The Red Cross Girl
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Richard Harding Davis >> The Red Cross Girl
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Within a few days Stetson was also leaving Constantinople by
steamer via Naples. Peter, who had come to like him very
much, would have accompanied him had he not preferred to
return home more leisurely by way of Paris and London.
"You'll get there long before I do," said Peter, "and as soon
as you arrive I want you to go to Stillwater and give Doctor
Gilman some souvenir of Turkey from me. Just to show him I've
no hard feelings. He wouldn't accept money, but he can't
refuse a present. I want it to be something characteristic of
the country, Like a prayer rug, or a scimitar, or an
illuminated Koran, or "
Somewhat doubtfully, somewhat sheepishly, Stetson drew from
his pocket a flat morocco case and opened it. "What's the
matter with one of these?" he asked.
In a velvet-lined jewel case was a star of green enamel and
silver gilt. To it was attached a ribbon of red and green.
"That's the Star of the Crescent," said Peter. "Where did you
buy it?"
"Buy it!" exclaimed Stetson. "You don't buy them. The Sultan
bestows them."
"I'll bet the Sultan didn't bestow that one," said Peter.
"I'll bet," returned Stetson, "I've got something in my
pocket that says he did."
He unfolded an imposing document covered with slanting lines
of curving Arabic letters in gold. Peter was impressed but
still skeptical.
"What does that say when it says it in English?" he asked.
"It says," translated Stetson, "that his Imperial Majesty,
the Sultan, bestows upon Henry Stetson, educator, author,
lecturer, the Star of the Order of the Crescent, of the fifth
class, for services rendered to Turkey."
Peter interrupted him indignantly.
"Never try to fool the fakirs, my son," he protested. "I'm a
fakir myself. What services did you ever . . . ."
"Services rendered," continued Stetson undisturbed, "in
spreading throughout the United States a greater knowledge of
the customs, industries, and religion of the Ottoman Empire.
That," he explained, "refers to my--I should say our--
moving-picture lecture. I thought it would look well if, when
I lectured on Turkey, I wore a Turkish decoration, so I went
after this one."
Peter regarded his young friend with incredulous admiration.
"But did they believe you," he demanded, "when you told them
you were an author and educator?"
Stetson closed one eye and grinned. "They believed whatever I
paid them to believe."
"If you can get one of those, "cried Peter, Old man Gilman
ought to get a dozen. I'll tell them he's the author of the
longest and dullest history of their flea-bitten empire that
was ever written. And he's a real professor and a real
author, and I can prove it. I'll show them the five volumes
with his name in each. How much did that thing cost you?"
"Two hundred dollars in bribes," said Stetson briskly, "and
two months of diplomacy."
"I haven't got two months for diplomacy," said Peter, "so
I'll have to increase the bribes. I'll stay here and get the
decoration for Gilman, and you work the papers at home. No
one ever heard of the Order of the Crescent, but that only
makes it the easier for us. They'll only know what we tell
them, and we'll tell them it's the highest honor ever
bestowed by a reigning sovereign upon an American scholar. If
you tell the people often enough that anything is the best
they believe you. That's the way father sells his hams.
You've been a press-agent. From now on you're going to be my
press-agent--I mean Doctor Gilman's press-agent. I pay your
salary, but your work is to advertise him and the Order of
the Crescent. I'll give you a letter to Charley Hines at
Stillwater. He sends out college news to a syndicate and he's
the local Associated Press man. He's sore at their
discharging Gilman and he's my best friend, and he'll work
the papers as far as you like. Your job is to make Stillwater
College and Doctor Black and my father believe that when they
lost Gilman they lost the man who made Stillwater famous. And
before we get through boosting Gilman, we'll make my father's
million-dollar gift laboratory look like an insult."
In the eyes of the former press-agent the light of battle
burned fiercely, memories of his triumphs in exploitation, of
his strategies and tactics in advertising soared before him.
"It's great!" he exclaimed. "I've got your idea and you've
got me. And you're darned lucky to get me. I've been press-
agent for politicians, actors, society leaders, breakfast
foods, and horse-shows--and I'm the best! I was in charge of
the publicity bureau for Galloway when he ran for governor.
He thinks the people elected him. I know I did. Nora
Nashville was getting fifty dollars a week in vaudeville when
I took hold of her; now she gets a thousand. I even made
people believe Mrs. Hampton-Rhodes was a society leader at
Newport, when all she ever saw of Newport was Bergers and the
Muschenheim-Kings. Why, I am the man that made the American
People believe Russian dancers can dance!"
