L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 06 (15 page)

"For my part," said Myrtle softly, "I've been in a real fairyland. It
has seemed like a dream to me, all this glorious journey, and I shall
hate to wake up, as I must in time."

"Don't worry just yet about the awakening, dear," returned Patsy,
leaning over to kiss her little friend. "Just enjoy it while you can.
If fairylands exist, they were made for just such as you, Myrtle."

"One of the greatest marvels of our trip," said the Major, with a
smile, "is the improvement in our dear little invalid. It isn't the
same Myrtle who started out with us, believe me. Can't you all see the
change?"

"I can
feel
it," returned Myrtle, happily. "And don't you notice how
well I walk, and how little use I have now for the crutches?"

"And can you feel the rosy cheeks and bright eyes, too?" asked Uncle
John, regarding her with much satisfaction.

"The trip was just the thing for Myrtle," added Patsy. "She has grown
stronger every day; but she is not quite well yet, you know, and I
depend a good deal upon the genial climate of California to insure her
complete recovery."

Uncle John did not reply. He remembered the doctor's assertion that a
painful operation would be necessary to finally restore Myrtle to a
normal condition, and his kindly heart disliked to reflect upon the
ordeal before the poor girl.

Haggerty proved a prophet, after all. Each mile they covered opened
new vistas of delight to the eager travelers. The air grew more balmy
as they left the high altitudes and came upon the level country to
the north, of the San Bernardino range of mountains, nor was it
long before they sighted Imperial and sped through miles of country
carpeted with the splendid yellow poppies which the State has adopted
as the emblems of California. And behind this golden robe loomed the
cotton fields of Imperial, one of the most fascinating sights the
traveler may encounter. They made a curve to the right here, and
headed northerly until they came to Salton. Skirting the edge of the
curious Salton Sea they now headed directly west toward Escondido,
finding the roads remarkably good and for long stretches as smooth and
hard as an asphalt boulevard. The three days it took them to cross the
State were days of wonder and delight.

It was not long before they encountered the roses and carnations
growing on every side, which the Major had persistently declared to be
mythical.

"It seems all wrong," asserted Patsy's father, moodily, "for such
delicate flowers to be growing out of doors in midwinter. And look at
the grass! Why, the seasons are changed about. It's Springtime just
now in California."

"The man at the last stop we made told me his roses bloomed the year
round," said Patsy, "And just smell the orange blossoms, will you!
Aren't they sweet, and don't they remind you of brides?"

From Escondido it was a short run to the sea and their first glimpse
of the majestic Pacific was from a high bluff overhanging the water.
From this point the road ran south to San Diego, skirting the coast
along a mountain trail that is admitted to be one of the most
picturesque rides in America.

Descending the hills as they neared San Diego they passed through
fields of splendid wild flowers so extensive and beautiful that
our girls fairly gasped in wonder. The yellow and orange poppies
predominated, but there were acres of wild mustard throwing countless
numbers of gorgeous saffron spikes skyward, and vistas of blue
carconnes, white daisies and blood-red delandres. The yucca was in
bloom, too, and added its mammoth flower to the display.

They did not halt at San Diego, the southernmost city of California,
from whence the Mexican line is in plain sight, but drove to the bay,
where Wampus guided the limousine on to the big ferryboat bound for
Coronado. They all left the car during the brief voyage and watched
the porpoises sporting in the clear water of the bay and gazed
abstractedly at the waving palms on the opposite shore, where lies
nestled "the Crown of the Pacific"—Coronado.

Even the Major smiled benignantly when he reached his appointed room
in the magnificent Hotel del Coronado, which is famed throughout the
world.

"This," said he, "reminds me of New York; and it's the first thing
that has, since I left home."

"Why, Daddy, it isn't like New York at all," protested Patsy, standing
beside him at the broad window overlooking the ocean. "Did you ever
see a palm tree waving in New York; or daisy bushes as tall as a man;
or such masses of roses and flowering vines? And then just notice the
mountains over there—they're in Mexico, I'm told—and this great
headland in the other direction; it's called Point Loma. Oh, I never
imagined any place could be so beautiful!"

