“I was desperate, and wondered how I should get back to the party with which I am touring Europe. I had no money to pay my way to Paris, and I had nothing of value left with which I could get money.

“Mrs. Warburton who had been so kind, as I thought, had just proposed paying my way to Paris and keeping me at her hotel until my party arrived to call for me, when that little man walked slowly over and stood looking at both of us.”

“‘Maybe you-all are an American?’ he asked Mrs. Warburton.

“She lifted her head and looked insolently at him. But she never said a word. Then he went right on without caring how she looked. ‘I am an old miner from the West. I’ve been in lots of evil places, and seen all sorts of evil people, so I know one when I see and hear ’em. I’ve heard all you offered to this young girl, but I’ll go your offer one better. She comes with my wife and daughter and it won’t cost her a lifetime of regrets.’”

The girl bowed her head and her slender form shook with sobs. Mr. Fabian said nothing. He was too amazed to say a word.

Finally the girl continued, but her head was averted. “Something told me to trust that homely little man so I looked at him and said, ‘I believe you want to save me from some trouble?’

“‘That’s what I do, little gal. Just as I would want some one to help my daughter if she needed help. Now tell me what’s all this about, and maybe we can get down to brass tacks.’ He said it just that way,” repeated Miss Van Buren, looking up at Mr. Fabian.

The gentleman smiled, and nodded understandingly.

“Well, he made that woman give up the jewels and he paid her back the money for them, then he said to her: ‘You ought to be thankful that I am touring with a party, or sure as I am a man, I’d hand you over to the police for what I know you had planned in your evil mind.’ Then he made me come away from her.

“When we were out of hearing he told me that from his experience in mining-camps, and cities where miners go to spend their earnings, he could tell that the woman was not right. He thinks she actually led me on to gamble, to ruin my chances of getting back to my friends.”

The innocent girl gazed at her companion, and Mr. Fabian nodded his head understandingly, without saying a word. Then she continued: “But that is terribly wicked! Why do they permit such things to happen here?”

“Why will people come here to visit the place with the sole idea of going away with more money than they came? They ought to know that all this lavish expenditure and display has to be maintained, and the money for that comes out of the foolish gamesters who always lose at such tables,” said Mr. Fabian.

“I suppose I was very silly to leave my friends and come alone to Nice. They wanted me to go with them, but I preferred this place to the Alps and mountain climbing, so I agreed to meet them at Paris, later. I said I was going to visit with some friends at Nice, but I believed I could take care of myself. Now I think differently.”

Her voice was so repentant and meek that Mr. Fabian said: “Maybe this lesson will prove to be the best one of your life. Let it teach you that head-strong ways are always sure to end in a pitfall. And remember, ‘that a wolf generally prowls about in sheep’s clothing to devour the innocent lamb.’ Thank goodness that you escaped the wolf—but thank Mr. Alexander for being that goodness.”

The others returned, now, and as there was nothing more to visit at Monte Carlo, they drove on to Nice to spend the night. The girls found Genevieve Van Buren a most congenial companion and everyone showed a keen desire to befriend her.

A telegram awaited her at Nice, and Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of reading it. Her friends, to whom he had wired from Monte Carlo when he heard Genevieve’s story, said they would be at Paris the following day.

Before Mr. Fabian and his companions drove away from Nice, they saw the repentant girl safely on the train to Paris.

Having said good-by to Genevieve, the tourists left Nice; they drove to Marseilles and the girls visited several mills where famous textiles are woven.

Cannes was the next place the cars passed through, and then Aix was reached. Mr. Fabian wished to stop long enough at this city, which was founded B.C. 122 by a Roman named Sextius Calvinus, to show his students the ruins and historic objects of antiquity.

At Avignon the tourists saw the famous bridge and the many notable and ancient buildings—some ruins having remained there since the town was founded by the Phœnicians in 600 B.C.

They stopped over-night at Avignon, and early in the morning, started cross-country for Bordeaux. The roads were heavy and the travelling slow, and they found it necessary to stop at the peasants’ homes and ask, to make sure they were on the right road. At several of these stops, Mr. Fabian and the girls acquired some old bits of pottery and porcelain which the poor people were glad to sell, and the collectors were over-joyed to buy.

All along the country route from Marseilles, the women seen wore picturesque costumes, with heavy wooden shoes on their feet. These shoes were lined with sheep-skin to protect the instep from bruises. The children playing about their homes were scantily clothed, but their rosy faces and plump little bodies spoke plainer than words, that they were healthy and happy, and cared naught for style.

Quite often, when the cars passed over a stream, or ran along the banks of a river, the occupants would see the peasant women washing linen in the water. They knelt upon the bank, or upon a stone near the shore, and beat the clothes with sticks as the water flowed through the pieces. The garments were rinsed out and then wrung, before hanging upon the bushes nearby to dry.

Mr. Alexander remarked: “Good for dealers in white goods.”

CHAPTER XIV—A HIGHWAYMAN IN DISGUISE

He had a marvelous talent for this instrument, and the girls crowded about him, listening intently. Soon the host’s grown daughter came out and danced a folk-dance, and then others danced the old-time French dances. When the American girls were called upon to add their quota to the evening’s entertainment, they gladly complied.

Polly and Eleanor, Dodo and Nancy danced the modern steps so popular with young folks of the present day, and the peasants, watching closely, laughed at what they considered awkward and ridiculous gambols. But the dancing suddenly ceased when a young man called upon the musician to have his fortune told; he held out his palm and waited to hear his future.

Fully two hours were spent in laughing at the “fortunes” the old gipsy man told—for he was one of the original Spanish gipsies, who had wandered to the southern part of France and settled there for life.

The girls giggled and reviewed their fortunes that night long after they had retired. As they had to occupy the two massive beds in one guest-room, it gave them the better opportunity to talk when they should have been fast asleep.

Finally they were ready to sleep and Polly was about to snuff the candle before jumping into bed, when Nancy suddenly whispered: “S—sh!”

The four sat up and strained their sense of hearing. “I heard a queer noise just outside our door,” whispered Nancy.

“I’ll tip-toe over and see who it is,” whispered Polly, acting as she spoke.

“No—no! Don’t open the door! That gipsy may be there,” cried Nancy, fearfully.

