He bought a lock. He could have bought three with his remaining money, but he knew very well which were cheaply made and which were not.
He did not visit the toy department—he was too anxious to return to the Fair and take apart his new acquisition. He was happy—he had an urge to be borne somewhere, to be wafted about. He would take a ride in a trolley.
He rode for an hour, proud and happy. He gave the conductor five cents and the conductor gave him a ride; then he gave the conductor another five cents and the conductor gave him more of a ride.
Then in a traffic tangle at a crossing Pan-e-troon found his eyes fixing themselves with increasing interest outside the window.
In a glittering underslung open car sat a girl. She was probably, not merely in his imagination, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life—a ripply blonde who, had it been necessary, could have posed for any of those exquisite creatures in the advertisements. Her eyes were a little worried; so was her mouth.
Beside her was a morose-looking young man; but Pan-e-troon scarcely looked at the young man.
“She is a chief’s daughter,” he said to himself. “Doubtless the daughter of one of the greatest chiefs of all—ruler of one of the great trading posts.”
Pan-e-troon sighed as the jam broke and the car started forward. Now he began ruminating instead of gazing. Home seemed very far away, very vast and white—but not as white as that girl’s forehead. It was becoming plain to him this afternoon that he was not looking forward to going back.
After half an hour when he had concluded that it was time to be getting off, he saw the same car again. It was stopped by the side of the road, and the young man was in the act of removing one of the great bulbous tires—the girl leaning over the side and watching. The trolley clanged past, but before the next corner Pan-e-troon was on his feet, shouting:
“I out! Here I go out!”
On the corner Pan-e-troon waited until the trolley was out of sight. Then he walked back casually in the direction of the automobile.
He walked so quietly on his moccasins that not until he was beside the motor did the girl perceive him. She gave a sudden little gasp and the young man looked up, broke off his work, and stared.
“What is it?” the girl whispered. “It’s almost an Eskimo.”
“Well, what’s he doing down here?”
“Look! He’s got on a straw hat.”
Pan-e-troon put his hands behind his back and beamed.
“I wonder if he knows anything about tires,” the young man said. “Maybe he could stuff the hole with blubber or something, what?”
“You’re not supposed to talk to me, Westgate. I keep my word.” She lowered her voice. “But evidently this polar number is going to stick around.”
The polar number was. When presently the wheel came off with a whirring wrench and went bouncing down the inclined street, Pan-e-troon tore after it, retrieved it, and brought it back to the car.
“Much ’blige,” he said proudly.
“Don’t mention it,” said Edith Cary. “Where do you come from?”
“I from Lapland.”
“What are you doing so far from home?”
“Worl’s fair,” he explained.
“Then what are you doing way out here?” she pursued.
“See Chicago,” he explained. “Eskimo village go Lapland tomorrow.”
At this moment a coupe drew up beside Edith’s car. At the wheel sat a ruddy man of forty with a bristling mustache.
Edith frowned just faintly, and Pan-e-troon, unable to take his eyes from her, remarked upon the fact.
“Well, why the stop?” said the newcomer.
“We had a blowout.”
The newcomer looked from Edith to the young man suspiciously.
“Well, as long as you’re keeping your promise—as long as you’re not letting him work on you.”
“Humphrey, shut up!” said Edith impatiently. “By the way, since you’re one of the executives of the Fair, you’ll enjoy meeting Mr.—” She turned to the observer. “What’s your name?”
“Name Pan-e-troon. That mean—”
“Mr. Pan-e-troon. He’s in your show, Humphrey, and he’s seeing the sights of our city.”
“My God, how did he get off the reservation? We have more trouble rounding up these exhibits—they wander around and get fleeced and then we’re to blame.”
“I’m not going to fleece him, Humphrey. He has such beautiful fleece.”
She felt a sympathy for the stranger in his wandering, but her sudden frown was not caused by that.
“Speaking of exhibits,” she said, “I thought you were going to hold the—you know what—until the family get back.”
“Well, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? And the Fair’s over.”
“But I’ve no place to keep it—no combination for the safe. Since father lent it to the Fair, it seems to me it isn’t much to ask—”
“I’ll be staying at your house tonight—anyhow I wouldn’t talk about it.” Humphrey Deering glanced at Pan-e-troon.” You never can tell what disguises crooks will get up nowadays.”
