CHAPTER VI
PAST Santa Andrea, the Forte a Mare of the harbor of Brindisi, the steamer crept slowly through the narrow channel connecting the outer bay with the splendid and well-protected inner waterway, and drew up alongside the fine stone Molo di San Giovanni across the heart of the town.
Morton, standing on deck aloof from his fellow passengers, extended his silent greetings to Europe. His heart beat with gladness and expectation. The last days had seemed never-ending, so eager was he to begin the adventure on which he had now set his heart. He had made his adieus to the ship’s company and passengers. Friendships easily and quickly formed on board a ship are, as a rule, built on the slender foundation of the ennui of the moment; the boon companions of the smoking room soon become merely pictures for the memory to paint in, after days; even the charming lady whose deck chair adjoins yours fades into the hazy past—“Out of sight, out of mind!”
Morton’s first care on landing, after meeting his agent from Rome who had come to the ship, was to see that Count Rondell had been safely and comfortably housed in a hotel. The old man was very feeble and it was with difficulty that he was removed from the ship. The ship’s doctor had seen to it that a good physician was in attendance to give him all the necessary attention and care. This done to Morton’s satisfaction, he promised the Count to return in a short time and went himself to a nearby osteria for any cables or letters which might have arrived for him. He learned that all his orders and instructions had been properly carried out and, what was more pleasing, that none of the cables or letters awaiting him called for any alterations in the plans he had made with Count Rondell.
Learning that a fast train left Brindisi for the North in a couple of hours, he gave Donald his final instructions and the letters he had prepared for him and saw him off for Kronstadt, promising to meet him there the day after his arrival.
With his agent Morton then went to the hotel and met the American Consul who had come from Naples to offer his services. The Consul turned out to be a pleasant and bright young man who was fairly well acquainted with the Balkan countries. He provided Morton with passports and letters of introduction to American Consuls in the section which he expected to visit. He suggested that Morton should travel under his own name as an American capitalist interested in oil lands and as being also interested in purchasing some of the highly bred horses for which Roumelia was noted. The rest must be left to Morton’s own quick wit, he said, and the length of his purse—especially the latter. The political state of the country was not quiet; but he thought that Morton, as an American trader, should meet with few or no difficulties. The people of the Balkans were tradesmen and loved to meet anyone by whom they could profit. With this parting advice he left.
Returning to the Count’s hotel, Morton found him in bed, weak but cheerful, with his valet and a newly engaged nurse in attendance. Dr. Brown, who was in the adjoining apartment, had telephoned for a prominent specialist from Rome who was expected to arrive within a few hours.
Morton took a chair, and begging the nurse to leave him alone with her invalid, sat down by the Count’s bedside. He told him in detail of what he had done since leaving the ship. The information cheered the sick man and brought a brighter look into his tired eyes. He pressed the young man’s hand gratefully. “I trust you implicitly, dear friend,” he murmured.