The others were equally excited, and Uncle John said, smiling broadly:

"Well, we're here at last, my dears, and I'm sure we are already well
paid for our trip across the continent. What pleasant rooms these are.
If the hotel table is at all to be compared with the house itself we
shall have a happy time here, which means we will stay as long as
possible."

But the table was another surprise, for the meals were equal to any
served in the great Eastern metropolis. Uncle John complimented the
landlord, a cheery faced, fat little man who had at one time managed
a famous New York hotel and had brought his talents and experience to
far California.

"I'm sorry," said this gentle boniface, "that I could not reserve
better rooms for you—for there are some choice views from some
locations. I had a corner suite saved for your party, a suite I
consider the most desirable in the hotel; but an eccentric individual
arrived yesterday who demanded the entire suite, and I had to let him
have it. He will not stay long, and as soon as he goes you shall have
the rooms."

"Who is he?" asked Uncle John.

"A rich miner; a most melancholy and peculiar person, by the way,"
replied landlord Ross. "I believe his name is Jones."

Mr. Merrick started.

"Jones, and a miner?" he said. "What's his other name—Anson?"

"We'll look and see," replied Mr. Ross, turning to the hotel register.
"No; not Anson. He is registered as C.B. Jones, of Boston."

"Oh; that's not the Jones at all," said Uncle John, disappointed.

"It's the Jones who is our guest," replied the landlord, smiling.

Meantime the three girls had gone for a walk along the coast. The
beach is beautiful at Coronado. There is a high sea wall of rock, and
the path runs along its edge almost the length of the promontory. The
rocks are sloping, however, and it is not very difficult to climb down
them to where the waves break against the wall.

Near the hotel they met straggling groups, strolling in either
direction, but half a mile away the promenade was practically
deserted. It was beginning to grow dark, and Beth said, regretfully:

"We must get back, girls, and dress for dinner—an unusual luxury,
isn't it? Our trunks arrived at the hotel two weeks ago, and are now
in our rooms, doubtless, awaiting us to unpack them."

"Don't let's return just yet," begged Myrtle. "I want to see the sun
set."

"It will be gorgeous," said Patsy, glancing at the sky; "but we can
see it from our windows, and as we're a long way from the hotel now I
believe Beth's suggestion is wise."

So they began to retrace their steps. Myrtle still walked with some
difficulty, and they had not proceeded far when Beth exclaimed:

"Look at that man down there!"

Her companions followed her direction and saw standing upon a huge
pile of rocks at the water's edge a slight, solitary figure. Something
in the poise, as he leaned forward staring at the darkened waves—for
the sun was low and cast shadows aslant the water—struck Myrtle as
familiar.

"Oh, girls!" she exclaimed; "it's the Grand Canyon man."

"Why, I believe it is," agreed Patsy. "What is he doing?"

"Nothing," said Beth, briefly. "But he is going to do something, I
think."

While they stared at him from their elevation the man straightened an
instant and cast a hasty glance to either side. The place seemed to
him deserted, for he failed to observe the group of three intently
watching his motions from the high bank overhead. Next moment he
turned back to the water and leaned over the edge of rock again.

"Don't!" cried Myrtle, her clear voice ringing over the lap of the
waves; "please don't!"

He swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the
young girl leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of
distress upon her sweet face.

"Don't!" she repeated, pleadingly.

He passed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked
at Myrtle again—this time quite steadily. She was trembling in every
limb and her cheeks were white with fear.

Slowly—very slowly—the man turned and began to climb the rocks; not
directly upward to where the girls stood, but diagonally, so as to
reach the walk some distance ahead of them. They did not move until he
had gained the path and turned toward the hotel. Then they followed
and kept him in sight until he reached the entrance to the court and
disappeared within.