“Oh, no.” Edith smiled at the Eskimo. “Mr. Troon’s all right—in fact, I’ve taken a fancy to him.”
The young man jacked the car down and put away the tools. Humphrey Deering’s eyes fell on him unfavorably.
“You follow me out,” he said. “But it seems to me that a man who once aspired to your hand would have more pride than to—”
“I had no place to go,” declared Westgate, unperturbed. “I arrived here this morning without a dollar.”
“Anyhow, he’s a sort of cousin,” said Edith.
But Humphrey Deering pursued stubbornly:
“In view of what he did”—he hesitated as Westgate flushed—“you ought to be chaperoned.”
“Anything to please,” said Edith. She turned to Pan-e-troon. “Would you like to go to a big house in the country to spend the night?”
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Humphrey.
“I told you I’d taken a fancy to him.”
“Well, don’t put him in the doghouse—unless you want to start a distemper epidemic. He’s probably worn those skins all summer.”
Pan-e-troon caught the gist of this and said indignantly: “These skins all clean. My father shoot; my aunt sew; I make clean.”
Humphrey started his motor impatiently. With little difficulty Edith persuaded Pan-e-troon into the rumble seat.
“If you’ve never been inside an American house you’ll have it to remember on those long, long nights up there.”
“Nights very long,” Pan-e-troon chuckled. “Six month.”
“Six months,” Edith repeated to Westgate. “Doesn’t that melt your heart?”
“No, never melt,” Pan-e-troon assured her. “Snow always.”
When they started off he was sure neither of their destination nor of his right to go; but the quiet speed lulled him into reckless content. After an hour of open country they turned in at a gate and curved up a long drive to a great mansion.
In the portentous hall warriors in tin glared down at Pan-e-troon through eyeless helmets, and he took off his hat politely.
“Mr. Troon has no baggage, Christopher. Fit him out and all that. Then take his things and brush them—you understand?”
“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Troon,” sniffed Christopher.
When Pan-e-troon was alone in his room, he lay on the bed with his feet in the air, stuffed the pillow over his mouth, and roared. What a day! This was an adventure beyond his wildest dreams. Downstairs he found his hostess and Westgate in the library. Edith was more than ever radiant in a dinner dress of wine-colored velvet, and she greeted him with no less courtesy than if he had been the accredited ambassador from the North Pole. From the curios in the trophy room she sought out a sealskin drum, and he recognized on it the markings of a tribe neighbor to his own. Meanwhile she concluded what she was saying to Westgate:
“What we’ll do is this. You slip on a tail coat, and put the thing into one of the tails, and have Christopher sew up the tail—and the thing is safe for the night.”
“And sleep in the coat? That’d look just too natural to any burglar.”
Christopher appeared to say that two men were outside with a package to be delivered personally to Miss Cary. In a moment Edith came back, her eyes shining.
“I’m going to take a real look at this thing!” she exclaimed as she broke the seals. “I’ve never had my hands on it before.”
From a box within a box she took an object wrapped in velvet—and uttered a little cry of delight. It was a circular setting of gold stuffed with alternate diamonds and rubies large as lumps of sugar. Going to the mirror, she put it on—and watched it settle down about her ears.
“Elizabeth the Second didn’t bob her hair.”
She showed it to Pan-e-troon.
“Very old—it belonged to a big lady chief a long time ago. It’s worth a lot of money.”
“Hund’ed dollar,” he agreed.
“Many, many, many hundred dollars. Last summer some robbers came to the World’s Fair and tried to steal it, but the police chased them away.”
An exasperated groan came from the doorway, where stood Humphrey Deering:
“What’s the idea, Edith? We keep a day and night guard on that exhibit for two seasons, and you wear it around as if it was a necklace from the five-and-ten!”
“I know five-and-ten,” said Pan-e-troon eagerly. “I been five-and-ten. I give them something—they give me something. Look, I show you—I go get.”
As he left the room Humphrey looked after him impatiently.
“How do you know who that fellow is?”
“Don’t be unpleasant, Humphrey. Somebody ought to wear this—it’s part of the responsibility of owning it. And as for Mr. Troon—well, I never heard of any rackets in the Arctic Circle.”
Pan-e-troon returned and, simmering with joy, presented Edith with the lock he had bought that afternoon.
“I give you this,” he bubbled, “you not give me anything. This free for you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take it! Why, it’s a lock—isn’t it beautiful!
