The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

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"And as it shall be," said Quincy. "It won't cost much to fix it up,
all but the moss, and that will come on it in time. You get a man,
Tom, find out the cost of renovating the house, and I'll pay the
bill. So will the sense of untruthfulness be removed from our
sensitive feelings." This was quickly arranged, for work, with the
pay in advance, was a delectable possession in those parts.

When they reached Fernborough Hall, and Quincy was told of the search
on which his mother had started out, he pretended to agree with his
aunt that it was useless, and the height of folly, but from that
moment hope sprang up within him, that, by some miracle, his father
was still alive. He did not confide his hopes to Aunt Ella, and gave
her no inkling of the real reason for his trip to Europe.

"It would make me very happy to know that my father was living," he
said, "but after so long a time it seems foolish to think it, does it
not? When do you expect mother home, Aunt Ella?"

"The letter was written a month ago from Vienna, but, unfortunately,
she did not give her address. If she were well, she should have been
here before this. I have an idea that she may have gone to
Switzerland on her way home, and charmed by its scenery, or forced by
her weak condition, has remained there. Stay here for a week with
your friend, and perhaps some word will come."

"No, Auntie," said Quincy, "Tom and I will run over to Vienna, and if
we don't find her we will push on to William Tell's republic. We will
write you often--Tom one day and I the next."

"I have often wondered," said Quincy to Tom two days later as they
were on the cars speeding to Vienna--"I have often wondered," he
repeated, "how my mother could let me go away and stay away from her
for fourteen long years. That she loves me, her letters show plainly.
She says often that I am all she has in the world, but she never sent
for me to come and see her nor did she ever come to see me. How do
you explain it, Tom?"

"Very easily. That disaster at sea and the loss of your father has
given her a horror of the ocean which she cannot overcome. She fears
to trust herself or one she loves to its mercies again. Perhaps we
can't understand her feelings, but you must respect them."

"I do," replied Quincy. "I have never doubted her love for me, and
your theory, perhaps, explains her failure to manifest her love more
forcibly."

On the train they made a most agreeable acquaintance and regretted
their inability to accept his invitation to visit him. His name was
Louis Wallingford. He was an American, born in Missouri. He had been
a reporter, then editor. His passion was music and he had forsaken a
literary life for that of a musician. He had joined an orchestra much
in demand at private parties given by the wealthy residents of St.
Louis. At one of these, he had become infatuated with the daughter of
a railroad magnate who counted his wealth by millions. A poor
violinist, he knew it was useless to ask her father for his
daughter's hand. The young lady's mother was dead. The father died
suddenly of apoplexy, and Miss Edith Winser came into possession of
the millions. Then he had spoken and been accepted. Conscious that
her husband, talented as he was, would not be accepted, without a
hard struggle, by the upper class, they decided to live in Europe.

He had found a deserted chateau on the borders of Lake Maggiore.
Money bought it, and money had transformed it into an earthly
Paradise. The building, of white marble, was adapted for classic
treatment, and Greek and Roman art were symbolized therein.

The chateau contained a large music room and a miniature theatre in
which Mr. Wallingford's musical compositions and operas were
performed.

"I have just come from Paris," said Mr. Wallingford, "where I have
made arrangements for six concerts by my orchestra which will play
many of my own pieces. Can you not be in Paris in a month and hear
them?"

"Tell him your story," whispered Tom to Quincy, and he did so.

Mr. Wallingford was deeply interested.

"If you find both your father and mother, they deserve another
honeymoon. Bring them to Vertano and in the joys of the present we
will make them forget the sorrows of the past."

"I am afraid," said Quincy, "that such good fortune would be more
than miraculous."

"Come with your mother and friend then," said Mr. Wallingford as he
left them to change cars.

They went to the Hotel Metropole in Vienna. Quincy consulted his
guide book.

"Everybody lives in apartment houses in Vienna, so this book says.
The question is, in which one shall we find my mother and her maid?"

"All we can do," said Tom, "is to plug away every day. Keep a-going,
keep asking questions, keep our eyes and ears open, and keep up our
courage."

"Your plan is certainly 'for keeps,' as we children used to say. Come
along. Your plan is adopted. Have you written Lady Fernborough? 'Tis
your turn."

Many days of fruitless travel and the young men began to despair of
success. Quincy was debating with himself whether it would not be
better to give up the search for his mother, and follow up the clue
about his father. He felt that every day was precious.