"It's plain to see you hate yourself," said 'Peter. "You must
not get so despondent or you might commit suicide. How much
money will you want?"
"How much have you got?"
"All kinds," said Peter. "Some in a letter-of-credit that my
father earned from the fretful pig, and much more in cash
that I won at poker from the pashas. When that's gone I've
got to go to work and earn my living. Meanwhile your salary
is a hundred a week and all you need to boost Gilman and the
Order of the Crescent. We are now the Gilman Defense,
Publicity, and Development Committee, and you will begin by
introducing me to the man I am to bribe."
"In this country you don't need any introduction to the man
you want to bribe," exclaimed Stetson; "you just bribe him!"
That same night in the smoking-room of the hotel, Peter and
Stetson made their first move in the game of winning for
Professor Gilman the Order of the Crescent. Stetson presented
Peter to a young effendi in a frock coat and fez. Stetson
called him Osman. He was a clerk in the foreign office and
appeared to be "a friend of a friend of a friend" of the
assistant third secretary.
The five volumes of the "Rise and Fall" were spread before
him, and Peter demanded to know why so distinguished a
scholar as Doctor Gilman had not received some recognition
from the country he had so sympathetically described. Osman
fingered the volumes doubtfully, and promised the matter
should be brought at once to the attention of the grand
vizier .
After he had departed Stetson explained that Osman had just
as little chance of getting within speaking distance of the
grand vizier as of the ladies of his harem.
"It's like Tammany," said Stetson; "there are sachems,
district leaders, and lieutenants. Each of them is entitled
to trade or give away a few of these decorations, just as
each district leader gets his percentage of jobs in the
streetcleaning department. This fellow will go to his patron,
his patron will go to some undersecretary in the cabinet, he
will put it up to a palace favorite, and they will divide
your money.
"In time the minister of foreign affairs will sign your
brevet and a hundred others, without knowing what he is
signing; then you cable me, and the Star of the Crescent will
burst upon the United States in a way that will make Halley's
comet look like a wax match."
The next day Stetson and the tutor sailed for home and Peter
was left alone to pursue, as he supposed, the Order of the
Crescent. On the contrary, he found that the Order of the
Crescent was pursuing him. He had not appreciated that, from
underlings and backstair politicians, an itinerant showman
like Stetson and the only son of an American Croesus would
receive very different treatment.
Within twenty-four hours a fat man with a blue-black beard
and diamond rings called with Osman to apologize for the
latter. Osman, the fat man explained--had been about to make
a fatal error. For Doctor Gilman he had asked the Order of
the Crescent of the fifth class, the same class that had been
given Stetson. The fifth class, the fat man explained, was
all very well for tradesmen, dragomans, and eunuchs, but as
an honor for a savant as distinguished as the friend of his.
Hallowell, the fourth class would hardly be high enough. The
fees, the fat man added, would Also be higher; but, he
pointed out, it was worth the difference, because the fourth
class entitled the wearer to a salute from all sentries.
"There are few sentries at Stillwater," said Peter; "but I
want the best and I want it quick. Get me the fourth class."
The next morning he was surprised by an early visit from
Stimson of the embassy. The secretary was considerably
annoyed.
"My dear Hallowell," he protested, "why the devil didn't you
tell me you wanted a decoration? Of course the State
department expressly forbids us to ask for one for ourselves,
or for any one else. But what's the Constitution between
friends? I'll get it for you at once--but, on two conditions:
that you don't tell anybody I got it, and that you tell me
why you want it, and what you ever did to deserve it."
Instead, Peter explained fully and so sympathetically that
the diplomat demanded that he, too, should be enrolled as one
of the Gilman Defense Committee.
"Doctor Gilman's history," he said, "must be presented to the
Sultan. You must have the five volumes rebound in red and
green, the colors of Mohammed, and with as much gold tooling
as they can carry. I hope," he added, they are not soiled."
"Not by me," Peter assured him.
"I will take them myself," continued Stimson, "to Muley
Pasha, the minister of foreign affairs, and ask him to
present them to his Imperial Majesty. He will promise to do
so, but he won't; but he knows I know he won't so that is all
right. And in return he will present us with the Order of the
Crescent of the third class."
"Going up!" exclaimed Peter. "The third class. That will cost
me my entire letter-of-credit."
