



Produced by David Edwards, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)









Transcriber’s Note


This Table of Contents was added by the Transcriber and placed in the
Public Domain.


CONTENTS

                          PAGE
    CHAPTER I                1
    CHAPTER II              10
    CHAPTER III             25
    CHAPTER IV              37
    CHAPTER V               52
    CHAPTER VI              59
    CHAPTER VII             77
    CHAPTER VIII            90
    CHAPTER IX             101
    CHAPTER X              109
    CHAPTER XI             124
    CHAPTER XII            132
    CHAPTER XIII           143
    CHAPTER XIV            155
    CHAPTER XV             170
    CHAPTER XVI            180
    CHAPTER XVII           194
    CHAPTER XVIII          202
    CHAPTER XIX            219
    CHAPTER XX             239
    CHAPTER XXI            248
    CHAPTER XXII           264
    CHAPTER XXIII          274
    CHAPTER XXIV           288
    CHAPTER XXV            299




A CHICAGO PRINCESS




    A CHICAGO
    PRINCESS

    By ROBERT BARR

    Author of “Over the Border,” “The Victors,” “Tekla,”
    “In the Midst of Alarms,” “A Woman Intervenes,” etc.

    Illustrated by FRANCIS P. WIGHTMAN


    [Illustration]


    New York · FREDERICK A.
    STOKES COMPANY · Publishers




    _Copyright, 1904, by_

    ROBERT BARR


    _All rights reserved_

    This edition published in June, 1904




A CHICAGO PRINCESS




CHAPTER I


When I look back upon a certain hour of my life it fills me with wonder
that I should have been so peacefully happy. Strange as it may seem,
utter despair is not without its alloy of joy. The man who daintily
picks his way along a muddy street is anxious lest he soil his polished
boots, or turns up his coat collar to save himself from the shower that
is beginning, eager then to find a shelter; but let him inadvertently
step into a pool, plunging head over ears into foul water, and after
that he has no more anxiety. Nothing that weather can inflict will add
to his misery, and consequently a ray of happiness illumines his gloomy
horizon. He has reached the limit; Fate can do no more; and there is
a satisfaction in attaining the ultimate of things. So it was with me
that beautiful day; I had attained my last phase.

I was living in the cheapest of all paper houses, living as the
Japanese themselves do, on a handful of rice, and learning by
experience how very little it requires to keep body and soul together.
But now, when I had my next meal of rice, it would be at the expense
of my Japanese host, who was already beginning to suspect,--so it
seemed to me,--that I might be unable to liquidate whatever debt I
incurred. He was very polite about it, but in his twinkling little
eyes there lurked suspicion. I have travelled the whole world over,
especially the East, and I find it the same everywhere. When a man
comes down to his final penny, some subtle change in his deportment
seems to make the whole world aware of it. But then, again, this
supposed knowledge on the part of the world may have existed only in my
own imagination, as the Christian Scientists tell us every ill resides
in the mind. Perhaps, after all, my little bowing landlord was not
troubling himself about the payment of the bill, and I only fancied him
uneasy.

If an untravelled person, a lover of beauty, were sitting in my place
on that little elevated veranda, it is possible the superb view spread
out before him might account for serenity in circumstances which to
the ordinary individual would be most depressing. But the view was an
old companion of mine; goodness knows I had looked at it often enough
when I climbed that weary hill and gazed upon the town below me, and
the magnificent harbor of Nagasaki spreading beyond. The water was
intensely blue, dotted with shipping of all nations, from the stately
men-of-war to the ocean tramps and the little coasting schooners. It
was an ever-changing, animated scene; but really I had had enough of it
during all those ineffective months of struggle in the attempt to earn
even the rice and the poor lodging which I enjoyed.

[Illustration: “The twinkling eyes of the Emperor fixed themselves on
Miss Hemster.”

    _Page 144_
]

Curiously, it was not of this harbor I was thinking, but of another in
far-distant Europe, that of Boulogne in the north of France, where I
spent a day with my own yacht before I sailed for America. And it was a
comical thought that brought the harbor of Boulogne to my mind. I had
seen a street car there, labelled “Le Dernier Sou,” which I translated
as meaning “The Last Cent.” I never took a trip on this street car,
but I presume somewhere in the outskirts of Boulogne there is a suburb
named “The Last Cent,” and I thought now with a laugh: “Here I am in
Japan, and although I did not take that street car, yet I have arrived
at ‘Le Dernier Sou.’”

This morning I had not gone down to the harbor to prosecute my search
for employment. As with my last cent, I had apparently given that idea
up. There was no employer needing men to whom I had not applied time
and again, willing to take the laborer’s wage for the laborer’s work.
But all my earlier training had been by way of making me a gentleman,
and the manner was still upon me in spite of my endeavors to shake it
off, and I had discovered that business men do not wish gentlemen as
day-laborers. There was every reason that I should be deeply depressed;
yet, strange to say, I was not. Had I at last reached the lotus-eating
content of the vagabond? Was this care-free condition the serenity of
the tramp? Would my next step downward be the unblushing begging of
food, with the confidence that if I were refused at one place I should
receive at another? With later knowledge, looking back at that moment
of mitigated happiness, I am forced to believe that it was the effect
of coming events casting their shadows before. Some occultists tell us
that every action that takes place on the earth, no matter how secretly
done, leaves its impression on some ethereal atmosphere, visible to
a clairvoyant, who can see and describe to us exactly what has taken
place. If this be true, it is possible that our future experiences may
give sub-mental warnings of their approach.

As I sat there in the warm sunlight and looked over the crowded harbor,
I thought of the phrase, “When my ship comes in.” There was shipping
enough in the bay, and possibly, if I could but have known where,
some friend of mine might at that moment be tramping a white deck,
or sitting in a steamer chair, looking up at terrace upon terrace of
the toy houses among which I kept my residence. Perhaps my ship had
come in already if only I knew which were she. As I lay back on the
light bamboo chair, along which I had thrown myself,--a lounging,
easy, half-reclining affair like those we used to have at college,--I
gazed upon the lower town and harbor, taking in the vast blue surface
of the bay; and there along the indigo expanse of the waters,