"I have an idea, Quincy," Tom said one morning. "Perhaps your mother
is quite sick and has gone to a public hospital or a private one of
some kind."

"That's a fine idea, Tom. We'll begin on them after breakfast."

The sharp reports of gun shots and the softer cracking of pistols
were heard.

"What's that?" cried Quincy.

"Some men are on a strike. They had trouble with the police last
night and this morning's paper says the strikers have thrown up
barricades. Probably the police and soldiers are trying to dislodge
them."

The firing continued, and from their windows the soldiers and people
could be seen moving towards the scene of disturbance.

"Let's go out and see what is going on," said Quincy.

"Let's stay in and keep out of trouble," was Tom's reply. "It is the
innocent bystander who always gets shot."

"I'm going down to the office to find out about it," and Quincy took
his hat and left the room.

Tom was suspicious of his intentions and followed him. Quincy had
left the hotel and was walking rapidly towards the scene of
disturbance. Tom ran after him, and kept him in sight, but did not
speak to him. At first he felt offended that Quincy had not asked him
to go with him. Then he reflected: "I virtually told him in advance
that I wouldn't go. He's his own master."

They were nearing a street from which came the sounds of conflict--
loud cries, curses, and the reports of firearms. Tom ram forward to
prevent Quincy from turning into the street. He was too late--Quincy
had turned the corner. Tom, regardless of danger, followed him. He
started back with a cry of horror. Quincy had been shot and was lying
upon the sidewalk, the blood streaming from a gun-shot wound in his
right arm. Tom took him up in his arms, as though he had been a
child, and returned to the safety of the unexposed street.

As he lay Quincy upon the sidewalk and took out his handkerchief to
make a tourniquet with which to stanch the flow of blood, he cried:
"Oh, Quincy, why did you walk right into danger?"

As he uttered the words, a man who was standing nearby, whose dress
and swarthy face proclaimed him to be a foreigner, stepped forward
and grasped Tom roughly by the arm.

"What did you call that young man," asked the stranger, his voice
trembling, perceptibly.

"I called him by his name--Quincy."

"Quincy what? Pardon me, but I have a reason for asking."

"His name is no secret," said Tom, as he twisted the handkerchief
tightly above the wound. "I can't understand your interest in him,
but his name is Quincy Adams Sawyer."

"Thank Heaven," exclaimed the man. "And thank you," he added,
grasping Tom's hand--"Is he English?"

"No, we're both Yankees, from Fernborough, Massachusetts."

The man knelt beside Quincy and gazed at him earnestly. He looked up
at Tom.

"I could bless the man who fired that shot. My name is Quincy Adams
Sawyer and this young man is my son!"

Tom's surmise had been correct. Alice did not improve and a long stay
at the Hospital became necessary before the return to England would
be possible.

"What's that noise, Babette?" asked Alice.

"There must be a riot somewhere," was the reply. "The soldiers are
marching past. They are fighting in a street nearby."

Alice said no more. What had she to do with fighting and bloodshed?
Her suffering was greater than any bullet could inflict. She fell
into a doze from which she was awakened by a loud cry from Babette.

"Oh, Madame, a carriage has just stopped here, and they are bringing
a wounded man into the Hospital. There are two men with him--one
looks like an Englishman or American."

"Go down, Babette, and see if you can find out who they are. I should
be glad if I could be of help to one of my own countrymen."

It seemed a very long time before the maid returned. When she did,
the usually self-confident Babette seemed dazed. She did not speak
until her mistress asked:

"Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, Madame."

"What?"

"They are all Americans, Madame. A young man and his friend; the
older man is the father."

"The companion's?"

"No, the young man's."

"Did you learn their names or where they are from?"

Babette sank upon her knees by the bedside.

"Oh, Madame, I am so happy."

Alice regarded her with astonishment.

"Happy! Happy because a young man has been shot. You must have a
bloodthirsty nature, Babette."

"It isn't the shooting, Madame. It's the name."

"The name? What name? You are nervous, Babette. You must lie down and
rest. I keep you up too late nights reading and writing."

"Oh, Madame, how can I say it? Can you bear it?"

"I have borne suspense for twenty-three years. I can bear much. What
is it you would tell me?"

"You know, Madame, I said the older man was the young man's father.
They both have the same name."