"Not at all," said Stimson. "I've saved you from the
grafters. It will cost you only what you pay to have the
books rebound. And the THIRD class is a real honor of which
any one might be proud. You wear it round your neck, and at
your funeral it entitles you to an escort of a thousand
soldiers."
"I'd rather put up with fewer soldiers," said Peter, " and
wear it longer round my neck What's the matter with our
getting the second class or the first class?"
At such ignorance Stimson could not repress a smile.
"The first class," he explained patiently, "is the Great
Grand Cross, and is given only to reigning sovereigns. The
second is called the Grand Cross, and is bestowed only on
crowned princes, prime ministers, and men of world-wide
fame . . . . "
"What's the matter with Doctor Gilman's being of world-wide
fame?" said Peter. "He will be some day, when Stetson starts
boosting."
"Some day," retorted Stimson stiffly, " I may be an
ambassador. When I am I hope to get the Grand Cross of the
Crescent, but not now. I'm sorry you're not satisfied," he
added aggrievedly. "No one can get you anything higher than
the third class, and I may lose my official head asking for
that."
"Nothing is too good for old man Gilman," said Peter, "nor
for you. You get the third class for him, and I'll have
father make you an ambassador."
That night at poker at the club Peter sat next to Prince
Abdul, who had come from a reception at the Grand vizier 's
and still wore his decorations. Decorations now fascinated
Peter, and those on the coat of the young prince he regarded
with wide-eyed awe. He also regarded Abdul with wide-eyed
awe, because he was the favorite nephew of the Sultan, and
because he enjoyed the reputation of having the worst
reputation in Turkey. Peter wondered why. He always had found
Abdul charming, distinguished, courteous to the verge of
humility, most cleverly cynical, most brilliantly amusing. At
poker he almost invariably won, and while doing so was so
politely bored, so indifferent to his cards and the cards
held by others, that Peter declared he had never met his
equal.
In a pause in the game, while some one tore the cover off a
fresh pack, Peter pointed at the star of diamonds that
nestled behind the lapel of Abdul's coat.
"May I ask what that is?" said Peter.
The prince frowned at his diamond sunburst as though it
annoyed him, and then smiled delightedly.
"It is an order," he said in a quick aside, "bestowed only
upon men of world-wide fame. I dined to-night," he explained,
"with your charming compatriot, Mr. Joseph Stimson."
"And Joe told?" said Peter.
The prince nodded. "Joe told," he repeated; "but it is all
arranged. Your distinguished friend, the Sage of Stillwater,
will receive the Crescent of the third class."
Peter's eyes were still fastened hungrily upon the diamond
sunburst.
"Why," he demanded, "can't some one get him one like that?"
As though about to take offense the prince raised his
eyebrows, and then thought better of it and smiled.
"There are only two men in all Turkey," he said, "who could
do that."
"And is the Sultan the other one?" asked Peter. The prince
gasped as though he had suddenly stepped beneath a cold
shower, and then laughed long and silently.
"You flatter me," he murmured.
"You know you could if you liked!" whispered Peter stoutly.
Apparently Abdul did not hear him. "I will take one card," he
said.
Toward two in the morning there was seventy-five thousand
francs in the pot, and all save Prince Abdul and Peter had
dropped out. "Will you divide?" asked the prince.
"Why should I?" said Peter. "I've got you beat now. Do you
raise me or call?" The prince called and laid down a full
house. Peter showed four tens.
"I will deal you one hand, double or quits," said the prince.
Over the end of his cigar Peter squinted at the great heap of
mother-of-pearl counters and gold-pieces and bank-notes.
"You will pay me double what is on the table," he said, "or
you quit owing me nothing."
The prince nodded.
"Go ahead," said Peter.
The prince dealt them each a hand and discarded two cards.
Peter held a seven, a pair of kings, and a pair of fours.
Hoping to draw another king, which might give him a three
higher than the three held by Abdul, he threw away the seven
and the lower pair. He caught another king. The prince showed
three queens and shrugged his shoulders.
Peter, leaning toward him, spoke out of the corner of his
mouth.
"I'll make you a sporting proposition," he murmured. "You owe
me a hundred and fifty thousand francs. "I'll stake that
against what only two men in the empire can give me."
The prince allowed his eyes to travel slowly round the circle
of the table. But the puzzled glances of the other players
showed that to them Peter's proposal conveyed no meaning.
The prince smiled cynically.
"For yourself?" he demanded.
"For Doctor Gilman," said Peter.
"We will cut for deal and one hand will decide," said the
prince. His voice dropped to a whisper. "And no one must ever
know," he warned.
