



Produced by David Widger from page images generously
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COWARDICE COURT

By George Barr McCutcheon

Illustrated by Harrison Fisher

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COWARDICE COURT




CHAPTER I--IN WHICH A YOUNG MAN TRESPASSES

“He's just an infernal dude, your lordship, and I 'll throw him in the
river if he says a word too much.”

“He has already said too much, Tompkins, confound him, don't you know.”

“Then I'm to throw him in whether he says anything or not, sir?”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, your lordship, but James has. James says he wears a red coat and--”

“Never mind, Tompkins. He has no right to fish on this side of that
log. The insufferable ass may own the land on the opposite side, but,
confound his impertinence, I own it on this side.”

This concluding assertion of the usually placid but now irate Lord
Bazelhurst was not quite as momentous as it sounded. As a matter of
fact, the title to the land was vested entirely in his young American
wife; his sole possession, according to report, being a title much
less substantial but a great deal more picturesque than the large,
much-handled piece of paper down in the safety deposit vault--lying
close and crumpled among a million sordid, homely little slips called
coupons.

It requires no great stretch of imagination to understand that Lord
Bazelhurst had an undesirable neighbour. That neighbour was young Mr.
Shaw--Randolph Shaw, heir to the Randolph fortune. It may be fair to
state that Mr. Shaw also considered himself to be possessed of an odious
neighbour. In other words, although neither had seen the other, there
was a feud between the owners of the two estates that had all the
earmarks of an ancient romance.

Lady Bazelhurst was the daughter of a New York millionaire; she was
young, beautiful, and arrogant. Nature gave her youth and beauty;
marriage gave her the remaining quality. Was she not Lady Bazelhurst?
What odds if Lord Bazelhurst happened to be a middle-aged, addle-pated
ass? So much the better. Bazelhurst castle and the Bazelhurst estates
(heavily encumbered before her father came to the rescue) were among the
oldest and most coveted in the English market. Her mother noted, with
unctuous joy, that the present Lady Bazelhurst in babyhood had extreme
difficulty in mastering the eighth letter of the alphabet, certainly a
most flattering sign of natal superiority, notwithstanding the fact that
her father was plain old John Banks (deceased), formerly of Jersey City,
more latterly of Wall street and St. Thomas's.

Bazelhurst was a great catch, but Banks was a good name to conjure with,
so he capitulated with a willingness that savoured somewhat of suspended
animation (so fearful was he that he might do something to disturb
the dream before it came true). That was two years ago. With exquisite
irony, Lady Bazelhurst decided to have a country-place in America. Her
agents discovered a glorious section of woodland in the Adirondacks,
teeming with trout streams, game haunts, unparalleled scenery; her
ladyship instructed them to buy without delay. It was just here that
young Mr. Shaw came into prominence.

His grandfather had left him a fortune and he was looking about for ways
in which to spend a portion of it. College, travel, and society
having palled on him, he hied himself into the big hills west of Lake
Champlain, searching for beauty, solitude, and life as he imagined it
should be lived. He found and bought five hundred acres of the most
beautiful bit of wilderness in the mountains.

The same streams coursed through his hills and dales that ran through
those of Lady Bazelhurst, the only distinction being that his portion
was the more desirable. When her ladyship's agents came leisurely up
to close their deal, they discovered that Mr. Shaw had snatched up
this choice five hundred acres of the original tract intended for their
client. At least one thousand acres were left for the young lady, but
she was petulant enough to covet all of it.

Overtures were made to Mr. Shaw, but he would not sell. He was preparing
to erect a handsome country-place, and he did not want to alter his
plans. Courteously at first, then somewhat scathingly he declined to
discuss the proposition with her agents. After two months of pressure of
the most tiresome persistency, he lost his temper and sent a message to
his inquisitors that suddenly terminated all negotiations. Afterwards,
when he learned that their client was a lady, he wrote a conditional
note of apology, but, if he expected a response, he was disappointed. A
year went by, and now, with the beginning of this narrative, two newly
completed country homes glowered at each other from separate hillsides,
one envious and spiteful, the other defiant and a bit satirical.

Bazelhurst Villa looks across the valley and sees Shaw's Cottage
commanding the most beautiful view in the hills;