“Well, for goodness sake!” exclaimed Becky. “Fifty dollars! Who do you s’pose sent it, Doris?”
“I don’t know any more than the letter tells us; but what in the world will we do with all that money?”
“I know,” said Don, so astonished that he had been speechless until now; “we’ll hire the Riverdale Cornet Band for Saturday.”
“Good idea,” said Becky. “Let’s go see Ed Collins, the leader of the band, right away.”
“But — wait!” cried Doris; “don’t let us do anything rash. We’d better wait until the Club meets this afternoon and let them all vote on it.”
“Nonsense,” said Don. “Don’t the letter say the money’s to be used as the officers think best! Well, we ‘re the officers. Where’s Al!”
“I think he is studying his lessons just at present,” said Al’s sister.
“Never mind; we’re the majority; so let’s vote to hire the band,” proposed Don.
“Better let Allerton into this,” said Becky cautiously. “He’s mighty sensitive and there’s no use having war in our own camp. As for the others, they’re all dummies; but it won’t take more than a jiffy to hunt Al up and get his vote on the proposition.”
“We must all start for school very soon,” said Doris; “and, if you will wait for us, Allerton and I will join you. Then, on our way, we can talk it over and decide what is best to be done.”
This being a sensible suggestion, it was adopted and Doris ran across to her home while Becky flew upstairs to tell Phoebe and the Little Mother the wonderful news.
“It is certainly strange,” commented Phoebe thoughtfully. “I wonder who could have sent this money!”
“Never mind who sent it,” cried Becky; “we’ve got it, and we’ll hire the band, and the whole town will go crazy over the Marching Club on Saturday!”
Then off she ran to talk it over with Don again, and Cousin Judith said to Phoebe:
“There may be a clew for you in this donation, my Lady Conspirator.”
“That occurred to me at once,” replied the girl seriously. “No one would donate fifty dollars to the Marching Club unless greatly interested in the fate of poor Toby. And who so likely to be interested in saving him as the one who really took Mrs. Ritchie’s box?”
“In that case, the thief has a conscience and does not wish an innocent person to suffer for his own fault,” commented Judith. “Therefore, thinking the Marching Club may assist Toby’s case, the guilty one has donated fifty dollars to the cause.”
“Perhaps a part of the stolen money,” suggested Phoebe.
“Very likely. The letter says he wishes to conceal his identity, but — ”
“The Spaythes must know who it is!” exclaimed Phoebe.
“Of course.”
“I’m going to see Eric right away. He wrote the letter, Cousin Judith, and Eric knows if anyone does.”
“But will he tell you?”
“He is very much interested in Toby and greatly worried over the way his case drags. Eric told me the other day he would do anything to save Toby.”
“Then I advise you to see him.”
Phoebe glanced out of the window. Becky and Don and the two Randolph children were just starting for school, eagerly canvassing the joyful news as they went. So Phoebe put on her things and quietly followed them, wending her way to Spaythe’s bank.
This was a neat brick building, quite the most imposing bit of architecture in town. At this early hour the doors had just been opened and no customer had as yet appeared. Eric was back of the cashier’s desk and greeted the girl with a cheery “good morning.”
“Who gave fifty dollars to the Marching Club, Eric?” she asked.
“Some unknown person, Miss Daring,” he replied with a smile.
“Not unknown to the bank, however,” she said meaningly. “You see, it’s this way,” Phoebe added, as the young man shook his head positively, “whoever gave that money knows something, Eric, and we must find out who it is. Perhaps — ”
“Perhaps it’s the thief himself,” returned Eric.
‘It struck me at the time as a curious proceeding, in view of the circumstances,” he continued; “but the truth is, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
“How can you be!” she protested.
“Yesterday afternoon the governor came in from his private office and told me to write the letter to Doris Randolph. I worded it just as I was instructed, but when I asked who was the donor my father merely frowned and said he must respect the person’s wish to remain unidentified.”
“Then Mr. Spaythe knows!”
