“And no man is as bad as he seems, and, therefore, if you ever feel like shooting me—don't,” was my answer.
“What luck that she didn't get hold of a count!” Betsey exclaimed. “She was one of the most willing marryers that ever crossed the sea.”
“But she didn't know how to advertise,” I said. “Nobody knew that she had money. One personal in the London Mail or the Paris Herald would have crowded the Excelsior Hotel with impoverished noblemen.”
“And yet I would have supposed that the worst of them would have been better than Muggs.”
“Not I,” was my answer. “Both Muggs and the counts have been mere adventurers—trying to get something for nothing. Muggs knew that he was doing wrong. His offense was so bad that he couldn't doubt its badness. But the consciences of the counts never get any exercise. They don't know that idleness is a crime, that a bought husband is baser than a poodle-dog. They are absolutely convinced of their own respectability. For that reason the average thief has a far better chance of being faced about.”
We sailed. Mrs. Sampf, with a chestful of knockers, and the lumber king, with his bust and portrait, were among our shipmates. The latter had had a stroke of hard luck. Two gamblers at his hotel had won his confidence and taken a hank of his fleece at bridge whist. He had made up his mind that American playmates were more to his liking, that Grant was greater than Alexander, and that universal peace was a dream. This he confided to me one evening as we were lying off Gibraltar in the glare of the searchlights.
Brooms of light were sweeping the waters for fear some sneaking nation would steal in upon them like a thief in the night.
“These Europeans know better than to trust one another,” said I. “Billions for ships an' forts an' armies, an' every dollar of it testifies to the fact that not one of these powers can trust another. 'Yes, you're a good talker,' they seem to say, 'but I know you of old. I'll eat with ye, and drink with ye, and buy with ye, and sell with ye, but dinged if I'll trust ye!”'
“They're a lot of scamps over here,” was the conclusion of Mr. Pike.
“And especially unreliable in bridge whist,” I said.