Peter also could be cynical.
"Not even the Sultan," he said.
Abdul won the deal and gave himself a very good hand. But the
hand he dealt Peter was the better one.
The prince was a good loser. The next afternoon the GAZETTE
OFFICIALLY announced that upon Doctor Henry Gilman, professor
emeritus of the University of Stillwater, U. S. A., the
Sultan had been graciously pleased to confer the Grand Cross
of the Order of the Crescent.
Peter flashed the great news to Stetson. The cable caught him
at Quarantine. It read: "Captured Crescent, Grand Cross. Get
busy."
But before Stetson could get busy the campaign of publicity
had been brilliantly opened from Constantinople. Prince
Abdul, although pitchforked into the Gilman Defense
Committee, proved himself one of its most enthusiastic
members.
"For me it becomes a case of NOBLESSE OBLIGE," he declared.
"If it is worth doing at all it is worth doing well. To-day
the Sultan will command that the "Rise and Fall" be
translated into Arabic, and that it be placed in the national
library. Moreover, the University of Constantinople, the
College of Salonica, and the National Historical Society have
each elected Doctor Gilman an honorary member. I proposed
him, the Patriarch of Mesopotamia seconded him. And the
Turkish ambassador in America has been instructed to present
the insignia with his own hands."
Nor was Peter or Stimson idle. To assist Stetson in his
press-work, and to further the idea that all Europe was now
clamoring for the "Rise and fall," Peter paid an impecunious
but over-educated dragoman to translate it into five
languages, and Stimson officially wrote of this, and of the
bestowal of the Crescent to the State Department. He pointed
out that not since General Grant had passed through Europe
had the Sultan so highly honored an American. He added he had
been requested by the grand vizier --who had been requested
by Prince Abdul--to request the State Department to inform
Doctor Gilman of these high honors. A request from such a
source was a command and, as desired, the State Department
wrote as requested by the grand vizier to Doctor Gilman, and
tendered congratulations. The fact was sent out briefly from
Washington by Associated Press. This official recognition by
the Government and by the newspapers was all and more than
Stetson wanted. He took off his coat and with a megaphone,
rather than a pen, told the people of the United States who
Doctor Gilman was, who the Sultan was, what a Grand Cross
was, and why America's greatest historian was not without
honor save in his own country. Columns of this were paid for
and appeared as "patent insides," with a portrait of Doctor
Gilman taken from the STILLWATER COLLEGE ANNUAL, and a
picture of the Grand Cross drawn from imagination, in eight
hundred newspapers of the Middle, Western, and Eastern
States. special articles, paragraphs, portraits, and pictures
of the Grand Cross followed, and, using Stillwater as his
base, Stetson continued to flood the country. Young Hines,
the local correspondent, acting under instructions by cable
from Peter, introduced him to Doctor Gilman as a traveller
who lectured on Turkey, and one who was a humble admirer of
the author of the "Rise and fall." Stetson, having studied it
as a student crams an examination, begged that he might sit
at the feet of the master. And for several evenings, actually
at his feet, on the steps of the ivy-covered cottage,
the disguised press-agent drew from the unworldly and
unsuspecting scholar the simple story of his life. To this,
still in his character as disciple and student, he added
photographs he himself made of the master, of the master's
ivy-covered cottage, of his favorite walk across the campus,
of the great historian at work at his desk, at work in his
rose garden, at play with his wife on the croquet lawn. These
he held until the insignia should be actually presented. This
pleasing duty fell to the Turkish ambassador, who, much to
his astonishment, had received instructions to proceed to
Stillwater, Massachusetts, a place of which he had never
heard, and present to a Doctor Gilman, of whom he had never
heard, the Grand Cross of the Crescent. As soon as the
insignia arrived in the official mail-bag a secretary brought
it from Washington to Boston, and the ambassador travelled
down from Bar Harbor to receive it, and with the secretary
took the local train to Stillwater.
The reception extended to him there is still remembered by
the ambassador as one of the happiest incidents of his
distinguished career. Never since he came to represent his
imperial Majesty in the Western republic had its barbarians
greeted him in a manner in any way so nearly approaching his
own idea of what was his due.
"This ambassador," Hines had explained to the mayor of
Stillwater, who was also the proprietor of its largest
department store, "is the personal representative of the
Sultan. So we've got to treat him right."
"It's exactly," added Stetson, "as though the Sultan himself
were coming."