“Undoubtedly. You may question him, if you like; he’s in his private office now. But I’m sure you won’t learn anything.”
Phoebe sighed. She believed Eric was right in this assertion. Mr. Spaythe was a man who guarded all confidences with the utmost loyalty. He would be likely to resent any attempt to penetrate this secret, Phoebe well knew, and she abandoned any thought of appealing to the banker.
“The governor is Toby’s friend, you know,” remarked Eric, as he noted her disappointed expression. “If he has discovered anything, through this donation, you may be sure he will take advantage of it when the proper time comes.”
That thought cheered Phoebe somewhat on her way home. But just as she reached the house another thought intruded itself and she sat down on the porch bench to think it out.
Mr. Spaythe, although considered far above any breath of suspicion, actually headed her list of suspects. In other words, the banker was one of those who knew of the box and that it contained money, and he might have had the opportunity to steal it. She rapidly ran over in her mind the arguments she had used for and against the probability of Mr. Spaythe’s having taken the box, and shook her head doubtfully. There was much that was suspicious in the banker’s actions. His astonishing defense of Toby Clark, whom before the arrest he had scarcely noticed, could not be easily explained.
“The thief — the one we’re after — was a clever person,” mused Phoebe. “I doubt if he would be reckless enough to go to Mr. Spaythe and ask him to give that fifty dollars to the Marching Club and to keep his name secret. Mr. Spaythe would know at once that such a person was the guilty one. No; it wasn’t the criminal. Some one honestly interested in Toby’s welfare gave that money, or else — or else it was Mr. Spaythe himself!”
She tried to consider this last possibility. Mr. Spaythe was not a charitable man; he seldom or never espoused any cause through pure philanthropy. There was something beneath this sudden interest in Toby Clark, a poor and friendless boy, and that something was not mere kindliness, Phoebe felt sure. He might be politic enough to assist a wealthy and powerful man in trouble, but not one who, like Toby, could make him no return. What, then, had impelled the banker to pursue this generous course toward the accused boy?
Phoebe went in to talk it over with Cousin Judith, but found the house in a commotion. Old Aunt Hyacinth was sweeping the parlor vigorously, although this was not sweeping day. Judith, in cap and apron, was dusting and rearranging the furniture, and Phoebe looked at the extraordinary scene in amazement.
CHAPTER XII
HOW THE GOVERNOR ARRIVED
“Oh; is it you?” asked Judith busily. “Come and help us, dear, for we must have the place in apple-pie order by four o’clock, and there’s a lot to be done.”
“Dear me; what’s the excitement about?” asked Phoebe.
“I’ve just had a telegram from Cousin John, the Governor, and he’ll be here at four o’clock,” answered Judith.
“Really?”
“Honest for true, Phoebe. Isn’t it fine?”
Phoebe sat down with a bewildered expression. All the Darings well knew of Judith’s famous cousin, the governor of the state, whom they always called the “Great Man” in discussing him; but until now none of them had ever seen him. He was not their cousin, although he bore that relation to Cousin Judith Eliot, whose mother had been the sister of his mother. Ther
e was no doubt of his being a very great man, for he had not only been twice elected governor of the state but people declared be might some day become president of the United States, so able and clean had been his administration of affairs. The very idea of their entertaining so celebrated a personage made Phoebe gasp. She looked at Cousin Judith with big eyes, trying to conceive the situation.
“I’ve often invited him to come and see us,” continued Judith, her voice full of glad anticipation as she worked, “but he is such a busy man he could never find time. At last, however, he has remembered me, and his telegram says he has been North on state affairs and finds he can spare me a few hours to-day on his return; so he’ll be here at four o’clock, stay all night and take the morning train on to the capitol.”
“All night!” cried Phoebe.
“Yes; I’m so pleased, Phoebe. You’re sure to like Cousin John and I know the other children will adore him. It’s his custom to dine at night, you know; so we’ll just have a lunch this noon and our dinner at suppertime, as they do up North. The youngsters won’t mind, for once, although it may give them indigestion.”