But another scratching sound under the low window now drew all attention to that place. Polly slowly tip-toed silently to the open window and tried to peer out. The trees and vines made the back of the garden shadowy and she could not see if anyone were under the window, or trying to get in somewhere else.

The other three girls now crept out of bed and joined Polly at the window. They waited silently, and were soon rewarded for their patience. They distinctly heard voices almost under their window, whispering carefully, so no one would be awakened.

“I think we ought to rouse Daddy, or Mr. Alexander,” said Nancy, trembling with apprehension.

“You run and tell your father, while I get Pa out of bed,” said Dodo, groping about for her negligee.

Meantime Polly and Eleanor watched so no one could get in at their window, and the two other girls ran across the hall to their parents’ rooms. In a short time both Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander came in and crept over to the window where the girls had heard the burglars plotting.

Mr. Fabian understood French so now he interpreted what he overheard: “Drop the bundle and I’ll catch it. Don’t make a noise, and be careful not to overlook anything valuable.”

“Dear me! If they are burglars where is the one who is told to drop a bundle? He must be inside, somewhere!” whispered Dodo, excitedly.

There followed a mumbling that no one could understand, and then a splash,—as if a bundle of soft stuff had dropped into water from a height. Immediately after this, the voice from below excitedly spoke to the companion above: “——It fell in the well! Now what is to be done?”

“Goody! Goody!” breathed Polly, eagerly, when she heard how the burglars had defeated their own purpose.

But no sound came from the other burglar who was working indoors, and Mr. Alexander had an idea which he suggested to Mr. Fabian.

“You go downstairs softly, while I scout around up here and locate the room where the helper is working. When I give a whistle it means ‘I’ve got the other feller under hand’—then you catch your man, red-handed, out in the garden, and the girls will rouse the house and we will present our prisoners to the host.”

That sounded fine, so Mr. Alexander hurried to his room for his western gun, and started out to hunt up the indoor worker. Mrs. Alexander realized that he was about to do something unusual, or he never would have taken his big revolver.

“Ebeneezer, what is wrong? Are we in danger of being robbed?”

“I’m going to catch one before we can think if there is any danger, for anyone,” said her husband, going for the door.

“Listen, Ebeneezer! Don’t you go and risk your life for that! You promised to take care of me first! Let Mr. Fabian, or some of the Frenchmen here, try and catch the man!” cried Mrs. Alexander, hysterically, running after her spouse.

But the little man was spry and he was out of the door and down the entry before his wife reached the doorway. There was but one alternative for her, and that was to go to the girls’ room and pour her troubles forth into their ears.

But the four girls were too intent upon what was going on to sympathize with Mrs. Alexander. Dodo merely said, in reply to her mother’s complaints: “Get into my bed, Ma, and pull the covers over your head, if you’re so frightened.”

All this time, the man down in the garden was directing his associate above, and at last the girls indistinctly saw someone slowly descend, what seemed to be a rope hanging close to the side of the house. They held their breath and waited, for Mr. Fabian surely must have reached the garden by this time and would be ready to capture the escaping thieves, before they could get away.

But a loud shouting and a great confusion in the large public room drew their attention to the upper hall, where they could hear what was going on below. Mrs. Fabian joined her friends in the entry at the head of the stairs and they heard the host shout:

“So! You look like a decent gentleman and you creep down here to take my living from me! Shame, shame!”

Then to the horror of the girls, they heard Mr. Fabian remonstrate volubly and try to explain his reason for going about the place so stealthily.

Mrs. Fabian rushed down the stairs, regardless of her curl-papers and kimono, and the girls followed closely upon her heels. Only Mrs. Alexander remained upstairs under the bed-covers, thinking discretion to be the better part of valor.

The host and some other guests were surrounding Mr. Fabian who tried to explain that Mr. Alexander and he were following burglars who were looting the place. The host smiled derisively, and told his guest to prove what he said was true.

Just then Mrs. Alexander screamed, and came pell-mell down the stairs. “Oh, oh! A gipsy man came out of the girls’ room!”

Everyone ran upstairs to catch the trespasser, but he was not to be found. Then a scuffle, and confused shouts from the garden, reached the ears of the crowd who stood wondering what next to do. A clear shrill whistle echoed through the place, and Mr. Fabian turned impatiently.

“Now you’ve spoiled the arrest of those two burglars. I was to get the outside man when that whistle sounded, to tell me that Mr. Alex had the inside man safely in hand.”

But the shouting and whistling sounded more confused on the garden-side of the house, so they all ran downstairs again, and went out to assist in any way they might.

Someone was hanging on to someone else who clung for dear life to a thick vine that grew up the side wall and over the roof of the inn. It was this rope-like vine that the girls had mistaken for a rope of escape for the thief. Mr. Alexander was in the garden, trying to drag down the escaping burglar, while that individual was trying to climb back into the room whence he had recently come.

Just as the others rushed out into the dark garden to assist Mr. Alexander, another man appeared at the upper window and caught hold of his associate’s hands to pull him back to safety.

“Wait! I get my ladder!” shouted the host, running for the shed. But a howl of rage, and French curses tumbling pell-mell from him told the others that he had gone headlong into a new danger.

Mr. Fabian and the young man-waiter ran to help the poor inn-keeper, and to their amazement they found he had collided with Mrs. Alexander’s roadster which was standing behind the bushes, facing towards the road.

“I’ll turn on the lights, in a moment, and see if all is right,” quickly said Mr. Fabian, jumping up to start the engine.

Before he could switch on the lights, however, a general shout of dismay came from the people assembled under the window, and the three men ran back to see what had happened.

The second-story windows were not more than eight feet above the garden at the rear, as the ground sloped down gradually to the front of the Inn. The first story was very low, too, so that anyone could climb up at the rear without difficulty.

When Mr. Fabian and his two companions reached the scene under the windows, they found three people rolling upon the ground in a tight clutch. The man from the inside of the room who had been finally pulled out and over the ledge; the man who had clung to the vine, for some reason or other, and the third man who had stood at the bottom of the vine and hung on to the climbing man’s heels.

From this mêlée of three, Mr. Alexander’s voice sounded clear and threatening. A deep bass voice gurgled as if in extremity, but the third voice was shrill and hysterical and sounded like a woman’s.

