The Washington herald., 1911-03-01
CHAPTER XXI.
Capt. Flanagan Meets a Duke.

Ihe Isle or Corsica, for all its fame in
romance and history, is yet singularly
isolated and unknown. 1t is an island
whose people have stood still for a CEN
tury, indolent, unobserving, thriftIess.
No smoke, that ensign of progress. hangs
over her towns, which are squalid and
unpicturesque, save they lie back among
the mountains. But the country itself IS
wildly and magnifcentIy beautiful;
great mountains of granite as varied in
colors as the palette of painter, emer-
aid streams that plunge over porphyry
and marble, splendid forests of pine and
birch and chestnut.
The password was, is. and ever will be-
Napoleon. Speak that name and the ma
tive's eye will fire and his patois will rat
tie forth and tingle the ear like a snare
drum. Though he pays his tithe to
France, he is Italian: but, unlike the
Italian of Italy. his predilection is
neither for gardening. nor agriculture,
nor horticulture Nature gave him a few
chestnuts, and he considers that suffi-
cient. For the most part he subsists
upon chestnut bread, stringy mutton,
sinister cheeses. and a horrid sour wine
As a variety he will shoot small birds and
in the wintersa wild pig or two; his toll
extends no further, for his wife is the
day laborer. Viewing hm as he is to-day,
it does not seem possible that his ances-
tors came from Genoa la Superba.
Napoleon was born in Ajaccio. but the
blood in his veins was Tuscan and his
mind FIorentine.
These days the world takes little or no
interest in the island save for its wool,
lumber, and an inferior cork Great ships
pass it on the north and south, on the
east and west, but only cranky packets
and dismal freighters drop anchor in her
ports.
The Gulf OF Ajaccio lies at the south
west of the island and is half-moon in
shape, with reaches of white sands. red
crags, and bruSh-Covered dunes. and i'm
mediately back of these an embracing
range of bald mountains.
little before sunrise the yacht Laura
swami into the gulf The mountains, their
bulks in shadowy gray, their undulating
crests threaded with yellow fire, cast
their images upon the smooth, tideless.
silver-dulled waters. Forward a blur Of
white and red marked the town.
Isn't ii glorious?" said Laura, rubbing
the dew from the teak rail And oh,
what time we people waste in not get
ting up in the mornings with the sun
Il don't know" replied Fitzgerald
Scenery and sleep; of the two l prefer
the latter. I have always been routed
out at dawn and never allowed to turn
in till midnight. You can always find
scenery, but. sleep is a coy thing
There's a drop of commercial blood in
your veins somewhere, the blood of the
int
"Oh, sleep doesn't count at all this
The scenery is everything
And as he looked into her clear, bright
eyes he knew that before this quest came
to its end he was going to tell this en-
chanting girl that he loved her better
than all the world" and. moreover, he
to tell il to her with the daring
hope of winning her, money or no money.
Had not some poet written-some worldly
wise poet who rather had the tang of
things
He either fears his fate too much
Or his deserts small.
Who darcs net put it to the touch
To win or lose II all.
Money wasn't everything; she herself
had made that statement the first night
out. He had been afraid of f-Breitmann,
but somehow that fear was all gone now.
Did she care. il ever so little?
He veered his gaze round and Won
lered where Breitmann was. Could the
man be asleep on a morn so vital as
thiss No; there he was, on the very
bowsprit Itself. The crew was busy about
him, some getting the motor boat in trim,
others yanking away at pulleys, all the
preparations OF landing. sharp order
rose now and then; a servant passed,
carrying Capt Flanagan's breakfast to
The pilot house. To all this subdued tur-
noil Breitmann seemed apparently oblivi-
BUS, What mad dream was working in
that brain? Did the poor devil believe
IN himself. or did he have some ulterior
purpose, unknown TO any but himself?
Fitzgerald determined, once they touched
and. never TO let him go beyond sight.
Il would not be human for him to sur
render any part OF the treasure without
making some kind of a fight for 1t, cum |
ming or desperate. II only the women |
folk remained on board,
Breitmann gazed toward the town mo- |
tionless.
1t was dificuIt for Fitzgerald not to |
tell the great secret then and there, but |
bis caution whispered warningly. There |
was no knowing what effect IL would |
have upon the impulsive girl at his side. |
And besides. there might have been a
grain of selfishness in the repression. All |
S fair in love or war. and X would not /
have been polite to make hero out OF
8reitmann
You haven't said word for five min
Ites," she declared. How boyish he /
ookeu for man of his experienced
Silence Is sometimes good for the /
ioul. . sententiously.
"Of what were you thinking"
His heart struck hard against his /
,reast. What an opening. what mo-
nent in which to declare himself. But