"I wonder," said Patsy, as they made their way to their rooms,
"whether he really was thinking of plunging into the ocean; or whether
that time at the Grand Canyon he had a notion of jumping into the
chasm."

"If so," added Beth, "Myrtle has saved his life twice. But she can't
be always near to watch the man, and if he has suicidal intentions,
he'll make an end of himself, sooner or later, without a doubt."

"Perhaps," said Myrtle, hesitatingly, "I am quite wrong, and the
strange man had no intention of doing himself an injury. But each time
I obeyed an impulse that compelled me to cry out; and afterward I have
been much ashamed of my forwardness."

They did not see the melancholy man at dinner; but afterward, in the
spacious lobby, they discovered him sitting in a far corner reading a
magazine. He seemed intent on this occupation and paid no attention to
the life around him. The girls called Uncle John's attention to him,
and Mr. Merrick at once recognized him as the same individual they had
met at the Grand Canyon.

"But I am not especially pleased to encounter him again," he said with
a slight frown; "for, if I remember aright, he acted very rudely to
Myrtle and proved unsociable when I made overtures and spoke to him."

"I wonder who he is?" mused Patsy, watching the weary, haggard
features as his eyes slowly followed the lines of his magazine.

"I'll inquire and find out," replied her uncle.

The cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby,
pausing here and there to interchange a word with his guests. Uncle
John approached him and said:

"Can you tell me, Mr. Ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?"

The landlord looked around at the corner and smiled.

"That," said he, "is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon—Mr.
C.B. Jones—the man who usurped the rooms intended for you."

"Rooms?" repeated Uncle John. "Has he a large party, then?"

"He is alone; that is the queer part of it," returned the landlord.
"Nor has he much baggage. But he liked the suite—a parlor with five
rooms opening out of it—and insisted upon having them all, despite
the fact that it is one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. I
said he was eccentric, did I not?"

"You were justified," said Mr. Merrick, thought fully. "Thank you,
sir, for the information."

Even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad
divan, the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down
the room, evidently headed for the elevator. But with a start he
recognized the girl who had accosted him on the beach, and the others
with her, and for an instant came to a full stop before the group, his
sad eyes fixed intently upon Myrtle's face.

The situation was a bit awkward, and to relieve it Uncle John remarked
in his cheery voice:

"Well, Mr. Jones, we meet again, you see."

The man turned slowly and faced him; then bowed in a mechanical way
and proceeded to the elevator, into which he disappeared.

Naturally Uncle John was indignant.

"Confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "He's worse than a boor. But
perhaps his early education was neglected."

"Did you call him Mr. Jones, sir?" asked Myrtle in a voice that
trembled with excitement.

"Yes, my dear; but it is not your Uncle Anson. I've inquired about
him. The Joneses are pretty thick, wherever you go; but I hope not
many are like this fellow."

"Something's wrong with him," declared Patsy. "He's had some sad
bereavement—a great blow of some sort—and it has made him somber and
melancholy. He doesn't seem to know he acts rudely. You can tell by
the man's eyes that he is unhappy."

"His eyes have neither color nor expression," remarked Beth. "At his
best, this Mr. Jones must have been an undesirable acquaintance."

"You can't be sure of that," returned Patsy; "and I'm positive my
theory is correct. More and more am I inclined to agree with Myrtle
that he is disgusted with life, and longs to end it."

"Let him, then," retorted Uncle John. "I'm sure such a person is of no
use to the world, and if he doesn't like himself he's better out of
it."

That kindly Mr. Merrick should give vent to such a heartless speech
proved how much annoyed he had been by Mr. Jones' discourtesy.

"He might be reclaimed, and—and comforted," said Myrtle, softly.
"When I think of the happiness you have brought into my life, sir, I
long to express my gratitude by making some one else happy."

"You're doing it, little one," he answered, pinching her cheek. "If
we've brought a bit of sunshine into your life we've reaped an ample
reward in your companionship. But if you can find a way to comfort
that man Jones, and fetch him out of his dumps, you are certainly a
more wonderful fairy than I've given you credit for."