"That's not uncommon, especially in America. The young man is called
Junior. Sometimes when they are very proud of a family name they
number them. Supposing my husband were living, and my son had a son,
named after himself, the little boy would be Quincy Adams Sawyer
3rd."

"Madame, I must tell you. The father and the son bear the name of
Quincy Adams Sawyer!"

Alice regarded her as if affrighted. Then she leaped from the bed and
cried: "Bring me my clothes, Babette. My husband and son! We three,
brought together by the hand of God once more."

The revulsion was too great. The pent-up agony of twenty-three years
dissolved in a moment. Alice fainted and fell into Babette's arms.

CHAPTER XXV

A PERIOD OF TWENTY-THREE YEARS

It took hours for the overjoyed wife and mother and the long-lost
husband and father to tell their stories. Alice's was told first, and
was followed by young Quincy's recital of his life at Fernborough,
his four years at Harvard, and the story of the returned bill of
exchange leading him to Europe, and his search for his mother in
Vienna which ended with such happiness for all. Finally, the father
began:

"On the night of the collision, after seeing you safely started in
the life-boat with the last of the passengers, Captain Hawkins
thought of a small boat on the upper deck which had been overlooked
in the general scramble to get away from the doomed _Altonia_.
Shouting to me to follow him, the Captain rushed up the ladder to the
railing, and together we started to lower the boat. It was raised
about three feet above the deck, being held in position by two
supports shaped like a letter X. I had already loosened the ropes on
my side, and then tried to kick out the support nearest me. It stuck,
and finally I got down on my hands and knees thinking I could force
it out better in that position. The water was steadily pouring in at
the ship's side, and it was only a question of a few minutes before
the _Altonia_ would founder. Finally I gave one mighty push, the
support gave away, the boat came down upon me like a ton weight,--and
that was the last I knew until I awoke in a large room full of single
beds, and a kindly faced old priest told me I was in the Hospital of
San Marco, Palermo, Sicily.

"My God, the shock when I found that my sleep,--for such it was to
me,--had lasted over twenty-three years! What thoughts went through
my mind! Had you, Alice, been saved or lost? If saved, were you still
living, and my son, whom I had never seen, was he living? Were Aunt
Ella and my father and mother and my sisters still alive? I was
roused from my revery by the good Father Paolo.

"He told me that the week before he had been summoned to the death-
bed of an old seaman, Captain Vando, who had confessed that over
twenty years before, while sailing from Boston to Palermo, two days
after a very bad fog, he had picked up at sea a small open boat in
which were two men, both of whom at first seemed dead. One, it was
Captain Hawkins, was beyond all help; he was frozen to death,--frozen
to death, Alice, in an effort to save my life, for, besides my own
coat, his was found tucked around me.

"After hours of work, I was brought back to life,--but a life worse
than death. The Captain told Father Paolo that my mind was a blank, I
could remember nothing of my past, I did not know my name. Then
temptation came to Captain Vando. He took from me my belt, in which I
had some English gold, a few English bank-notes, and the five bills
of exchange, each for a thousand pounds. The latter he did not dare
to dispose of, but the money he appropriated to his own use. He soon
found I could be of no use to him on ship-board, so, on his arrival
at Palermo, he sold me to a rich planter, for a hundred lire, and I
was put to work in the orange groves.

"Captain Vando in his confession told Father Paolo that he still had
my belt containing the bills of exchange, and before his death he
delivered these over to the priest. After the Captain's death, Father
Paolo went to Signor Matrosa, who, when confronted with the facts,
admitted I had been sold to him, and that I was known under the name
of Alessandro Nondra, but he told him that I had been mixed up in a
fight, and had received such a bad wound that I had been sent to the
hospital. One of his managers, an Italian, had married an English
girl, and they had a daughter with light hair, and blue eyes. It
seems I had been sent to his house one day with a message, and when I
saw his daughter, I cried out, 'Alice, Alice,' and caught the girl in
my arms. Her father was so enraged that he picked up a gun lying near
at hand, and gave me such a terrific blow on the head that I was
knocked senseless. I remember nothing of it, but mistaking Anita for
you was, undoubtedly, my first approach to my former consciousness.
That scene was probably the one which you saw in your dream, Alice,
and to think that afterwards you should be so near me in Palermo, and
neither of us know it!

