BY CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY
Author of “The Two Captains,” “The Corner in Coffee,” “A Little Traitor to the South,” “The Southerners,” etc.
I
THE SLIPPER IS SOUGHT
WHAT happened to me the night before? I was not certain as to details, but I recalled the main facts with singular distinctness. I had lost every coin that I possessed. A hasty search of my pockets in the morning disclosed the absence even of that one louis which, on account of its markings, I had resolved never to part with, save in the gravest emergency. I was stripped bare, “down to a gant-line,” as old Bucknall would have said. That much was obvious. I had possessed no jewels save the ring I had filched when I took the Frenchman’s purse. That, too, was gone. I suppose I played it away with the rest.
I still had my sword. It was a serviceable blade, which I had purchased with the Frenchman’s money so soon as I arrived in Paris. A gentleman and his sword, backed by a stout heart—well, one might be in worse plight. But as I thought about the night before I seemed to remember—and here was where I was not quite clear—that I had affixed my name to certain pieces of paper, I. O. U.’s! To what amount I was obligated by these transactions I did not know. But whether it was for one franc or a thousand, I was unable to discharge the debt. My creditors must give me time or—They were a jolly lot, those Frenchmen, and I had held up my end as long as the gold pieces lasted. America had taken no disgrace from my ability to stand in a game and win or lose like a gentleman. True, it was generally the latter that fell to my play.
Now I was sick of it all! I hated wine and women and play. I wished, as never before, that I were on the deck of a stout ship again, with the new flag, the Stars and Stripes, fluttering from the gaff-end and the breath of the salt wind in my face. This and a tidy Englishman of equal force under our lee. Gods! That was a man’s work and a man’s place. This drifting around from one gambling resort to another in Paris, with a crowd of roysterers—and worse—this night after night at the tables—bah, I had had enough of it!
It was a life I had never fancied, and if Dr. Franklin had been at home I had never entered upon it. After I escaped from the British prison-ship, and after I took that Englishman’s purse on the highway—only he turned out to be a Frenchman, but it was then too late for me to alter my intention to provide myself with the sinews of war—and after I managed to get to Paris and found our Ambassador gone to Holland or Spain or some other outlandish country, what was I to do? With plenty of money, no occupation, no ship, nor any present chance of getting one, no friends, and a reckless, adventurous disposition, I fell in with a fast set, and this was the outcome.
I could not find her either, although I swear I searched high and low and spent not a little of the proceeds of my highway robbery in trying to run her down. There was no use in going over all this. I got up from the couch on which I had thrown myself dressed as I was, staggered over to the table, splashed my face with water and caught a glimpse of myself in the little mirror that hung on the wall. Worn, haggard, bloodshot—my own father would scarce have known me. I was ashamed, bitterly so. I had never been a gambler or a drinker, and I vowed that I would never be again. I had played the fool once and I did not propose to do it a second time. Yet these interesting resolutions were forced into the background by the demands of my present situation.
What was I to do? Breakfast! I loathed the idea. Still, I must eat to live. I hadn’t a cent with which to bless myself. What was the date? It was the tenth—no, the eleventh—of the month. Dr. Franklin would be back on the thirteenth. Once I could get speech with him all would be well, but how was I to exist until then?
I sat down by the window and tried to think of some device. God knows my situation was critical, but I declare that I could only think of her! Perhaps my inability to find her—for she had vanished as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed her—had made me reckless, careless, a willing prey to the knaves who had brought me to this pass. I will admit, even then, that I loved her. I closed my eyes and I could see her as I saw her that evening outside of Paris. I could hear her scream in the hands of those ruffians. I went over the whole thing as I had done a thousand times. My rush at the villains! I was a pretty hand at cudgel-playing as well as a good swordsman, for I had no weapon but a stout stick.
The first fellow I caught fairly on the head, and he dropped like a felled bullock. I put my hand up and could feel a little partially healed scar along my cheek where the bullet of the one-eyed scoundrel cut a lock of hair and grazed me. He got a crack on his pistol arm which put him out of action. I could still see his face, convulsed with pain and rage, his one eye shooting fire at me as he retreated before me. The other rascal was a coward, for he fled immediately. I shall never forget the look on Mademoiselle’s face when she thanked me! They had torn her mask off when they had dragged her from her horse. I found it again and also managed to catch her horse.