“My dear sir, my dear boy! Permit me to call you that for once—you have made me very happy! I feel confident you will succeed if any man can. I already have a plan—but you are right, I must pull myself together first and be ready for the work. Please, ring for my man and—in an hour I shall be at your disposal.”
“Good, let’s shake hands on it. Call me anything you please. I am proud you have chosen me. Don’t you worry; we’ll beat the entire crazy outfit—and I will have your girl out and in your arms in quick order. So long, Count, rest well!” He was about to leave when he recalled the older man’s stiff punctilious ways. Reddening slightly he turned and, with courtly bend, added, “Au revoir, your Excellency!”
Pausing upon the threshold he looked back. “Have you a book on Roumelia with a map of the country? I might as well get posted before I see you again.” He laughed: “I am that way, Count; first slow and hard to move; but once I see my way clear—why, I get enthusiastic and forget that I am no longer a boy.”
The Count had the very book on the desk, map and all. Morton took it and retired.
CHAPTER V
MORTON reached the cooler air and took several turns around the deck. The soft breeze playing on his face, the sight of the twinkling lights and the bustle from the shore, awoke him to himself. He began to realize the situation in which he had placed himself, and to regret the enterprise to which he had, in a sense, committed himself. It was so different from the plans he had already formed, so entirely at variance with his thoughts and his aims. Was it really to be so? Or was it but a dream from which he had just awakened? He felt like a boy caught in a forbidden act. By Jove, the most sensible thing would be to go back to the cabin and tell the Count that the whole scheme was impossible! Surely the man was not quite right in his head! What had he to do with so absurd an adventure? Don would be certain to think he had been talking with a lunatic if he came to him with the story. Oh, yes, Don was the very man to consult about this matter. He would see him at once.
Then, into the kaleidoscopic whirl of his thoughts rose again the portrait of the beautiful girl he had seen. That was real, without a doubt. How lovely she was! He recalled the fine outline of the oval face, the thoughtful brow, the slightly parted lips with their faint curve of a smile. He wondered what color her hair and eyes were. And then he saw the slender throat, the simple, graceful pose of the child-woman. She surely must have a mind as beautiful as her face. He could almost see the little mouth pout, and the beautiful blue eyes (yes, they were blue) fill with tears.
He swore silently under his breath and lit his pipe. He could think better smoking. A few puffs and he had made up his mind. He was in for it, right or wrong—he couldn’t and wouldn’t back out. He was wasting time, even now. He must be up and doing. Don must be told at once. He wouldn’t tell him more than a bare outline—simply announce the change in his program and order him to prepare for a journey—the Count would have some plan worked out.