Phoebe took off her hat and began to help Judith “rid up” the house. The rooms were always so neatly kept that the girl could not see how they might be improved, but Judith had the old-fashioned housekeeper’s instinct in regard to cleanliness and knew just what touches the place needed to render it sweet and fresh.
Awe fell upon the younger Darings when they came in from school and heard the news. Don, who had been chattering noisily of the Riverdale Cornet Band, which had been hired for Saturday, fell silent and grave, for the governor’s coming was an event that overshadowed all else. Becky, serious for just a moment, suddenly began laughing.
“The Great Man will scorn Riverdale, and especially the Darings,” she predicted. “We’ll look like a set of gawks to him and I warn you now, Little Mother, that if he pokes fun at me I’ll make faces. It’s straight goods that a governor has no business here, and if he comes he’ll have to shed his city airs and be human.”
Judith laughed at this.
“Don’t think of him as a governor, dear,” she said. “Just think of him as my Cousin John, who used to be very nice to me when I was wee girl and has never been any different since I grew up. I’m sure he is giving us these few hours to rest his weary brain and bones, and hide from the politicians. Not a soul in Riverdale will know the governor is here, unless he is seen and recognized.”
“Is he ashamed of us, then?” inquired little Sue.
“Why should he be?”
“Because we’re not great, like he is.”
“But we are, Sue,” declared Phoebe. “The Darings are as great, in their way, as the governor himself. We are honest and respectable, and the votes of just such families as ours placed Judith’s cousin in the governor’s chair and made him our leader and lawgiver.”
“But he’s got a head on him,” remarked Don emphatically.
“We all have heads,” answered Phoebe; “only our brains don’t lead us to delve in politics or seek public offices.”
“Mine do,” asserted her brother. “I’m goin’ to be awful great, myself, some day. If the Little Mother’s cousin can be governor, there’s no reason I shouldn’t become a — a — ”
“A policeman,” said Becky, helping him finish the sentence. “But you’ll have to grow up first, Don.”
This conversation did not seem to annoy Cousin Judith in the least. On the contrary she was amused by the excitement the coming of the Great Man caused in their little circle.
“I wonder if the Randolphs would lend us their automobile to bring him from the station,” mused Phoebe, at luncheon.
“How absurd!” said Judith. “Cousin John has two feet, just like other men, and he’ll be glad to use them.”
“Will the band turn out?” asked Don.
“No. You mustn’t tell anyone of this visit, for the Riverdale people would rush to see their governor and that would spoil his quiet visit with us. Keep very quiet about it until after he has gone — all of you.”
“What’ll we do about the Marching Club, Don?” asked Becky. “They were to meet on our grounds after school, but now that the Great Man is coming — ”
“You need not alter your plans at all,” said Judith. “I want you to do just as you are accustomed to do. Be yourselves, my dears, and treat Cousin John as if he were one of the family, which he really is. You mustn’t let his coming disturb you in any way, for that would embarrass and grieve him. He has no family of his own and it will delight him to be received here as a relative and a friend, rather than as a great statesman.”
It was hard work for the children to keep the secret to themselves when at school that afternoon; but they did. It was only little Sue who confided to a friend the fact that “the biggest man in the whole world, ‘cept the kings an’ princes of fairy tales, was coming to visit them;” but this indefinite information was received with stolid indifference and quickly forgotten.
Phoebe went with Judith to the station to meet the four o’clock train, at her cousin’s earnest request, and her heart beat wildly as the train drew in. The girl had pictured to herself a big, stalwart gentleman, stern-visaged and grim, wearing a Prince Albert coat and a tall silk hat, the center of a crowd of admiring observers. She was looking for this important personage among the passengers who alighted from the cars when Judith’s voice said in her ear:
“Shake hands with Cousin John, Phoebe.”
