so went hungry until she could work. I told the woman—but I reckon she didn’t understand me—that she could thank the dog for the food and help she got from me. Then I had to hurry back here.”

The tourists were on the vessel before Mrs. Alexander stopped nagging her spouse and allowed him to enjoy the sail across the Ionian Sea. It was a beautiful trip for the others in the party; they saw the blue sky reflected in the bluer water, inhaled the perfume of thousands of flowers blossoming riotously on the land and wafted by the balmy breezes across the Sea, and they wondered if it were really true that but a few days before, they were rushing frantically from an earthquake in Rome! The present peace and calm were so different an experience—almost as if they were in another world.

The first sight of Athens, from the sea, was very impressive to the girls; they could see, upon the prominences that seemed to embrace the ancient city, the wonderful historic ruins so carefully preserved there. Mr. Fabian pointed out the Acropolis, the Temple of Hephæstus, the Propylæa, the Temple of Athena Nike, the Parthenon, and other noted architectural antiquities.

Several days were spent in Athens, visiting its vast wealth of past ages, then Mr. Fabian arranged to proceed, with his friends, to Pompeii, with its lure of restored ruins that had been buried for centuries.

From the scenes of Pompeii, they visited the Island of Ischia and its wilderness of vineyards; then they went on to Capri with its incomparable riot of color and natural beauties.

“I don’t see anything to keep us down here more than a day, or so, do you-all?” asked Mrs. Alexander, bored to distraction without the excitement of cities, or the speeding in her car.

“Oh Ma! we never saw anything so wonderful as these places, so don’t rush us away the moment we get here,” cried Dodo.

“But, Dodo, what is there here to see but a lot of wild greens, and poor people dressed in shawls and petticoats?” complained Mrs. Alexander.

“I ain’t saying a word, Ma, even if I can’t see all the fine things the others seem to enjoy,” remarked Mr. Alexander. “But it must be here, somewhere, so I’m hunting for it with might and main.”

His wife merely turned up her educated nose at his words, but refused to answer his earnest request for further time in which to find the hidden secret of his friends’ pleasure.

Having seen all that was possible of the beautiful Islands of olden times, the tourists boarded a steamer and sailed past Messina and Corsica, up through the Gulf of Genoa, to the City of Genoa where the two cars were awaiting them.

“My! I never was so glad to see a car in all my life!” sighed Mrs. Alexander, eagerly examining her roadster to see if it was in good condition for the continuation of the tour.

“From Genoa we can travel along the Coast of the Mediterranean and enjoy the drive to the utmost, for we still have plenty of time to complete our tour back to Paris, and meet Ashby when he plans to be there,” said Mr. Fabian, as they got into the two autos and prepared to start.

The touring car led the way, Mrs. Alexander following, with Mrs. Fabian seated beside her. Perhaps that lady might not have felt quite so fearless with the chauffeur, if Mr. Fabian had not said that the road was splendid and that there were no dangerous places for Mrs. Alexander to run into.

They went through Savona, San Remo, and stopped at Monte Carlo to visit the place and see the famous gambling house.

“Ebeneezer, don’t you go to that wicked house to play!” exclaimed Mrs. Alexander, after they had refreshed themselves at the hotel and were ready to walk about and see Monte Carlo.

“I woulden’ think of doing such a thing, Maggie, with all these young girls to set an example for,” returned the little man, with a serious tone.

“I don’t want to go in there, at all,” declared Polly.

“It won’t hurt anyone to see it, Polly; they say it is one of the most gorgeous places in the world. The decorations and architecture are marvellous,” added Eleanor.

“Well, but don’t let us go near the gaming-tables,” Polly said, grudgingly.

“Oh, no, not one on us would think of such a thing!” said Mr. Alexander, but he watched an opportunity to make sure that a roll of money he carried in his pocket, was still there.

They had done the outside of the place, admiring the beautiful parks and the buildings, and then they thought they would have a peep inside, at the halls and various rooms of the famous house.

“Where’s Ebeneezer?” suddenly asked Mrs. Alexander, as she trailed the others into the Grand Reception Room.