"At the hospital the doctors found that the blow on my head had
caused but a comparatively unimportant scalp wound, but, in dressing
it, they found that at some earlier time my skull had been crushed.
They performed the delicate operation of trepanning the skull, and
when I came out from the effects of the ether, my mind was in the
same state as it had been twenty-three years before.

"After that my recovery was rapid. Father Paolo made Signor Matrosa
pay me thirty-three hundred lire as my wages for the many years I had
worked for him, and I gave a thousand of it to the manager's
daughter, to whom, in a way, I owed my return to my natural self.
The rest I gave to Father Paolo for the use of his church.

"Luckily, in my belt that Captain Vando had appropriated was my
passport. I went to the United States consul at Palermo, Mr. Drake,
had the passport vised, and got him to cash one of the bills of
exchange for me. Suddenly, one day, the thought came into my mind,
had you, Alice, thinking me dead, married again? I decided to find
out before the announcement of my return to the land of the living
could be spread broadcast, and I persuaded Mr. Drake to keep back the
information from his official report for a while, at least. This he
was able to do easily, as he was on the point of going away for a
vacation of a few months, and the other members of the consulate knew
very little of my case.

"I decided to continue bearing the name of Alessandro Nondra for a
while, at least, and I knew I could make a living in some way when my
present funds were exhausted. How I regretted the cashing of that
bill of exchange, because I knew it would eventually lead to my
discovery; but I was so changed, with my iron-gray hair, and Van Dyke
beard, that I felt I could escape detection until I knew whether my
wife still waited for me or not.

"I decided to make my way north to Ostend, and would cross from there
to England, where I felt sure I could find some news of you, or Aunt
Ella. I stopped off here in Vienna for a day or two. When I heard my
son called by name this morning I could not resist, and instead of
finding my son alone, I have also found his mother, my wife."

CHAPTER XXVI

"CATESSA"

Quincy gloried in his wife's faith and constancy. Alice, while she
rejoiced in her husband's return bewailed his lost opportunities.

"Think what you have lost, Quincy. You might have been President."

"If I have escaped that I shall not regret my long imprisonment."

"Why, Quincy, would you have refused a nomination?"

"Many are called, but few are chosen. I have never cherished any such
ambition. I am not in love with politics and I detest the average
politician. Our country produces few statesmen and it never will
until the civil service law is made applicable to legislators and to
high officials. We have much to learn from China in this respect."

Telegrams had been sent to Aunt Ella and Mr. Wallingford apprising
them of the happy reunion. From the latter came a message extending a
hearty invitation to come to Vertano.

Young Quincy's wound though painful, and particularly uncomfortable,
was not serious. Tom was his constant companion and attendant while
Quincy passed nearly all his time with his wife. She improved rapidly
and their departure was delayed only until young Quincy's wound was
healed.

"You now have a longer name than ever," his mother said to him one
day.

"How's that? It's too long now. What must be added?"

"Why, now that your father is alive, you are Quincy Adams Sawyer,
Junior."

"I am more than willing to make the addition, mother, and hope it
will be many years before I am obliged to shorten it."

When they reached Vertano but three days remained before the
departure of Mr. Wallingford and his orchestra for Paris, but during
that time there were drives through the beautiful country, boat rides
upon the lake, rehearsals by the orchestra and the performance of an
operetta written by Mr. Wallingford in which he, his wife, and seven
children took part.

"Shall we go to Paris?" asked Alice.

"Certainly," said Quincy. "We owe Mr. Wallingford the return courtesy
of our attendance at his six concerts."

The trip across the channel did not possess so many terrors for Alice
with her husband and son for company, but she was glad when they
stepped upon land at Dover.

"I shall never love the water," she said.

They reached London in the afternoon too late to take the train for
Heathfield in which town Fernborough Hall was situated. A telegram
was sent to Aunt Ella informing her of their safe arrival in London,
and that they would be with her the next day.

"What can I do to amuse you this evening, Alice?"

"Sit down and let me look at you, I have so much time to make up."

"They give _Martha_ at the opera to-night--it is my favourite--full
of the sweetest melodies in which I substitute Alice for Martha.
Quincy and Tom would like to go, and I have another reason which I
will tell you after the first act."

Alice's curiosity was aroused and she expressed her desire to go.
After the first act, Alice turned an inquisitive face to her husband.

"What was your other reason for coming here to-night?"

"Don't you think Catessa is a fine tenor?"

"He has the most beautiful voice I ever heard," Alice replied.