Lights were hurried to the spot, and the three contestants were separated, then Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of turning to the inn-keeper and saying: “I caught them both without help. I saved your place from being robbed.”

But one of the two captured burglars sat down on the grass and began to sob loudly. The host seemed distracted for a moment, then tore off the big soft hat the gypsy wore. Down came a tangle of hair, and his daughter turned a dirt-streaked face up at her furious father.

“What means this masquerading! And who is the accomplice?” shouted he.

“Oh, father,” wailed the girl. “Pierre and I were married at the Fête last week, but you would not admit him to the house and I never could get away, so we said we would run away together and start a home elsewhere,” confessed the frightened daughter.

Pierre stood by, trembling in fear of his father-in-law, but when everyone realized that poor Pierre was but trying to secure his bride’s personal effects which she had tied in several bundles, they felt sorry for the two.

It had been Pierre’s idea to dress Jeanne in a gypsy’s garb that no one could recognize her when they escaped, and it was Jeanne who suggested that they use the roadster to carry all her effects, and then Pierre could drive it back and leave it near the inn without the owner’s knowledge.

The father led his two prisoners to the public-room and the guests trailed behind them, wondering at such an elaborate plan for escape when the two had been married a week and might have walked out quietly without disturbing others, at night.

In an open session of the parental court, the inn-keeper was induced to forgive the culprits and take the undesirable Pierre to his heart and home. Then everyone smiled, and the waiter proposed that the host open a bottle of his best old wine to celebrate the reception of the married pair.

“Why did you object to the young man? He looks like a good boy?” asked Mr. Fabian, when the young pair were toasted and all had made merry over the capture of the two.

“He has a farm four miles out, and I want a son who will run this inn when I am too old. He dislikes this business and I dislike farming. So there you are!” explained the host.

“But you won’t have to work the farm,” argued Mr. Fabian. “You have the inn and many years of good health before you to enjoy it, and they have the farm. I think the two will work together, very nicely, for you can get all your vegetables and eggs and butter from your daughter, much cheaper than from strangers.”

“Ah yes! I never thought of that!” murmured the inn-keeper, and a smile of satisfaction illumed his heavy face.

The next morning the young pair were in high favor with the father, and he was telling his son-in-law about various things he must raise on his farm so that both families might save money.

Then the tourists drove away from Agen with the inn-keeper’s blessings ringing in their ears, and after a long tiresome drive they came to Bordeaux. Various places of interest were visited in this city, and the next day they drove on again.

Brittany, with its wealth of old chateaux, was reached next, and time was spent prodigally, that the girls might view the wonderful old places where tourists were welcomed.

CHAPTER XV—AHOY! FOR THE STARS AND STRIPES AGAIN

The old keeper of the church mentioned the Chateau of Amboise which was only a short distance further on the road and was said to be well worth visiting. So they drove there and saw the chapel of St. Hubert which was built by Charles the VIIth. Here lies buried the remains of Leonardo da Vinci, the famous painter.

While at St. Hubert’s Chapel, the tourists heard of still another ancient chateau of the 10th century, which was but a few miles further on, on the Loire. As this Chateau ’de Chaumont was only open to visitors on certain days and this day happened to be one of those days, they visited the place.

“My gracious!” exclaimed Mr. Alexander, when they came from the last ancient pile. “I’ll be so glad to get back to Denver, where the oldest house is only half a century old, that I won’t say a word if you’ll agree to only use another precious week lookin’ at these moldy old rocks and moss-back roofs.”

His friends laughed, for they knew him well by this time. Mrs. Alexander, however, was not so thankful to go back to Denver, nor was she willing to see any more old chateaux. So she said: “Let’s drive on to Paris where we have so much shopping to do.”

“Oh no, Ma. The keeper of that last chateau told us there was the finest old place of all, a few miles on, so we want to see that as long as we are here,” said Dodo.

“All right, then! You-all go on and see it, but I’ll stay here,” declared Mrs. Alexander.

“I don’t want to see any more ruins, Maggie, so s’pose you and I drive in your car and let Dodo drive the touring car to any old stone-heap they want to visit,” said Mr. Alexander.

“All right, Ebeneezer. I honestly believe I’d rather sit beside you, in my new car, than have to limp around these old houses,” sighed Mrs. Alexander.

Her words were not very gracious, but her spouse thought that, being her guest in the new car, was better than having to wait for hours outside a ruin. So Dodo drove her friends on to the Chateau de Blois, and they inspected the old place, then saw the famous stable that was built to accommodate twelve hundred horses at one time.

“Here we are, but a short distance from Orleans—why not run over there and visit the place, then drive back to Nantes to meet your father and mother,” suggested Mr. Fabian.

“It seems too bad that we have to go all the way back for them, when we are so near Paris, now,” said Dodo.

“Oh, but we haven’t finished the most interesting section of France, yet!” exclaimed Eleanor, who had been looking over Mr. Fabian’s road-map.

“In that case, I fear we will lose Ma for company,” said Dodo, laughingly. “As we come nearer Paris, she is more impatient to reach there. She may suddenly take it into her head to let her car skid along the road that leads away from us and straight for Paris.”

From Nantes they drove straight on without stopping until Caens was reached; Mr. Fabian pointed out various places along the road, and told of famous historical facts in connection with them, but they did not visit any of the scenes.

Caen, with its old churches and quaint buildings, was very interesting to the girls. Then at Bayeaux they went to see the wonderful Bayeaux tapestry which was wrought by Matilda and her Ladies in Waiting in 1062. This tapestry is two hundred and thirty feet long and twenty inches wide, but it pictures the most marvellous historical scenes ever reproduced in weaving.

From Bayeaux they went to Mont St. Michel to see the eight hundred year-old monastery which is so well preserved. Rouen, the capital of Normandy, was the next stopping place on the itinerary, and here they saw many ancient Norman houses as well as churches. But the principal point of interest for the girls, was the monument in Rouen, erected to the memory of Joan of Arc, who was burned to death for her faith.

The night they spent at Rouen, Mr. Alexander had a serious talk with Mr. Fabian and his girls.