“Why—he was here but a moment ago!” replied Mr. Fabian, glancing around for the missing man.

“Didn’t I tell you what a care he was? I always have to keep him on a leash when I want him to go, somewhere, with me. This is the same trick he played on us at Brindisi—and almost made us miss the boat,” complained the lady.

“He didn’t make us miss it, Ma, but he ’most missed it himself,” laughed Dodo.

“But he did a fine deed for a poor human, which goes to exonerate him for being so late. Maybe he is helping someone, now,” remarked Mrs. Fabian, who was sincerely proud of the little man’s depth of character, even though he had never had the polish and opportunities given other men.

“That’s what you-all think!” snapped Mrs. Alexander. “I bet you’ll find him in the blackest gambling den of all this awful place.”

“Ma, you wait right where you are, and Mr. Fabian and I will find that awful place and tell you if Pa is there,” said Dodo with a stern expression.

“What! Let you go in such a place? No indeed! I’ll go with Mr. Fabian myself if anyone has to go,” declared Mrs. Alexander.

“I don’t want you to; you always nag at Pa and if you start in in a crowd, I know just what he’ll do. It is better for me to go with Mr. Fabian,—but I don’t believe he’s there!” declared Dodo.

“Perhaps Dodo is right, Mrs. Alexander. Let us go while you remain quietly here with the others,” said Mr. Fabian.

So they hurried away, while the girls and the ladies walked about, or sat down to watch the lovely scene in the Park. The two had been gone about ten minutes, when Mr. Alexander was seen coming towards the group on the bench, but he was not alone. A very pretty girl of about sixteen years was with him. Dodo and Mr. Fabian were nowhere in sight.

“Hello there, Maggie,” called out Mr. Alexander, genially, as he came within speaking distance of his wife. “I brought a ’Merican girl to you-all, to take care of her as far as Nice. She thought she was lost, but I soon showed her she was safe with us, until we landed her with her folks.”

Everyone gazed at the well-dressed pretty girl in surprise. It was evident from her red eyes that she had been crying a short time before. But Mr. Alexander said no more about the incident at the moment, merely introducing his companion as Genevieve Van Buren, of New York City.

“Where’s Dodo?” asked Mr. Alexander, suddenly missing his daughter when he wished to introduce her to the newcomer.

“She went with my husband,” hastily replied Mrs. Fabian. “They’ll be back in a few minutes. We are waiting for them, now.”

“Ebeneezer, where did you meet Miss Van Buren?” questioned his wife, suspiciously.

“Oh, just outside that door, where we all went, last,” returned the little man, indefinitely.

Mr. Fabian and Dodo were now seen coming out of the large building, and Mr. Alexander glanced from them to his wife, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Before anyone could say a word to Dodo, he spoke: “Well, so you’ve been wastin’ all your savings, too, eh?”

“Oh no! Mr. Fabian and I just wanted to see what the place looked like. It is the most gorgeous hall I ever saw, and Mr. Fabian says it is well worth seeing. Why don’t you come and have a look at it, Polly?” replied Dodo.

When she was introduced to the strange girl, Dodo wondered how she came to join their party but she said nothing. At last, Polly consented to go and take a peep at the interior of the palace, but Miss Van Buren preferred to remain on the bench with Mr. Fabian, while Mr. Alexander escorted the ladies.

“That homely little man is wonderful, isn’t he?” asked Miss Van Buren, in a humble little voice, when Mr. Fabian and she were quite alone.

“We think so. In fact, we like him so well that we fail to notice any shortcomings.”

“I feel that I must tell someone what he did for me, a few moments ago, although he was a total stranger,” continued the girl, her chin quivering.

“Were you both in the gambling hall?” was all Mr. Fabian asked.

“No, but I had been there last night, and lost all my money in gambling. Then I borrowed some cash, from a woman, on my jewels, and lost that money, too. I never played before, and it was so terribly exciting that I put aside every other thought but winning.

“The woman who had given me the money, had been very nice to me, when she met me at the hotel; she it was who invited me to go with her to visit the palace, just for fun. But it ended as such visits generally do,” the girl’s lovely blue eyes filled with tears and she dabbed at them, hurriedly.