CHAPTER XIX
Rebecca Mary's nose was out of joint. The great experiment proved soabsorbing that at noon Ben carried sandwiches and milk to the shop, andFrederick Befort was the only man who joined Rebecca Mary and Joan atthe big table in the dining room. Frederick Befort seemed in a strangemood. At one moment he would be wildly excited and tell some extravagantstory which made the two girls laugh heartily, and the next minute hewould frown at his plate or jump up and go to the window whichoverlooked the path which led to the shop.
"Those may be Luxembourg manners," Rebecca Mary thought disapprovingly."But why isn't he at the shop with the others?"
"If Granny Simmons were here she'd say you had the fidgets," remarkedJoan precociously. "She always tells me that I have the fidgets when Ican't sit still."
"It is a day to make a man have the fidgets," and her father stopped onhis way back from the window to pat her cheek. "You will never know,_mignonne_, what this day means to your father."
"You could tell me?" hinted Joan.
But he only laughed and patted her cheek again before he went back tohis place. Rebecca Mary looked at him curiously. What a strange man hewas, not a bit like an American, like young Peter or--or Richard. Shewasn't sure she understood him, he was so strange. But she really didn'tbother very much about Frederick Befort then for she, too, was in astrange mood. She wanted to be by herself and think. She scarcely knewof what she wanted to think but she was conscious of a little glow ofcontent. Perhaps if she went down by the river bank she could discoverwhy she felt so contented and happy when she had been so restless andunreasonable. She was glad to hear Frederick Befort promise to play ballwith Joan although she wondered again why he did not go to the shop, butthat was his business, not hers.
She ran upstairs to find Granny asleep and with a sigh of relief shecrossed the terrace on her way to the river bank. But Joan called to herfrom the tennis court and ran toward her. Rebecca Mary might haveignored the childish hail once, but she couldn't do it now, and shewalked slowly toward the court.
"Look what my father made for me!" Joan demanded breathlessly. Shealways spoke of her father with an emphasis as if her father was made of"sugar and spice and everything nice" while other fathers werecompounded of dust and water without a grain of seasoning. She held upwhat was meant to be a ball, but it was made from an old glove stuffedwith--papers. Rebecca Mary could feel them crackle. The glove fingerswere wound around the palm to hold the papers firm. It really wasn'tmuch of a ball to any one but Joan, who capered proudly and almostsnatched it from Rebecca Mary as if she could not quite trust even herwith it. "My father made it for me," she repeated joyously.
Her father laughed. "Miss Wyman does not think that was any great feat,_ma petite_," he teased. "She does not think it is a very good ball."
Miss Wyman was a true descendant of George Washington, and she horrifiedJoan by confessing that Frederick Befort was right, and she had seenbetter balls than the one he had made out of an old glove and somescraps of paper.
"What do you really think yourself?" She caught a tennis ball from thecourt, where it lay neglected, and showed him what a ball could be.
"But that's a ball from a store!" Joan saw the difference in a flash."And my father never made a ball before. He said so. This is the firstone he ever made, and he made it for me."
"No one else would accept it." He pinched her cheek. "Now, Joan, youmust play by yourself. I must go to the shop, but I tell you again youcannot throw this ball I made over the hedge. It is not like a storeball."
"If you wait I'll show you!" Joan was only too eager to show what shecould do, but he turned impatiently away.
"This may be the greatest day of my life, Miss Wyman." He stopped infront of her. "Will you be so very kind as to wish me luck?" He took thehand which hung at her side and pressed it.
She looked at him in surprise, and she was more surprised when she sawthe flush on his usually pale face. She wondered why this should be sucha great day, but as he did not tell her she did not ask but prettilyoffered her best wishes. He pressed her hand again and went toward theshop with long eager steps. Rebecca Mary looked after him curiously. Sheshook her head. No, she didn't understand him at all, not even a littlebit. And because a closed box is always more fascinating than an openone she would have continued to think of Frederick Befort if Joan wouldhave let her. But Joan was pulling her sleeve.