“You see, I want to please you-all, but Maggie won’t stand for any more of this gallivantin’ around old churches. I’m gettin’ awful tired of it, myself, but then I don’t count much, anyway.

“Maggie says she’s goin’ right on to Paris, whether you-all do so or not; and if I let her go there alone, she’ll buy her head off with fine clothes, and then Dodo and me won’t know what to do to cart them all back to the States. So I have to go with her in self-defense, you understand!”

They laughed at the worried expression on the little man’s face, and Mr. Fabian said: “Well, Mr. Alex, we are through sight-seeing for this time, anyway, so we may as well run back to Paris when you do.”

“Oh, that’s good news! Almost as good as if I won the first prize in the Louisanny Lottery!” laughed Mr. Alexander, jocosely.

So they all drove to Paris, where Mr. Ashby was to meet them, in a few days. As Mr. Alexander deftly threaded the car in and out through the congested traffic, he sighed and said: “I never thought I’d be so glad to see this good-for-nothin’ town again. But I’ve been so tossed and torn tourin’ worst places, that even Paris looks good to me, now.”

His friends laughed and his wife said: “Why, it is the most wonderful city in the world! I am going to enjoy myself all I can in the next three days.”

“You’d better, Maggie! ’cause we are leavin’ this wild town in just three days’ time!” declared Mr. Alexander.

“Why—where are you going, then?” asked Mrs. Alexander, surprised at her husband’s determined tone.

“Straight back to Denver, as fast as a ship and steam-cars will carry us!”

“Never! Why, Ebeneezer, I haven’t succeeded in doing what I came over for,” argued Mrs. Alexander.

“No, thank goodness; and Dodo says she’s standin’ for a career now,” laughed Mr. Alexander. “I agree with her, and she can start right in this Fall to study Interior Decoratin’, if she likes.”

Mrs. Alexander did not reply, and no one knew what she thought of Dodo’s determination, but when all the shopping was done, and Mr. Ashby met them at the hotel, she seemed as anxious as the others, to start for home.

“We are to pick up Ruth and Mrs. Ashby at Dover, you know,” said Mr. Ashby, when he concluded his plans for the return home.

“Well, we have had a wonderful tour out of this summer. I never dreamed there were so many marvellous things to see, in Europe,” said Polly.

That evening, several letters were handed to the Fabian party, and among them was one for Polly and another for Eleanor. Polly’s was stamped “Oak Creek” and the hand-writing looked a deal like Tom Larimer’s. But Eleanor’s was from Denver and Dodo cried teasingly: “Oh, I recognize Paul Stewart’s writing! It hasn’t changed one bit since he was a boy and used to send me silly notes at school.”

Eleanor laughed at that, but why should she blush? Polly gazed thoughtfully at her, and decided that Nolla must have no foolish love affair, yet—not even with Paul Stewart!

Then Eleanor caught Polly’s eye and seemed to comprehend what was passing through her mind. She quickly rose to the occasion.

“Polly, if I confess that my letter is from Paul, will you own up that yours is from Tom—and tell us the truth about the American Beauty Roses?”

Polly became as crimson as the roses mentioned, and sent her chum a look that should have annihilated her. But Eleanor laughed.

That evening, as the merry party sat at dinner in the gay Parisian dining-room, Mr. Alexander suddenly sat up. His lower jaw dropped. He was opposite a wall-mirror and in its reflection he could see who came in at the door back of him.

He had been telling a funny incident of the tour and had but half finished it, so his abrupt silence caused everyone to look at him. His expression then made the others turn and look at what had made him forget his story.

In the doorway stood Count Chalmys, looking around the room. Now his eyes reached the American party at the round table and he smiled delightedly. In another moment he was across the room and bowing before the ladies.

Mr. Alexander grunted angrily and kept his eyes upon his plate. He never wanted to see another man who had a title! But his wife made amends for his apparent disregard for conventions. She made room beside herself and insisted that the Count sit down and dine.

“I never had a pleasanter surprise,” said he. “I expected to see the Marquis here, but I find my dear American friends, instead.”

“Humph! What play are you acting in now, Count?” asked Mr. Alexander, shortly.

“That’s what brought me to Paris. I was to meet the Marquis here, and we both were to sail from Havre, day after tomorrow. We have accepted a long engagement with a leading picture company in California, so I am to go across, at once,” explained the Count, nothing daunted by Mr. Alexander’s tone and aggressive manner.

“Oh really! How perfectly lovely for us all!” exclaimed Mrs. Alexander, clasping her hands in joy.

Then she turned to her daughter who seemed not to be giving as much attention to the illustrious addition to the party, as Mrs. Alexander thought proper.

“Dodo, must you talk such nonsense with Polly when our dear Count is with us and, most likely, has wonderful things to tell us of his adventures since last we saw him at his beautiful palace?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Ma, but I didn’t know the Count had said anything to me,” hastily returned Dodo.

“I really haven’t, as yet, Miss Alexander, but there is every symptom that something is being mulled over in my brain,” was the merry retort from the Count.

“All the same, Dodo, I want you to give attention to the dear Count, now that he is with us, once more,” said Mrs. Alexander, with such dignity as would suit the mother-in-law of a Count.

“Aye, aye, Sir!” laughed the irrepressible Dodo, bringing her right hand to her forehead in a military salute.

“I joined the party, just now, merely to share a very felicitous secret with you. One that I feel sure you will all be pleased to hear. Perhaps the three young ladies in the group will be more interested in my secret than the matrons,” ventured Count Chalmys, with charming self-consciousness.

Instantly, Mrs. Alexander interpreted the secret as one that meant success to her strenuous endeavors to find a “title” for her daughter. She had heard that foreign nobility made no secret of love or proposals, but spoke to interested friends of intentions to marry, even before the young woman had been told or had accepted a proposal of marriage. This, then, must be what Count Chalmys was about to tell them.

“Oh, my dear Count! Before you share that secret with every one, especially while the children are present, wouldn’t you just as soon wait and have a private little chat with me?” gushed Mrs. Alexander, tapping him fondly on the cheek with her feather fan.

The Count stared at her in perplexity for he was not following her mood, nor did he give one fleeting thought to such foolishness as she endowed him with entertaining.