"I know him. He is an old friend of mine. I'm going behind the scenes
to congratulate him personally."

"Did you meet him in Italy?"

"No--in Fernborough, Massachusetts."

"Why, Quincy, what _do_ you mean? There were no Italians in
Fernborough."

"He is not an Italian. He's a Yankee. Look at his name."

"That's Italian surely."

"It's only his Yankee name transposed. Aren't you good on anagrams?"

"Certainly, I'm not. Please tell me."

"Do you remember a young man in Fernborough with consumption whom I
sent to a sanatorium in New York?"

"Yes, Mr. Scates."

"You've hit it. Mr. Arthur Scates, or A. Scates for short. Now look
at that Italian name again."

"I am doing so, and it looks just as foreign as ever."

"Agreed, but Catessa contains just the same letters as A. Scates,
only they are arranged differently."

After the second act, Quincy visited Mr. Scates in his dressing room.
The tenor insisted on Quincy and his party taking supper with him at
his hotel after the opera. He offered to repay the cost of his
treatment with interest.

"No," said Quincy, "I do not need it, and will not take it. Use it to
help some poor artist."

It was one o'clock when Quincy and his party reached their hotel.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Alice?"

"I had a delightful evening. But how happy you must feel to know that
your money saved such a precious life."

"I do," said he. "Good deeds always bring their reward. See what I
got--twenty-three years hard labour in an orange grove."

"Hush, Quincy. There is no possible connection between the two
events."

"I disagree with you. I think I am the connection, but I don't really
think one caused the other."

"I should say not. You are not often cynical."

"I am not, dear. Only when one does a good deed he must not expect to
be repaid in exactly his own coin."

"Did Mr. Scates offer to repay you?"

"He did, and I told him to give it to some poor fellow who needed
it."

"Quincy, I don't know which to admire most. Your good heartedness, or
your ability to make one sum of money perform many good actions."

The home coming to Fernborough Hall was a sad contrast to the
pleasure of the evening before. They found Aunt Ella in bed with two
doctors in attendance. Though weak, and failing fast there was no
diminution of her mental powers. She expressed a wish to see Quincy
alone.

"Quincy, your wife's faith has made a new woman of me. I have always
wished to live for ever, I had such a fear of death and uncertainty
as to the future. My fears are all gone.

"The same Power that put me in this world and has given me so many
blessings, with some sorrows, so that I would properly appreciate the
blessings, will take care of me in the next. I have never been a
wicked woman, but often a foolish one. The most foolish thing I have
ever done was to doubt the faith your wife had that you were still
alive. She's an angel.

"Give me a sup of that wine, Quincy," she continued, "I haven't
smoked a cigarette since I promised Alice I wouldn't. Wasn't that
self-denial? Now, there's a very important matter that needs
attention. I told you when you married Alice that when I died you
should have everything. Don't interrupt me. Believing you were dead I
made a new will and left everything to your son."

She drew a paper from under the bedclothes.

"Here it is. Burn it up. The other one is in the hands of my
solicitor in London."

Quincy laid the will upon the bed.

"Aunt Ella, I shall not burn the will nor destroy it. I am satisfied
with the disposition of your fortune. I should have been equally well
satisfied if you had possessed other heirs. But, did you leave your
property to Quincy Adams Sawyer Junior?"

Aunt Ella's eyes snapped with some of their old fire.

"I've got it right. I have described my heir so carefully that there
can be no mistake. Don't you imagine that there is a chance for you
to break my will."

There was a smile on her face as she spoke, and Quincy smiled to show
that he did not misunderstand her pleasantry. As he turned to go,
Aunt Ella called:

"Quincy!"

He approached the bed again.

"Another sip of that wine. I always liked wine--but not too much of
it."

She beckoned to him to come nearer. "Quincy, I want you, before you
go away to have the fish cleared out of the lake. Stuart wouldn't let
me do it, and since he died I have kept them as a tribute to his
memory. He said to me, when the name dies out, let the fish die too.
The name is near death, and the fish must go. Now, send Alice to me."

When she came, she bent over and kissed her aunt tenderly.

"Alice, I wish you were going with me. You know what I mean, dear. I
hope you will have long life and great happiness to make up for what
you've gone through. You have your husband back again. I am going to
mine, Robert and Stuart. There is no marriage or giving in marriage
there--only love. Quincy is going to look after the fish in the
lake."

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