Copyright, 1890 By Norman L. Munro In the Volcano’s Mouth * * * * * IN THE VOLCANO’S MOUTH. CHAPTER I. MADCAP MAX. “All aboard!” “All but passengers ashore.” The loud, stentorian voices of the officers of the magnificent palace steamer L’Orient, of the Peninsular and Oriental Line, sounded all along the Southampton docks, up the streets to the old gates, and even penetrated into some of the business houses of the quaint old English town. The shout, so commonplace to the citizens of Southampton, was one of serious import to those gathered on the deck of the steamer. Parting is never pleasant, and when the journey is a long one, and it is known the absence is for years, the last words are always tearful. On the deck stood two men, alone. Not one had come to bid them good-by or a godspeed on their journey. And yet tears filled the eyes of both. The elder was a bronzed veteran, his face as dark as that of any mulatto, his long, white mustache standing out in startling contrast to the color of his skin. He was sixty years of age, but his strong body, his hard muscles, and firm walk, would rather betoken a man of forty. By his side stood his son, a youth almost effeminate in appearance, but perhaps only because of the contrast to his father; there was a brightness in his eyes which betokens an active spirit, and although so effeminate-looking, when he clinched his hand one could see the strong muscle rising beneath the sleeve. The elder man is Maximilian Gordon, of the mercantile firm of Gordon, Welter & Maxwell, of New York. The son is Maximilian Gordon, also, but always called Max by those who are intimate with him, and “Madcap Max” by his closest companions. Gordon, Welter & Maxwell were interested in Egyptian produce, and for many years Maximilian Gordon had been a resident of Alexandria. His wife, sickly and delicate at all times, had been compelled to live in England, where young Max had been educated. The elder man paid a yearly visit to his family, and had just completed arrangements for them to return to Egypt with him when cholera broke out, and he arrived home only just in time to close his wife’s eyes in death and see her body committed to its eternal resting place. Hence it was that, as father and son looked at the English coast, which was by this time fast receding, their eyes were filled with tears, for they were leaving a plot of earth hallowed and sacred, because it was a wife’s and mother’s grave. Youth is ever buoyant, and before the steamer had left the English Channel, Max was the happy, light-hearted lad once again, laughing, chatting and larking with everyone he came in contact with. His father could not hide his grief so easily, but showed by his manner how nearly broken was his heart and ruined his life.