by A. A. Milne
“Of course she denies it!” Bess responded. “Do say something, Nan! Don’t let that girl talk about you in this way.”
Then Nan did open her lips— and what she said certainly amazed most of her hearers. “I was charged with taking a lavalliére from the counter. But it was found hanging from a lady’s coat— ”
“Where you hung it, when you saw you were caught!” interposed Linda.
“It was dreadful,” Nan went on, brokenly. “I was so frightened and ashamed that I did not tell anybody about it.”
“Nan!” cried Bess. “It’s never true? You weren’t arrested?”
“I— I should have been had the lavalliére not been found,” her chum confessed. “Linda saw me and she told the man I was dishonest. I— I was so troubled by it all that I didn’t tell anybody. It was the day I met that lady whose card I showed you, Bess. She was the lady whose coat caught up the chain. She was very kind to me.”
“And Linda Riggs tried to make it worse for you, did she?” put in the indignant Walter.
“Hush, Walter!” commanded Miss Hagford. “We must have no more of this here. It is disgraceful. We will go directly home and your mother must know all the particulars. I don’t know what she will say— I really do not,” the troubled governess added.
“Oh, you can all go,” snarled Linda. “You’re welcome to the company of that Nan Sherwood. Pearl and I can find our way to her house. We’ll leave you right now.”
“Pearl is not going home, Linda,” said her cousin. “You’re not going to spoil all my fun for your own pleasure, I can tell you!”
“Stop, my dear,” Miss Hagford said sternly. “Don’t wrangle any more. Come! March! Walter, lead the way with your sister. Let us delay no longer.”
Walter felt inclined to be obstinate and stick to Nan; but the latter slipped back with Bess, and they two walked arm in arm. Bess was frankly sobbing. They were tears of rage.
“Oh, dear! I wish I hadn’t been brought up so respectably!” she gasped. “I wish I were like Inez. I’d slap that Linda Riggs’ face and tear her hair out in big handfuls!”
Nan could not even smile at her chum’s tearful emphasis. She felt very miserable indeed. She thought the English governess looked at her suspiciously. Some of the girls and boys must surely be impressed by what Linda had said. Had it been practical, Nan would have slipped out of the crowd and run away.
It was a rather silent party that passed through the snowy streets to the Mason house. Some of the girls and their escorts whispered together but this only added to the embarrassment of all concerned.
They reached the house at last. It was brightly lighted, for Mrs. Mason had promised to entertain royally. Her appearance at the door when it was opened, was quite in the nature of a surprise, however. She ran forward, her lovely gown trailing behind her and both hands outstretched.
“Where is our Nan?” she cried gaily. “Nan Sherwood! come here to me at once. You delightfully brave girl! And never to have talked about it!”
By this time she had the embarrassed Nan within the circle of her arms, and was smiling charmingly upon the others who trooped into the big entrance hall.
“What do you suppose she has done?” pursued Mrs. Mason, happily. “You must have known about it, Bess, for you were with Nan when she went to Lakeview Hall last September. Why, girls! this Nan of ours, when the train stopped at a station, went alone to the rescue of a child threatened by a rattlesnake, killed the snake, and rescued the child. What do you think of that?
“And now some of the passengers on that train, who saw the brave deed, have applied for and obtained a medal for bravery which has been brought here by a committee, and is to be presented to our Nan. You dear girl!” cried Mrs. Mason, kissing her heartily. “What are you crying for?”
Long To Be Remembered
There were lights and music and flowers all about the big reception rooms, and a number of ladies and gentlemen were present besides the committee that had brought the medal for Nan. This was no time to retail such gossip as Linda Riggs had brought to her ears, and Miss Hagford, the governess, did not take her employer into her confidence at that time.
Besides, Nan was suddenly made the heroine of the hour.
If she had felt like running away as the party of young people returned to the Mason house from the moving picture show, Nan was more than desirous of escape now. The situation was doubly embarrassing after Linda Riggs’ cruel accusation; for Nan had the feeling that some, at least, of these strange girls and boys must believe Linda’s words true.
