unteer, before
they had gone quarter of a mile, had soused his head in water at a
hydrant, rested a minute, offered them a quarter for their trouble,
buttoned up the light coat that had been torn open in his struggle, and
nervously but positively declared himself all right and vastly obliged,
had then hailed a passing _carromatta_, and been whisked away across the
moat and drawbridge into the old city. There all trace was lost of him.

Baffled and troubled, Stuyvesant ordered his coachman to take him to the
Luneta. The crowd had disappeared. The carriages were nearly all
departed. The lights were twinkling here and there all over the placid
bay. It was still nearly an hour to dinner-time at the general's mess,
and he wished to be alone to think over matters, to hear the soothing
plash and murmur of the little waves, and Stuyvesant vowed in his wrath
and vexation that Satan himself must be managing his affairs, for, over
and above the longed-for melody of the rhythmic waters, he was hailed by
the buzz-saw stridencies of Miss Perkins, whose first words gave the lie
to themselves.

"I'm all out of breath, and so het up runnin' after you I can't talk,
but I was just bound to see you, an' I've been to your house so often
the soldiers laugh at me. Those young men haven't any sense of decency
or respect, but I'll teach 'em, and you see they'll sing another song.
Where can we sit down?" continued the lady, her words chasing each
other's heels in her breathless haste. "These lazy, worthless Spanish
officers take every seat along here. Why, here! your carriage will do,
an' I've got a thousand things to say!" ("Heaven be merciful," groaned
Stuyvesant to himself.) "I saw you driving, and I told my cabman to
catch you if he had to flog the hide off his horse. Come, aren't
you--don't you want to sit down? I do, anyhow! There's no comfort in my
cab. Here, I'll dismiss it now. You can just drop me on the way home,
you know. I'm living down the Calle Real a few blocks this side of you.
All the soldiers know me, and if _they_ had _their_ say it wouldn't be
the stuck-up Red Cross that's flirting with doctors and living high on
the dainties our folks sent over. The _boys_ are all right. It's your
generals that have ignored the P. D. A.'s, and I'll show 'em presently
what a miss they've made. Wait till the papers get the letters I have
written. But, say--"("And this is the woman I thought might be
literary!" moaned Stuyvesant as he meekly