“You know, my dear Count! I am speaking of certain little personal matters regarding settlements and such like, which I only can discuss with you, satisfactorily. After that, you can confide in the others, if you like. However, I should think you would speak to the one most concerned, before you mention it in public.” Mrs. Alexander spoke in confidential tones meant only for the Count’s ear.

“My dear lady! I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. I was only going to tell my good friends, here, that——”

“Yes, yes! I know what you were going to say, dear Count,” hastily interrupted Mrs. Alexander, “but allow me to advise you: Say nothing until after I have had a private talk with you. I am sure Dodo will look at things very differently after I have had time to get your view-points and then tell them to her.”

Count Chalmys began to receive light on the hitherto unenlightening advices from the earnest lady. He now had difficulty in hiding a broad smile. But Mrs. Alexander paid no heed to him.

“You see, Count dear, we shall have several wonderful days on this trip across, in which you can make the best of your opportunities with Dodo, but really, I think it wise to consult with me first.”

“My dear Mrs. Alexander! won’t you permit me to explain myself, before you go deeper into this problem from which you will have chagrin in finding a pleasant way out?” asked the Count.

Mrs. Alexander gazed at him in frowning perplexity. “What is the happy secret you wished to share with us, if it is not your intention to propose to one of the young ladies in our party?”

“I am to have a third member in my party, this trip, although she is not one of the company in California,” said the Count, smilingly. “I mean the pretty girl who played in the picture in Venice. We were married last week, and having settled all matters at Chalmys and leased the place for a term, we will remain in the United States for a long time.”

At this unexpected information, Mrs Alexander almost swooned, but her husband seemed to change his manners as quickly as if they were old clothes. He smiled cordially at the Count and suggested a toast to his bride—but the toast was given with Ginger Ale.

That evening the Count introduced his Countess, and Mrs. Alexander gritted her teeth in impotent rage. “Oh, how nearly had she plucked this prize for Dodo, and now he had married a plain little actress!” thought she.

But she never knew that the Count had been attentive to his lady-love for three years before Mrs. Alexander ever met him. Had it not been for the heavy debts of his Italian Estate, he would never have delayed his proposal. Even as it was, he found happiness to be more important in life than wealth and a palace.

The young countess was very pretty and promised to be a welcome addition to the group of young folks. Polly, Eleanor and Dodo liked her immensely, from the moment they saw her charming smile as she acknowledged the introductions. Evidently she was very glad to find a number of young Americans of her own age with whom she could associate on the trip across the Atlantic.

Everyone but Mrs. Alexander, made the young couple feel very much at ease. Ebeneezer Alexander saw and understood his wife’s aloofness and straightway he decided to speak a bit of his mind to her as soon as they were in the shelter of their own suite at the hotel.

“Now, lem’me tell you what, Maggie! I ain’t goin’ to have you actin’ like all get-out, just because Chalmys went and married the gal he loved, disappointin’ you, thereby. Even if he had gone your way of plannin’, and ast Dodo to marry him, I’d have to say ‘NO!’ He’s saved me from hurtin’ his feelin’s, see?”

Mrs. Alexander tried to stare her insignificant lord into silence, but the little man had found his metal while traveling with appreciative people, and he was not to be downed any more by mere looks and empty words from his wife.

“Yeh! you kin sit there and stare all you like but stares don’t hurt and they ain’t changin’ the case, at all. Dodo wasn’t a-goin’ to marry no one, not even if you cried your head off for it, ’cause she’s made up her mind to try out decoratin’ for a time. So you jest watch your p’s and q’s when you’re mixin’ in with the Chalmys; and don’t show your ignerence of perlite society by actin’ upish and jealous as a cat.”

Whether this sound advice actually had its effect upon Mrs. Alexander, or whether she forgot her chagrin, it is hard to say; but at all events, she smiled sweetly upon the Chalmys the next time she met them.

A few days later, the steamer stopped at Dover and Mr. Ashby was delighted to have his wife and Ruth with him again.

They were several days out, when Mrs. Alexander realized that Count Chalmys was only an ordinary mortal! She thought over this revelation for a time, and finally remarked to Dodo and the others: “I am so glad the Count didn’t fall in love with Dodo. The little dear would never have been happy with him.”

“When did you discover that fact, Maggie?” asked her husband, quizzically.

“Why, a long time ago. I was so disgusted with folks who claim a title, and then turn out to be factory men like that Osgood family. And now this Count is nothing but a play-actor! Dodo will be far better off if she falls in love with a first-class American, say I!”

“Hurrah, Maggie! You’ve opened your eyes at last!” cried little Mr. Alexander.

“But you will be made still happier, Ma, to hear that I am in love, now!” declared Dodo, teasingly.

“What! Who is he?” demanded her mother.

“Ask Eleanor and Polly. They introduced me to my future lord,” giggled Dodo.

“Oh, she means her career, Mrs. Alex,” said Polly.

“Oh, Dodo!” wailed her mother. “You won’t go to work, will you, when your father’s worth a million dollars?”

“All the more reason for it! I’m going to marry a profession, just as Polly and Eleanor are, and we three are going to be the most famous decorators in the world.”

“And I am goin’ to build a swell mansion in New York and turn the contract for fixin’s, over to these three partners!” declared little Mr. Alexander.

That trip across the Atlantic was a merry one for the girls, for the “Marquis” and his friend, aided by the Count and the young Countess, were a never failing source of entertainment for all. They mimicked and acted, whenever occasion offered, so that there was no time for dull care or monotony.

While abroad, the Count had secured a small motion picture outfit; this was brought out and several amusing pictures made on the steamer. They were hastily developed and printed and shown at night, to the passengers. It proved to be very interesting to see one’s self on the screen, acting and looking so very differently than one imagines himself to act and look.

After the second attempt at this form of amusement, Polly made a suggestion.

“Wouldn’t it be heaps of fun if each one of us were to go away, alone, and write a chapter of a story for the Count to film. It will be a regular hodge-podge!”

“Oh, that’s great!” exclaimed Eleanor, eagerly.

The others seemed to think it would be entertaining, too, so the Count gave them a few important advices to note.