Nan knew that, all the way from the picture show, Linda had been eagerly giving her version of the difficulties that had risen between them since she and Nan had first met on the train going to Lakeview Hall. These incidents are fully detailed in the previous volume of this series, “Nan Sherwood at Lakeview Hall,” as likewise is the incident which resulted in the presentation to Nan of the medal for bravery.
The ladies and gentlemen who had made it their business to obtain this recognition of a very courageous act, had traced the modest schoolgirl by the aid of Mr. Carter, the conductor of the train on which Nan and Bess had been so recently snow-bound.
The committee were very thoughtful. They saw that the girl was greatly embarrassed, and the presentation speech was made very brief. But Mrs. Mason, with overflowing kindness, had arranged for a gala occasion. A long table was set in the big dining room, and the grown folk as well as the young people gathered around the board.
The ill-breeding of Linda Riggs, and her attempt to hurt Nan’s reputation in the eyes of the Masons’ friends, were both smothered under the general jollity and good feeling. Afterward Bess Harley declared that Linda must have fairly “stewed in her own venom.” Nobody paid any attention to Linda, her own cousin scarcely speaking to her. Only once did the railroad magnate’s daughter have an opportunity of showing her ill-nature verbally.
This was when the beautiful gold medal was being passed around the table for the inspection of the company individually. It came in the course of events, to Linda. She took the medal carelessly and turned it over on her palm.
“Oh, indeed— very pretty, I am sure. And, of course, useful,” she murmured. “I have been told that most of these medals finally find their way to the pawnshops.”
This speech made Mrs. Mason, who heard it, look curiously at Linda; the girls about her were silent— indeed, nobody made any rejoinder. It caused Mrs. Mason, however, to make some inquiries of Miss Hagford, and later of Grace and Bess.
The young folk danced for an hour to the music of a big disc machine. The committee of presentation had bidden Nan good-bye, and thanked Mrs. Mason for her hospitality. The party was breaking up.
Mrs. Mason called the young people together when the wraps of those who were leaving were already on.
“One last word, boys and girls, before we separate,” the lady said softly, her arm around Nan, by whom she seemed to stand quite by chance. “I hope you have all had a pleasant time. If we cultivate a happy spirit we will always find pleasure wherever we go. Remember that.
“Criticism and back-biting in any social gathering breed unhappiness and discontent. And we should all be particularly careful how we speak of or to one another. I understand that there was one incident to mar this otherwise perfect evening. One girl was unkind enough to try to hurt the feelings of another by a statement of unmistakable falsehood.”
Mrs. Mason’s voice suddenly became stern. She was careful to avert her gaze from Linda Riggs’ direction; but they all knew to whom she referred.
“I speak of this, boys and girls, for a single reason,” the lady pursued. “For fear some of you may go home with any idea in your minds that the accusation against the girl vilified or against her father is in any particular true, I want you to tell your parents that I stand sponsor for both our dear Nan and her father. Neither could be guilty of taking that which was not his.
“Now, good-night all! I hope you have had a lovely time. I am su
re this night will long be remembered by our Nan!”
The boys, led by Walter, broke into a hearty cheer for Nan Sherwood. Every girl save Linda came to kiss her good-night. Her triumph seemed unalloyed.
Yet the first mail in the morning brought a letter which dealt a staggering blow to Nan’s Castle of Delight. Her mother wrote in haste to say that Mr. Ravell Bulson had been to the automobile manufacturers with whom Mr. Sherwood had a tentative contract, and had threatened to sue Mr. Sherwood if he did not return to him, Bulson, his lost watch and chain and roll of bankbills, amounting to several hundred dollars.
The automobile manufacturers had served notice on Mr. Sherwood that they would delay the signing of any final contract until Bulson’s accusation was refuted. Almost all of Mrs. Sherwood’s ready money, received through the Scotch courts, had been invested in the new automobile showroom and garage.