"And so few crowned heads visit Stillwater," continued Hines,
"that we ought to show we appreciate this one, especially as
he comes to pay the highest honor known to Europe to one of
our townsmen."
The mayor chewed nervously on his cigar.
"What'd I better do?" he asked.
"Mr. Stetson here," Hines pointed out, "has lived in Turkey,
and he knows what they expect. Maybe he will help us."
"Will you?" begged the mayor.
"I will," said Stetson.
Then they visited the college authorities. Chancellor Black
and most of the faculty were on their vacations. But there
were half a dozen professors still in their homes around the
campus, and it was pointed out to them that the coming honor
to one lately of their number reflected glory upon the
college and upon them, and that they should take official
action.
It was also suggested that for photographic purposes they
should wear their academic robes, caps, and hoods. To these
suggestions, with alacrity--partly because they all loved
Doctor Gilman and partly because they had never been
photographed by a moving-picture machine--they all agreed. So
it came about that when the ambassador, hot and cross and
dusty stepped off the way-train at Stillwater station he
found to his delighted amazement a red carpet stretching to a
perfectly new automobile, a company of the local militia
presenting arms, a committee, consisting of the mayor in a
high hat and white gloves and three professors in gowns and
colored hoods, and the Stillwater silver Cornet Band playing
what, after several repetitions, the ambassador was
graciously pleased to recognize as his national anthem.
The ambassador forgot that he was hot and cross. He forgot
that he was dusty. His face radiated satisfaction and
perspiration. Here at last were people who appreciated him
and his high office. And as the mayor helped him into the
automobile, and those students who lived in Stillwater
welcomed him with strange yells, and the moving-picture
machine aimed at him point blank, he beamed with
condescension. But inwardly he was ill at ease.
inwardly he was chastising himself for having, through his
ignorance of America, failed to appreciate the importance of
the man he had come to honor. When he remembered he had never
even heard of Doctor Gilman he blushed with confusion. And
when he recollected that he had been almost on the point of
refusing to come to Stillwater, that he had considered
leaving the presentation to his secretary, he shuddered. What
might not the Sultan have done to him! What a narrow escape!
Attracted by the band, by the sight of their fellow townsmen
in khaki, by the sight of the stout gentleman in the red fez,
by a tremendous liking and respect for Doctor Gilman, the
entire town of Stillwater gathered outside his cottage. And
inside, the old professor, trembling and bewildered and yet
strangely happy, bowed his shoulders while the ambassador
slipped over them the broad green scarf and upon his only
frock coat pinned the diamond sunburst. In woeful
embarrassment Doctor Gilman smiled and bowed and smiled, and
then, as the delighted mayor of Stillwater shouted, "Speech,"
in sudden panic he reached out his hand quickly and covertly,
and found the hand of his wife.
"Now, then, three Long ones!" yelled the cheer leader. "Now,
then, 'See the Conquering Hero!'" yelled the bandmaster.
"Attention! Present arms!" yelled the militia captain; and
the townspeople and the professors applauded and waved their
hats and handkerchiefs. And Doctor Gilman and his wife, he
frightened and confused, she happy and proud, and taking it
all as a matter of course, stood arm in arm in the frame of
honeysuckles and bowed and bowed and bowed. And the
ambassador so far unbent as to drink champagne, which
appeared mysteriously in tubs of ice from the rear of the
ivy-covered cottage, with the mayor, with the wives of the
professors, with the students, with the bandmaster. Indeed,
so often did he unbend that when the perfectly new automobile
conveyed him back to the Touraine, he was sleeping happily
and smiling in his sleep.
Peter had arrived in America at the same time as had the
insignia, but Hines and Stetson would not let him show
himself in Stillwater. They were afraid if all three
conspirators foregathered they might inadvertently drop some
clew that would lead to suspicion and discovery.
So Peter worked from New York, and his first act was
anonymously to supply his father and Chancellor Black with
All the newspaper accounts of the great celebration at
Stillwater. When Doctor black read them he choked. Never
before had Stillwater College been brought so prominently
before the public, and never before had her president been so
utterly and completely ignored. And what made it worse was
that he recognized that even had he been present he could not
have shown his face. How could he, who had, as every one
connected with the college now knew, out of spite and without
cause, dismissed an old and faithful servant, join in
chanting his praises. He only hoped his patron, Hallowell
senior, might not hear of Gilman's triumph. But Hallowell
senior heard little of anything else. At his office, at his
clubs, on the golf-links, every one he met congratulated him
on the high and peculiar distinction that had come to his pet
college.
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