"I'll show you, then, Miss Wyman. Shall I? Shall I show you that I canthrow my ball over the hedge?" She was on tiptoe to show Miss Wyman.
Rebecca Mary looked at the only hedge near them, the arbor vitae whichkept Riverside from spilling into the road, and shook her head. "You'lllose it if you do. You can't go after it, you know." She reminded Joanthat she was a prisoner.
"The guard will bring it to me if I ask him." Joan was not a bit afraidthat she would lose her ball even if Rebecca Mary did shake her head anddoubt whether the guard would leave his post by the gate to hunt amongthe bushes which edged the road for a ball. She raised her arm to sendthe ball flying over the hedge, but Rebecca Mary caught her hand.
"I fear your father is not a very good ball maker, Joan. See, thefingers have come unfastened. The stuffing is falling out." She took theglove from Joan and tried to push the papers back into it.
"The stuffing is my father's papers. He took them from his pocket,"Joan told her proudly. "Can you put them back?"
"I'd better sew them in or they will be all over the place. Why----" shebroke off to stare at one of the scraps of papers which had fallen intoher hand. There were figures on it and a tiny drawing and a few Germanwords. How strange! She pulled a larger piece from the glove and aftershe had smoothed it she found more German words.
Like an express train dashing through a country station many thingsdashed through Rebecca Mary's brain as she stood and looked at the bitsof paper. She remembered what Major Martingale had said about the greatexperiment, how important it was and how Germany was trying to getcontrol of it to regain her old position in the commercial world. Sheremembered that Frederick Befort had been named for one kaiser and hadbeen a friend of another kaiser, who had decorated him. She rememberedmany things Joan had said about Germany and that the kaiser had calledher "_ein gutes Kind, Johanna_," and Joan's whisper that her father didnot wish her to speak of Germany now, he wanted her to forget Germany.She remembered also that Frederick Befort had said he was fromLuxembourg where the Germans had had great influence and power, that hehad gone to school in Germany. And Mrs. Erickson had heard him talkingGerman to one of the mechanics behind the woodshed!
Rebecca Mary had heard many a spy story during the war, and she shiveredas she looked at the bits of paper in her hand. Oh, it couldn't bepossible that Frederick Befort had come to the Simmons factory, that hehad come to Riverside to obtain possession of the secret of this greatexperiment which was to do so much for the world. He couldn't be one ofthe German secret agents which the newspapers had had so much to sayabout during the war. It wasn't possible, and yet when she had added oneto one and then to two and three she could obtain but one answer.
The work at Riverside was practically finished. Richard had told her sothat morning. Frederick Befort would have all the information he wantedby now, and, of course, he would wish to get it to Germany as soon aspossible. That was why he had torn his papers and stuffed them into anold glove which Joan was to throw over the hedge. If the guard saw it hewould think it was only a child's plaything. A confederate was hiding inthe bushes and would catch the ball when it was tossed out. The wholeplan had been skillfully thought out and was now as plain as print toRebecca Mary's horrified mind.
Joan pulled her sleeve impatiently. "Can't you fix it? Let me take itand throw it over the hedge as my father told me." She tried to take theball from Rebecca Mary.
"No, no! Leave it alone, Joan, or you'll have the papers all over thegrass." She had to think like chain lightning. "I'll run in and sew itup. Don't tell your father," she cautioned chokingly. "He wouldn't likeit if he kn
ew that his ball came to pieces so soon."
With the ball in her hand, and Joan trotting along beside her, she wentback to the house wondering what on earth she should do and how shecould get rid of Joan for a few minutes. Joan found the way herself whenshe saw the farmhouse kitten asleep on the steps.
"It has run away. I'd better take it right back or Mrs. Erickson will becross with me again. She said I was always taking her things andforgetting to bring them back."
"Yes, run over with the kitten." Rebecca Mary knew if Joan once ran overshe would stay for some time, long enough perhaps to forget about theball, for there were wonderful things to interest a child at thefarmhouse.