What Has Become Of Inez?
Nan could not bring herself to speak of the sudden turn her father’s difficulties had taken. She had long-since learned that family affairs were not to be discussed out of the family circle.
It was bad enough, so she thought, to have Tillbury and Owneyville people discussing the accusation of Ravell Bulson, without telling all the trouble to her friends here in Chicago. Enough had been said on the previous evening, Nan thought, about the matter. She hid this new phase of it even from her chum.
It was Bess who suggested their activities for this day. She wanted to do something for Inez, the flower-girl, in whom usually thoughtless Bess had taken a great interest. She had written to her mother at once about the poor little street arab, and Mrs. Harley had sent by express a great bundle of cast-off dresses outgrown by Bess’ younger sisters, that easily could be made to fit Inez.
Mrs. Mason had shoes and stockings and hats that might help in the fitting out of the flower-seller; and she suggested that the child be brought to the house that her own sewing maid might make such changes in the garments as would be necessary to make them of use for Inez.
“Not that the poor little thing is at all particular, I suppose, about her clothes,” Bess remarked. “I don’t imagine she ever wore a garment that really fitted her, or was made for her. Her shoes weren’t mates— I saw that the other day, didn’t you, Nan?”
“I saw that they were broken,” Nan agreed, with a sigh. “Poor little thing!”
“And although fashion allows all kinds of hats this season, I am very sure that straw of hers had seen hard service for twelve months or more,” Bess added.
Walter, hearing the number and street of Inez’s lodging, insisted upon accompanying the chums on their errand. Grace did not go. She frankly admitted that such squalid places as Mother Beasley’s were insufferable; and where Inez lived might be worse.
“I’m just as sorry for such people as I can be and I’d like to help them all,” Grace said. “But it makes me actually ill to go near them. How mother can delve as she does in the very slums— well, I can’t do it! Walter is like mother; he doesn’t mind.”
“I guess you’re like your father,” said Bess. “He believes in putting poor people into jails, otherwise institutions, instead of giving them a chance to make good where they are. And there aren’t enough institutions for them all. I never supposed there were so many poor people in this whole world as we have seen in Chicago.
“I used to just detest the word ’poor’— Nan’ll tell you,” confessed Bess. “I guess being with Nan has kind of awakened me to ‘our duties,’ as Mrs. Cupp would say,” and she laughed.
“Oh!” cried Grace. “I’d do for them, if I could. But I don’t even know how to talk to them. Sick babies make me feel so sorry I want to cry, and old women who smell of gin and want to sell iron-holders really scare me. Oh, dear! I guess I’m an awful coward!”
Nan laughed. “What are you going to do with that crisp dollar bill I saw your father tuck into your hand at breakfast, Gracie?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I hadn’t thought. Papa is always so thoughtful. He knows I just can’t make ends meet on my fortnightly allowance.”
“But you don’t absolutely need the dollar?”
“No-o.”
“Then give it to us. We’ll spend it for something nice with which to treat those kid cousins that Inez told us about.”
“Good idea,” announced Walter. “It won’t hurt you to give it to charity, Sis.”
“All right,” sighed Grace. “If you really all say so. But there is such a pretty tie down the street at Libby’s.”
“And you’ve a million ties, more or less,” declared Bess. “Of course we’ll take it from her, Walter. Come on, now! I’m ready.”
Under Walter’s piloting the chums reached the street and number Inez had given Nan. It was a cheap and dirty tenement house. A woman told them to go up one flight and knock on the first door at the rear on that landing.
They did this, Walter insisting upon keeping near the girls. A red-faced, bare-armed woman, blowsy and smelling strongly of soapsuds, came to the door and jerked it open.
“Well?” she demanded, in a loud voice.
Bess was immediately tongue-tied; so Nan asked:
“Is Inez at home?”
“And who be you that wants Inez— the little bothersome tyke that she is?”
“We are two of her friends,” Nan explained briefly. It was plain that the woman was not in a good temper, and Nan was quite sure she had been drinking.
