Edgar Burroughs - The Rider - with the original illustrations (Edgar Rice Burroughs) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

"I suppose that you'd run off with the girl?" he said, laughing.

"That is precisely what I should do," replied Miss Gwendolyn Bass.

"Well, so shall I," he cried.

"With the gardener's daughter, I presume?" asked an acid voice behind them.

The two turned surprised faces in the direction of the speaker. Mr. Hemmington Main rose, rather red of face, and bowed low.

"Mrs. Bass, I'm – I'm mighty sorry," he stammered, "that you chanced to overhear our joking remarks. It was my intention to come to you and Mr. Bass and ask your daughter's hand in a perfectly regular manner. I love – "

The older woman stopped him with uplifted hand. "It is useless, Mr. Main," she said, coldly. "I have other – higher ambitions for my only child. Good afternoon, Mr. Main," and she extended her hand to lay it upon the arm of her daughter. "Come, Gwendolyn!"

It was ten days later that Mr. Hemmington Main received in his morning's mail a letter superscribed in the scrawly and beloved backhand with which he was so familiar – a letter which, after several pages of far greater interest to Mr. Main than to us, ended with: "and so Mother is dragging me off to Europe, ostensibly to forget you; but actually, I am positive, to barter me for a title with a red neck and soiled linen. Father is as mad as I; but helpless. He is for you – horse, foot and artillery – just as I knew he would be. Go and see him – you can weep on one another's shoulder; and in the mean time, Hemmy, take it from me, I'll never, never, never, never marry anybody but you."

And so it was that within that very day Mr. Hemmington Main was ushered into the private office of Abner J. Bass, where the older man greeted his visitor with the kindly smile and the warm handclasp which had been such important factors in the up-building of the Bass millions.

"I know why you have called, my boy," he said, without waiting for Mr. Main to explain his mission. "If you hadn't come I should have sent for you – I need your help. Mrs. Bass is, naturally, ambitious for the future of Gwendolyn – so am I; but, unfortunately, in this instance we are not agreed as to what constitutes the elements of a desirable future for our daughter. I could not get away at this time to accompany them abroad – not that I could have accomplished anything had I gone; for Mrs. Bass is, as you know, a very strong character – but I feel that you might accomplish a great deal were you on the spot. Will you go?"

Mr. Hemmington Main was quite taken off his feet by the suddenness of this unexpected proposition – or, it would have been closer to the truth to have said that he was almost taken off his feet, for Mr. Main was never quite taken off them in any emergency. And now he was on the point of jumping at this splendid suggestion when there rose before his mind's eye a sordid vision – the same old, squalid specter that had clung so tenaciously to his coat tails and held him into the rut of hard labor since the completion of his college days – Hon. Poverty, with his empty stomach and frayed trousers.

Abner J. Bass noticed the younger man's hesitation, and he guessed its cause.

"You won't have to worry about the financial end of the undertaking," he said. "I'll see to that."

"But I couldn't go that way, sir," expostulated Mr. Main. "Can't you see that I couldn't do it?"

"No, I can't see anything of the sort," replied Mr. Bass. "If my money is going to be used to buy a husband for Gwendolyn, I am going to see that it buys a husband she wants; and if you love her half as much as she deserves you won't let pride stand in the way of her happiness. Don't be foolish, Main; we've got to work together, each giving what he has to give – you, youth, vigor and resourcefulness; I, financial backing," and without waiting for a reply the older man wheeled about to his desk, opened a check book and filled in a blank check.

"Here," he said, extending the bit of paper toward Hemmington Main, "take this for preliminary expenses, and then draw on me for as much more as you may need, when you need it – I'll make the necessary arrangements through our London. Now run along, and get busy."

Prince Boris of Karlova stood at attention in the presence of his august sire. The latter was large and red of neck, bullet headed and heavy jowled. He hammered his desk with a huge fist, the while he roared his denunciation in stentorian tones.

"You are better fitted for a court jester than a crown prince," he shouted. "Your escapades are the gossip of the capitol. Scullery maids and hostlers know you better than do the nobility of the unhappy kingdom which some day will be forced to acknowledge you its king. You are a disgrace to the royal blood of the house of Kargovitch. You – you – you – "

"Otherwise," interrupted the crown prince, "I am everything which your majesty could desire."

The face of King Constans of Karlova turned from red to purple, he half rose from his chair and beat upon the desk with two fists instead of one.

"Enough of your impudence!" he cried. "You are under arrest, sir! Go to your quarters, and remain there – indefinitely."

"Yes, Sire," replied Prince Boris; "but I suggest that you place a guard over me, as I have not given you my parole. Confinement is irksome to me – I shall escape, if I can; and then there is no telling but that I may marry a scullery maid and infuse into the veins of the Kargovitches a few ounces of red blood."

"Your marriage already is arranged," roared the king. "It was upon that subject I wished to speak with you – your impudence drove it from my mind. You will wed the Princess Mary of Margoth – if she will have you; and you will remain under arrest until Baron Kantchi has arranged the time of your visit to the court of Margoth."

The young man took a step toward his father.

"But, your majesty," he exclaimed, "I do not wish to marry yet – and above all others I do not wish to marry a Margoth princess, who, unquestionably has a scrawny neck and the temper of a termagant."

"It is immaterial whether she has any neck or any temper," replied the king; "you are going to marry her; and I trust that she will be able to accomplish what I have failed to – the awakening in you a realization of the obligations of your exalted birth."

"I hope so," said the crown prince aloud; but what he thought is not recordable.

The king touched a bell upon his desk, and an instant later an officer of the guard entered the apartment and bowed low before his sovereign.

"You will conduct Prince Boris to his quarters," said Constans. "He is under arrest. Place a guard over him, as he has refused us his parole."

The officer bowed again, and backed from the presence, followed by the crown prince.

In silence the two traversed the corridors of the palace until they came to the apartments of Prince Boris. A soldier, already on guard there, saluted as the two passed within; and a moment later the officer emerged and transmitted to the sentry the orders of the king.

Within the apartment Boris glanced at his watch. A smile touched his lips. "An hour," he murmured, " – I can barely make it."

He approached the door and opened it. The sentry saluted, stiff and rigid. The crown prince examined the man's features – he did not recognize them. The man was a recruit in the palace guard. Boris sighed. A veteran might have been easier to handle, for the veterans all loved the crown prince.

"My man," said Boris, "if you will just cast your eyes in the other direction for a moment you will not see me escape – and what people don't see, you know, won't ever do them any harm."

The sentry wheeled about and faced the crown prince, barring the doorway with his rifle.

"I am sorry, your highness," he said respectfully; "but I cannot do it – I cannot violate the oath I took when I was sworn into the king's service."