“Let us decide upon the characters, the plot, and the place, of the scenario; then each one write out a condensed chapter, or reel, of the play. Follow these directions. Write your story in continuity; leave out all adjectives, but give us action as expressed by verbs; do not write more than two hundred words in a reel, or chapter. If you find you have more than that in your part of the programme, you’ll have to cut it down. And let each one remember to keep her personal work a profound secret. That will insure a surprise when the whole picture is reeled off.

“Now, Miss Polly, you start the scenario, will you, and give us the first act, or reel. Then Miss Nolla will do the second act, or reel; Miss Ruth, the third; Miss Dodo, the fourth, Miss Fabian the fifth, and my wife can wind up the play, or picture, by writing the final reel. Any questions?”

“Who are the characters?” asked Polly, laughingly.

“Why, ourselves, of course. Because we must act in the photoplay, you see, in lieu of other performers. For instance, we will choose Miss Polly as the star lead, Janet Schuyler, in the play; Miss Nolla will be the vamp, Lois Miller, who is jealous of the lovely and prominent society girl; Miss Dodo will be the reporter, Miss Johnson, on a big daily paper who writes up the story for her paper; Miss Ruth can be the hard-working shop-girl, Esther Brown, who is made a scapegoat in the case. Miss Nancy could be the head of the department in the store, Miss Buskin, to whom the trouble is referred for adjustment; Alec will be the floor-walker and the Marquis can be the young man Reginald Deane—unless Miss Polly is too particular about her beaux.”

This brought forth a laugh at Polly’s expense.

“Mr. Ashby ought to make a good father for the society girl, and Mr. Alexander will make a good man to adjust the lighting apparatus. I will need the artistic help of Mr. Fabian in directing the scenes while I have charge of the camera. Now, any more questions, before you go away to start your writing?”

The Count was greatly interested in this plan for fun and, finding there were too many questions instantly poured out for him to answer, he made a suggestion.

“Each one go and do the best you can, then come to me if you find any snags too hard to remove from your literary pathway. I will have to go over each reel, anyway, when the whole is done.”

For the rest of that morning, no one saw nor heard of either of the young people, but at luncheon, there was such a babel of voices that Mr. Fabian rapped upon the table and called all to order.

“Hear, hear! The camera-man wishes to say a word!” laughed the Count.

There was instant silence.

“I have been handed three chapters of the scenario and I wish to say, if the other three are as good as the first ones, we will have a thriller. In the words of the publicity man, we shall produce a ‘gripping, heart-melting drama of unprecedented greatness and magnificence.’ For quintessence of perfection in pictures, this latest production of ours promises to ‘skin ’em’ all to the bone.’ Fellow-craftsmen! Go back to your work as soon as this bit of sustenance for the inner man is over, and dream of the success your pen is bound to win!—the glory and honor about to rest upon your noble brows for achieving such a great thing as the breathless, throbbing, soul-moving, passionate story of ‘Gladys the Shop-Girl’!”

The amateur play-wrights laughed merrily at their manager’s comment upon their dramatic work, but they lost no time in gossiping at the table, that noon. Before the dessert had been served, the girls excused themselves and ran back to their work.

That evening all efforts were in Count Chalmys’ hands and he was besieged for a report on the progress of the drama. He sent out word that he was to be left absolutely in peace for an hour and then he would appear with the hinged together chapters of a six-reel play.

After dinner, that night, a curious and impatient group of authors sat in one of the smaller saloons, watching the Count assemble the pages of the scenario. He had actually typed them on his folding typewriter and now came across the room, smiling encouragingly upon his company.

“Well, we haven’t such a tame play as everyone thought we would be sure to produce. All told, you will find the six reels fit in pretty good, one to the other, in continuity, but I shall have to exchange the chapters by Nolla and Dodo, as to priority. ‘Now listen, my children, and you shall hear’ etc.—you know the rest!” The Count laughed as he sat down.

“A-hem!” he cleared his throat as a starter. “The name of the play has been suggested by six writers, so I will have to have the title chosen by vote. A closed poll, probably, to avoid the usual fight in politics. First title:

“‘Life’s Thorny Road.’ This was submitted by Ruth Ashby.

“‘The Great Secret,’ is the second title, given by Nolla.

“‘His Easy Conquest,’ is third, submitted by Rose Chalmys.

“‘Her Friend’s Husband,’ is one suggested by Dodo Alexander.

“‘Greatest Thing on Earth,’ is given us by Nancy Fabian.

“‘Just a Nobody,’ is the one suggested by Polly Brewster. Now, friends, which of these titles do you think will draw the largest crowds and make the production a certain success,—financially, of course. That is all the corporations care about, you know.”

Count Chalmys smiled as he noted the faces in the semi-circle about him. Then Mr. Fabian spoke.

“Will you have to take a vote on that? I believe we can decide the question without going to all the trouble of having a box and officers to guard the voting.”

“How many are in favor of voting by a standing vote?” called the Count. Every hand went up.

“All right. Now, then, when I call off the different titles as they come in order, those in favor of said title please rise and remain standing until we can count.”

The suggestion of there being any work attached to the counting of one or two voters caused a ripple of merriment from the small group.

“How many favor title one, ‘Life’s Thorny Road’?”

Mr. and Mrs. Ashby stood up. Not even Ruth favored her own work but her doting parents did. This caused a general laugh at their expense and so they seated themselves, again.

“Who favors the second, ‘The Great Secret’?” asked the amateur manager.

Nolla had faith in herself, and so had Polly. But two votes could not carry the day, and they sat down again.

“Well, how about ‘His Easy Conquest’? Who wants that?”

No one stood up at this title, and every one laughed at the Countess; she laughed more merrily than the others.

“Next comes, ‘Her Friend’s Husband’—by Dodo Alexander.”

Dodo’s father and Polly voted for this title, but they were over-ruled by the others.

“‘Greatest Thing on Earth,’ by Miss Fabian—how about that?”

No one stirred at that invitation to vote, and the Count laughingly remarked, “Your talent is not appreciated, Miss Fabian.

“This is the last one, friends, and we have not yet had a majority of voters decide upon one of the others so you must be waiting for this one! Now, who wants ‘Just a Nobody’?”

At this, everyone but Polly stood up, and without further ado the manager acclaimed Polly’s title as the prize-winner.