“And plenty of fine friends she has,” broke out the woman, complainingly. “While I’m that poor and overrun with children, that I kin scarce get bite nor sup for ’em. And she’ll go and spend her money on cakes and ice-cream because it’s my Mamie’s birthday, instead of bringing it all home, as I told her she should! The little tyke! I’ll l’arn her!”
“I am sorry if Inez has disobeyed you,” said Nan, breaking in on what seemed to promise to be an unending complaint. “Isn’t she here— or can you tell us where to find her?”
“I’ll say ‘no’ to them two questions immediate!” exclaimed the woman, crossly. “I beat her as she deserved, and took away the money she had saved back to buy more flowers with; and I put her basket in the stove.”
“Oh!” gasped Bess.
“And what is it to you, Miss?” demanded the woman, threateningly.
“It was cruel to beat her,” declared Bess, bravely, but unwisely.
“Is that so? is that so?” cried the virago, advancing on Bess with the evident purpose of using her broad, parboiled palm on the visitor, just as she would use it on one of her own children. “I’ll l’arn ye not to come here with your impudence!”
But Walter stepped in her way, covering Bess’ frightened retreat. Walter was a good-sized boy.
“Hold on,” he said, good-naturedly. “We won’t quarrel about it. Just tell us where the child is to be found.”
“I ain’t seen her for four days and nights, that I haven’t,” declared the woman.
That was all there was to be got out of her. Nan and her friends went away, much troubled. They went again to Mother Beasley’s to inquire, with like result. When they told that kind but careworn woman what the child’s aunt had said, she shook her head and spoke lugubriously.
“She was probably drunk when she treated the child so. If she destroyed Inez basket and used the money Inez always saved back to buy a new supply of bouquets, she fair put the poor thing out o’ business.”
“Oh, dear!” said Nan. “And we can’t find her on the square.”
“Poor thing! I wisht she had come here for a bite— I do. I’d have trusted her for a meal of vittles.”
“I am sure you would, Mrs. Beasley,” Nan said, and she and her friends went away very much worried over the disappearance of Inez, the flower-seller.
Just Too Late
Walter Mason was not only an accommodating escort; he was very much interested in the search for Inez. Even Bess, who seldom admitted the necessity for boys at any time in her scheme of life, admitte
d on this occasion that she was glad Walter was present.
“That woman, poor little Inez’s aunt, would have slapped my face, I guess,” she admitted. “Isn’t it mean of her to speak so of the child? And she had beaten her! I don’t see how you had the courage to face her, Walter.”
“I should give him my medal,” chuckled Nan. “Where now, Walter?”
“To see that officer,” declared the boy.
The trio were again on the square where Inez had told Nan she almost always sold her flowers. Walter came back in a few moments from his interview with the police officer.
“Nothing doing,” he reported. “The man says he hasn’t seen her for several days, and she was always here.”
“I suppose he knows whom we mean?” worried Bess.
“Couldn’t be any mistake about that,” Walter said. “He is afraid she is sick.”
“I’m not,” Nan said promptly. “It is just as Mrs. Beasley says. If her aunt took Inez’s basket and money away, she is out of business. She’s lost her capital. I only hope she is not hungry, poor thing.”
“Dear, dear!” joined in Bess. “If she only knew how to come to us! She must know we’d help her.”
“She knows where we are staying,” Nan said. “Don’t you remember I showed her Walter’s card?”
“Then why hasn’t she been to see us?” cried Bess.
“I guess there are several reasons for that,” said sensible Nan.
“Well! I’d like to know what they are,” cried her chum. “Surely, she could find her way.”
“Oh, yes. Perhaps she didn’t want to come. Perhaps she is too proud to beg of us— just beg money, I mean. She is an independent little thing.”
“Oh, I know that,” admitted Bess.
“But more than likely,” Nan pursued, “her reason for not trying to see us was that she was afraid she would not be admitted to the house.”
“My gracious!” exclaimed Walter. “I never thought of that.”