Rebecca Mary shut the door of her room and turned the key before shepulled the rest of the papers from the old glove. Oh, there was no doubtabout it! The papers were covered with drawings and German words.Rebecca Mary groaned. What should she do? She put her hands over hereyes to shut out the sight of those German words, but she could not shutthe thought of them from her brain. She felt nauseated. To think that aman would use his little daughter as Frederick Befort had planned to useJoan. It was despicable. She never wanted to see Frederick Befort again,and she had liked him so much. Why, only this noon---- She began tounderstand now his extravagant gayety at luncheon, he had thought hiswork was done, and he had stayed with them to find a way for Joan togive the information he had collected to his confederates. No one wouldsuspect Joan. And she had wished him luck! She groaned again. It was allso very plain to her that she turned and hid her face against the backof the chair.
After a long, long time, five minutes perhaps, she rose suddenly andwith her lips pressed tight together went to the desk and found anenvelop in which she put the scraps of paper. She looked about for aplace to hide the package for it was too bulky to carry in her pocket.
Where would be a good place? She opened the closet door. Across one endwere several drawers and above them were two shelves. On the top shelfwas a bandbox. Rebecca Mary climbed up to the bandbox and looked intoit. She took out a hat and turning it over, tucked her package insidethe lining. Then she replaced the hat and put the box on the shelf. Shestood in the doorway and gazed anxiously at the box. It looked asinnocent as a box could look. No one ever would imagine that it held asecret. Rebecca Mary sighed as she shut the closet door.
Then she took several sheets of Sallie Cabot's best note paper and drewmeaningless lines on them and wrote what might be taken at a carelessglance for German words, and tore the paper into scraps with which shestuffed the old glove. She would let Joan toss it over the hedge so Joancould tell her father. If Frederick Befort thought his plans had reachedhis confederate he would do nothing more. He couldn't get away himself,and Rebecca Mary would have a little time in which to think what sheshould do. She must tell someone, not Major Martingale, he would bemerciless, but Peter, or, no--Richard! Richard would be the man for herto tell. But, oh, how she did hate to tell any one. Suppose she shouldspeak to Frederick Befort himself, persuade him to promise to forgeteverything that had happened at Riverside, to remain true to the oath hehad given Major Martingale? If she could do that--if she only could.
She had liked Frederick Befort. He was so different from any man she hadever met. He had fascinated her with his talk of courts and grandduchesses and emperors, she thought now a little bitterly. There was anair of mystery about him which would pique a girl's interest, but if themystery meant that he was a German secret agent she wouldn't beinterested another minute. She would only be horrified and disgusted.Oh, what should she do? Never had a teacher in the third grade of theLincoln school been given such a problem to solve. If only she couldwake up and find that it was a dream she would be so happy to forget itall. She shouldn't want to remember this when she was sixty, she toldherself drearily.
But it wasn't a dream. The old glove on the desk told her it wasn't,and she took it in her hand. "Well, Count Ernach de Befort," she saidunder her breath, "I have spoiled your scheme for the present. If Joanthrows this to your confederate he will be puzzled what to make of it."
Even as she spoke Joan pounded on the door.
"Are you there, Miss Wyman? Have you mended the ball my father made me?Can't you be quicker? I want to throw it over the hedge before my fathercomes to dinner."
And she did throw it over the hedge as she stood on the tennis court. Itwas a good throw for a little girl, and Joan was jubilant as she ranacross the court and climbed up on the stone wall, behind the arbor vitaeto see where the ball had fallen. Rebecca Mary ran too, although herlegs did feel too weak to carry her, and her heart was beating so fast.She caught the toes of her white oxfords in a cranny of the wall andlifted herself so that she might look. But although they both looked andlooked there was no ball to be seen on that stretch of the road. Down bythe gate the guard was leaning against the fence, but the guard was nota ball, and they were looking for a ball.
"It's gone!" Joan was surprised. "Some one must have taken it. Who doyou think it was, Miss Wyman, a fairy or an ogre?"
"An ogre!" Rebecca Mary said fiercely. She felt so fierce that she wasfaint. "A horrid black ogre. Oh, Joan! Why did you throw it?" shewailed.
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