“All right, then; the photo-drama about to be played will be called ‘Just a Nobody,’ title by Miss Polly Brewster; directed by Professor Fabian; assisted by Mr. Alexander; Camera-man, Chalmys, etc., etc.”

The very select audience laughed at the Count’s mimicry of all the first-snaps of a feature play, in which every one is mentioned, even the pet cat or canary which stood near when the reels were run off.

“Now for the gist of this whole thing—the story. I will open the picture by reading from Polly Brewster’s chapter.

“‘Janet Schuyler was a regulation young debutante in New York’s social circle—snobbish, arrogant, vain. Young admirer worth millions, not in love with her, but nearing that fatal crisis. Janet’s mother, usual social aspirant for daughter,—father reverse of such qualities. Scene in large department store, Janet accuses meek young saleswoman of taking her purse which had been placed on counter a moment before. Girl, frightened, denies the charge. Mrs. Schuyler creates scene—buyer of the department hurries to scene to defend girl. Mrs. S— demands floor-walker to take girl to dressing room and search her for purse. Being prominent charge-customer, Mrs S— has her way, and weeping Esther is forced to small sideroom to be ignominiously disrobed and carefully searched.

“‘At counter young vamp who stood near Janet Schuyler, leaves hurriedly and is about to make for the door when a bright-looking young woman placed detaining hand upon her arm. Vamp is persuaded to step to a corner of the store and answer questions, because she mistook woman for private store detective. Young woman, who is a reporter, takes notes of moment, then says peremptorily: ‘Hand over that purse or you’ll get more than you want!’ Vamp registers personal affront! Acts indignant. Reporter laughs, insists upon having purse. Vamp angry, threatens the law if she is detained. Reporter now ill at ease and lets vamp go. Hurries back to counter where Esther arrives, followed by gesticulating accuser and her daughter. Floor-walker promises to search further but insists that accused girl was innocent of the theft.

“‘Mrs. S— and daughter turn to leave store when reporter accosts them and hands them her card. Says she will write up this negligence of the authorities in a high-class shop. Mrs. S— decides to punish the firm for their carelessness and tells the reporter what she believes to be the truth—purse was stolen by girl.

“‘Miss Johnson, the young reporter, knows better than this, but assents with lady. She determines to have a talk with Esther and find out whether, or no, she saw the beaded purse claimed to have been stolen.

“‘Esther tells how Miss S— fumbled over many boxes of lace and then said to her mother: ‘Wait here—I’ll go across to the opposite counter and look at that net before I decide.’ Then the society girl turned her back and stooped over the display of net and beaded trimming. No clerk was near to wait on her, and the girl at the lace-counter was called upon to serve another customer, and that kept her from watching Janet Schuyler.’”

This ended Polly’s allotment of words in the scenario, and then the Count announced, “I will proceed to read Dodo’s story because it fits in here better than elsewhere in the script.

“‘Pretty little shop-girl, while waiting for customer, has visions of comfortable home back on the farm. (Show scene of girl in rural life, walking home from district school-house with handsome lad of fourteen—evidently admirer.) Esther sighs, as she remembers the day Reggie’s father moved from the village to go to Texas to raise cattle. She had never heard again from Reggie, and believes he has forgotten her entirely.

“‘Then comes Mrs. Schuyler and her daughter to look at laces. Esther overhears society girl plan dress for conquest of young man, then hears mother mention name of Deane—and tells daughter she must capture such a prize as the heir to his father’s millions in oil-lands of the South-west. Esther, excited, is about to ask the two haughty ladies for Reginald Deane’s city address, when the floor-walker frowns upon her and thus ends her attempt to secure the desired information.

“‘A young lady, waiting for her turn, watches the two rich customers and when they have gone she speaks to the shop-girl. ‘Who are they?’ Esther explains by showing name of charge account and address. ‘Well, I have my own opinion of them. I think they are nobodies, if you ask me. I’ve seen so many climbers that I can spot them at once.’

“‘This opens a pleasant chat between the girl and the young journalist, Esther speaking of Reginald Deane, and Miss Johnson giving Esther her card and asking her to come in some evening when she has nothing better to do. Esther promises and watches while Miss Johnson leaves.

“‘That evening, in her meagre little room, Esther takes up the card again, and dreams of an evening in the near future when she shall meet the pleasant young woman, again.

“‘Few days later—Esther receives invitation to small party at Miss Johnson’s bachelor apartment, and is duly elated over the event. Dresses in her best frock, which is simple voile, home-made, and starts out. Miss Johnson has two other young women and four young men present, when Esther arrives and is introduced. One of the men gazes intently at her, during the evening, then whispers to his hostess, ‘That girl reminds me of someone I know or have seen, and I can’t place her.’ Miss Johnson gives him Esther’s history, and he exclaims ‘That’s it! She’s the school-girl my friend talks about—he has a picture of her taken years ago when he lived in the country.’

“‘Miss Johnson calls to Esther and tells her the news and the girl is thrilled at hearing where she can find Reginald, and then the young man promises to bring him soon, to see Esther. Esther walks home with William Stratford that night, talking of nothing but Reggie and their schooldays. But she is not aware of Reggie’s inheritance of millions of dollars’ worth of oil-wells.’

“The third installment by Ruth Ashby, works in here, all right, so I will read it,” announced the Count, and continued his reading.

“‘Miss Schuyler was giving a ball. Her new evening costume had not yet arrived from the exclusive importers on Fifth Avenue and she was storming around the house, driving everyone insane with her complaints against the Frenchman.

“‘The doorbell rang, Miss S— waited in the front hall to see if it might be a messenger with the gown. When she spied a meek little face peering over the great box, she called insolently, ‘Bring her right in here, James. I want to give her a piece of my mind for dallying this way!’

“‘Frightened little Esther tip-toed across the rich rug and waited to be told to open the box and remove the gorgeous gown. She obeyed with trembling fingers, kneeling upon the floor in order to undo the knot of twine. As she did so, a young man entered the front door and was told that Miss Janet was in the small reception room. He started for that room without waiting to be announced.

“‘The moment Janet saw the much desired young heir of millions, standing in the doorway, she hastily commanded the girl to stop removing the gown, for she did not wish to have her caller see the dress before the proper time that evening.