She started and blushed and then glanced shyly into the kind and humorous eyes that gleamed from beneath the brim of a soft felt hat. The Great Man was not great in stature; on the contrary his eyes were about on a level with Phoebe’s own and she saw that his form was thin and somewhat stooping. His coat was dusty from travel, his tie somewhat carelessly arranged and his shoes were sadly in need of shining. Otherwise there was an air of easy goodfellowship about Cousin John that made Phoebe forget in a moment that he was the governor of a great state and the idol of his people.
“Bless me, what a big girl!” he cried, looking at Phoebe admiringly. “I thought all your adopted children were infants, Judy, and fully expected to find you wielding half a dozen nursing bottles.”
“No, indeed,” laughed the Little Mother; “the Darings are all stalwarts, I assure you; an army of able-bodied boys and girls almost ready to vote for you, Cousin John.”
“Oh-ho! Suffragettes, eh?” he retorted, looking at Phoebe mischievously.
“Not yet,” she said, returning his smile. “The women of Riverdale haven’t organized the army militant, I’m glad to say; for I’ve an idea I would never join it.”
“You’re wrong,” he said quickly. “The women of the world will dominate politics, some day, and you mustn’t be too old-fashioned in your notions to join the procession of progress. But I mustn’t talk shop to-day. What’s that tree, Judith; a live oak or a hickory? What a quaint old town, and how cosy and delightful it seems! Some day, little Cousin, I’m going to disappear from the world and rusticate in just such a happy, forgotten paradise as Riverdale.”
They were walking up the street, now, heading directly for the Daring residence. The governor carried a small traveling bag and a light overcoat. Those who saw him looked at him curiously, wondering what guest was visiting the Darings; but not one of the gaping villagers suspected that this was their governor.
Arriving at the house the Great Man tossed his bag and coat in the hall and drew a hickory rocker to a shady spot on the lawn. Asking permission to smoke a cigar — his one bad habit, he claimed — he braced his feet against a tree, leaned back in his chair and began to gossip comfortably with Judith, who sat beside him, of their childhood days and all the queer things that had happened to them both since. When Phoebe wanted to run away and leave the cousins together they made her stay; so she got a bit of embroidery and sat on the grass sewing and listening.
The children came home from school, awkwardly greeted the Great Man, in whom
they were distinctly disappointed because he did not look the part, and then rushed away to follow their own devices. By and by Cousin John glanced through the trees and was astonished to observe in the distance an army of boys and girls engaged in drilling, their white caps and sashes and their badges giving them an impressive appearance.
“What’s all that?” asked the Governor curiously.
“That,” replied Judith with a laugh, “is the Toby Clark Marching Club.”
“Toby Clark — Toby Clark,” be said musingly. “A local celebrity, Judith?”
“Yes; a lame boy who has been arrested for stealing. These children resent the unjust accusation and have organized the Marching Club to express their indignation and their unfaltering loyalty to their friend.”
“Good!” he cried; and then, after a moment, he added: “Unjust accusation, Judy?”
“Absolutely unjust,” she replied.
He took down his feet and sat up straight in his chair.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
“Phoebe can do that better than I,” was the answer. “She is one of Toby Clark’s staunchest defenders.”
“Now, then, Phoebe, fire away.”
She told the story, quietly and convincingly, beginning with Judge Ferguson’s sudden death and relating Mrs. Ritchie’s demand for her box, its disappearance and the finding of evidence on the premises of Toby Clark, who had been promptly arrested and held for trial on the charge of stealing. She told of Mr. Spaythe’s unaccountable defense of Toby, employing a lawyer, furnishing his bail, and then giving him an asylum in his own house, and concluded with the donation of fifty dollars by an unknown person — through Spaythe’s bank — for the benefit of the Marching Club.
The governor listened without interruption or comment to the end, but it was evident he was interested. When Phoebe had finished he rose to his feet and walked over to where the boys and girls were drilling, where he stood watching Don explain the maneuvers and direct the exercises. The Great Man noted every child’s face and marked its expression. Then he strode among them and facing the astonished assemblage held up his hand.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 355