The Lightning Conductor Discovers America

								

head, as I used to say when I was small, and Pat grew scarlet as if
she'd been suddenly slapped. I expected to see the forked lightning of
scorn dart from those immense dark eyes of Storm's: but instead they
crinkled up in an engaging smile. One glance the man gave Pat and me,
against his own will I think: but it was a spontaneous combustion of his
sense of humour. It struck a spark to ours, and I dared to smile also.
Pat didn't quite dare, but looked relieved, though still evidently
scared about what might come next, and intensely, painfully interested.
"Thank you very much," said Mr. Storm. "I'm afraid you flatter me,
madam. I make no such pretension. It's kind of you to think of promoting
me, but this is my place. I shouldn't feel at home going first class, I
assure you. I haven't either the manners or the clothes to make me
comfortable there."
"Why, I think your manners are beautiful," that miserable
millionairess assured him, while my mouth felt dry, and I'm sure
Patsey's became arid as the Libyan Desert.
"We'll all risk that, if you'll come and entertain us with stories of
your adventures. As for clothes, I can take up a collection for you from
among the gentlemen of the first class. A shirt here, a coat there.
They'd be delighted."
"Thank you again," responded the victim, still smiling. "But I should
be--a misfit. And I haven't a story worth telling. I'm no Scherezadé.
I'm very grateful for your interest, madam, but my best way of showing
it is to stay where I am--and where I belong."
"You're ever so much too modest," the unfortunate lady persisted. "Isn't
he, Mrs. Winston?"
I prickled all over like a cactus. "I think Mr. Petrel--I mean Mr.
Storm--can decide for himself better than we can," I stammered.
He looked at me, and then beyond me at Pat. "I'm really grateful," he
repeated.
Even Mrs. Shuster understood that the rare plant preferred to remain in
the kitchen garden with the vegetables, and that she could not uproot
it.
"Well," she said reluctantly, "I'm sorry you feel that way. But do let
me do something to--to show my appreciation of your gallant conduct on
the Arabic. You're evidently a man of education. I see that, in spite
of all you say. It isn't true, is it, that you're an American?"
"Quite true, madam," he answered coolly. "Do I speak like a foreigner?"
"Not like a foreigner, exactly. But--well, I don't know. I must take
your word for it. I guess, though, you've spent a good deal of time in
other countries?"
"I've been here and there," he admitted. "I had the craze for travel in
my blood as a boy." As he spoke, he smiled again, as if at some odd
memory.
"I dare say you know several languages?" suggested Mrs. Shuster.
"Oh, I've picked up Russian--and a little French, and Italian, and
Spanish."
"You ought to get quite a good position, then."
"I intend to try."
"But they say it's almost impossible to find work anywhere now, without