“‘Janet Schuyler went forward to speak to the young man and Esther sat back to rest and see who had interrupted the scene between herself and the society girl. She was astounded to find that the young man was no other than her old school-mate, Reginald Deane, whom she had not heard of since they were children at school.

“‘The moment Reginald recognized Esther, he ran forward and showed how delighted he was to meet her once more. He paid no heed to her shabby dress or meek behavior, but turned to introduce her to his young hostess. When he saw the expression of scorn and hauteur on Janet’s face he realized that she was not the sort of a girl he cared to have for a wife, so he helped Esther to her feet and said politely to Janet, ‘I will bid you good-afternoon, as I now have to escort my dear old friend to her home.’

“‘Then the two went out leaving the haughty miss in a fury.’”

As the Count ended Ruth’s chapter, there were smiles on the faces of the audience, for it sounded exactly like Ruth—a genuine Cinderella Chapter.

“Now I will read the next installment, written by Miss Fabian. I shall have to edit more of this chapter in order to hinge it on to the preceding one,” explained the Count.

“‘Lois Miller was not a vamp by choice but by force of circumstances. She was so pretty that she had found it difficult to secure a position as saleslady in a store, for the reason that the other girls generally got jealous of the attention paid her. When she was offered a minor part in a Chorus on the stage, she accepted, although the salary was no more than enough to pay her room rent and scanty meals. For clothes to keep up appearances she had to rely on her wit and ability to make over things.

“‘By chance, she happened to be in the large store just when Janet Schuyler and her mother were shopping there. Then she overheard Mrs. Schuyler command the little saleslady, Esther Brown, to send the lace for her daughter’s evening gown with special messenger. The address was given, and the two society ladies left the shop. Lois really had nothing to buy but she was killing time in the shops, hoping to gain some information that might give her a chance to earn some extra money.

“‘She pondered over the name and address of the obviously rich ladies, then decided to try for a position, as companion, because the wretched life of an underpaid chorus girl was palling on her. As she turned to leave the shop, she found a bright-eyed young woman watching her. Instantly she thought of the private detective, but she was innocent of crime and she gave back the look with interest added.

“‘As she went out she realized she was being followed, so she turned and said: Well, what do you want?’

“‘“Aren’t you Lois Miller? Used to be stenographer at the office of The Earth?” asked the woman.

“‘“Sure thing! But that was ages ago,” retorted Lois.

“‘“I knew you there. I was just breaking in. What are you doing, now, Lois? I’ve got something to unravel.”

“‘Before she knew it, Lois was commandeered to follow the shop-girl, Esther Brown, and find out all about her, as the reporter had heard of a reward of $500 offered for news of the girl described, who came from New Hampshire. Miss Johnson agreed to go fifty-fifty with Lois if the shop-girl turned out to be the one they were looking for.

“‘That is how Esther Brown met her rich husband and how Janet Schuyler lost a rich young admirer, and how Miss Johnson won not only the reward Reginald paid, but also had a fine story for her paper; and Lois Miller earned enough money to fit herself out in decent clothes and pay her arrears of room-rent and board.’

“Now comes the final reel, as written by Rose Chalmys,” said the Count, waiting until the merriment over the various phases of Janet and Esther’s reel life had subsided; then he continued:

“‘Janet Schuyler, being under heavy obligations to the shop-girl for having saved her life from the hold-up men in the park, remembered how she had snubbed the meek girl in the store, and had caused her to be reprimanded by the head of the department.

“‘“I want you to come home with me, and receive my mother’s thanks and my father’s reward for your bravery in defending me,” said Janet, finally.

“‘“I do not wish any reward for what I did, and your thanks are quite sufficient,” murmured Esther.

“‘The two girls walked along the street leading to the Schuyler home, however, and just before they reached the place, a sporty car drew up to the curb and stopped suddenly. A young man sprang out and ran over to greet Janet Schuyler. She was delighted to see Reginald Deane, after the long months he had been away from the city, but Deane could not take his eyes from Janet’s companion. It was her place to introduce the girl with her, yet she could not humble her pride to accept a salesgirl as her equal, and this she would do if she introduced her. Reginald ended the doubt.

“‘“Aren’t you Esther Brown?” And the girl smiled as she replied, “And you are Reggie Deane, aren’t you?”

“‘Janet was forgotten after that, for the two who had been beaus in schooldays and had never heard from each other since Deane went to Texas with his family, were so engrossed with each other.

“‘Janet made the best of a bad bargain and invited both the young people to her home, but Esther pleaded her lack of time, and Deane offered to see Esther to her home. Thus ended Janet’s dream of capturing the richest young oil-financier in the country.’“

The young authors considered their work to be par-excellence, but the adults in the audience forbore to render an opinion.

“Of course, I shall have to edit, somewhat, but I think we may look forward to having a very successful run of this picture,” announced the Count, very seriously. “One important item is fortunate for the company—that is, we need not have costly costumes, nor scenes of Court Life in Europe. Our little play is simple to stage and inexpensive in production.

“Now I will retire to the Studio and edit the scenario, but I wish all the actors to be on time at the casting room at ten o’clock, sharp, tomorrow. Besides the star leads, I may need extras, so I would suggest that any one desiring a part in this great melodrama, to report to me when we meet at the Studio.” The Count looked at the adults as he spoke, and they smilingly accepted the invitation to be on hand to act as supers, in case of need.

Well, the six-reel production went on apace, and on the last night of the voyage, the photo-drama was presented to a crowded salon. It had been suddenly decided to charge an entrance fee of a dollar each and devote the proceeds to charity. This detracted not a whit from the entertainment, but rather added to it.

Many a laugh echoed through that salon, at the pathetic scenes in the story, because of the amateur acting of the stars. In fact, the vamp was so full of mischief while playing the heart-stirring drama of her life when she was hungry and without a home, that the “pathos” acted upon the audience as if it had been comedy.

The “Marquis” as Reggie Deane, made not reel, but real, love to Esther Brown in the picture; so much so that Mr. Ashby felt relieved to think the two would never meet again, once the steamer landed at the New York dock.

So with bright plans for the future, Polly and her chums spent the last few hours on the steamer, and were ready for their “career” before they landed in New York City again.