“We must introduce ourselves,” said the girl who had first spoken to her. “This is Louise,” pointing to a gray-eyed miss apparently about Betty’s age. “This is Esther.” A girl with long yellow braids and pretty even white teeth bobbed a shy acknowledgment. “And of course I’m Roberta, Bobby for short.”
“And if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late for dinner,” suggested the girl who had been called Louise. “You know Carter isn’t as patient as he once was; he hates to have to wait.”
Bobby thrust her arm through Betty’s protectingly.
“Come on, Betty,” she said comfortably. “Never mind about your trunk check. Carter will drive down after it early in the morning.”
Betty’s bewildered mind was vaguely appreciative of the wide sweep of open plaza which lay before them as they came out on the other side of the station, but before she could say a word she was gently bundled into a handsome automobile, a girl on either side of her and one opposite, and the grim-faced, silver-haired old chauffeur, evidently slightly intolerant of the laughter and high spirits of his young passengers, had started to thread his way through the lane of taxicabs and private cars.
Betty was intensely puzzled, to put it mildly. Her uncle had mentioned no girls in his letters to her, and even supposing that she had missed some letters, it was hardly possible that he should not have let fall an explanatory word or two from time to time.
“I thought Uncle Dick would come down to meet me,” she said, voicing her surprise at last.
“Oh, poor dear, his heart is almost broken to think he has to stay cooped up in the house,” answered Bobby, who seemed to be the general spokesman. “But how stupid of us—of course you don’t know that he hurt his foot!”
“Is he hurt?” Betty half rose from her seat in alarm. “Is he badly injured? When did it happen?”
Bobby pulled the excited girl down beside her.
“You see it happened only yesterday,” explained Louise, finding her voice with a rush. “You’d better believe we were frightened when they brought him to the house in the ambulance. His foot has some little bones broken in it, the doctor says, but he’ll be all right in a month or so. He has to hobble around on crutches till the bones knit.”
“But it isn’t serious, so don’t look like that,” urged Bobby. “Why, Betty, your lips are positively white. We’re so thankful it was his foot and not his head—that would have been something to worry about.”
“How—how did it happen?” gasped Betty, anxious and worried in spite of these assurances. “Was he in an accident?”
“He was the whole accident,” announced Bobby cheerfully. “You see he’s completely wrapped up in these new buildings they’re putting up on the outskirts. We’ll take you out to see ’em while you’re here and perhaps you’ll understand the construction, which is more than I do. Anyway, the whole firm and every workman is absorbed in the experiment, and they’re burnt as red as the bricks from working outdoors all day.”
“Uncle Dick does love to be outdoors,” murmured Betty.
“He sure does,” agreed Bobby. “Well, nothing would do yesterday but that he must climb up on the roof of one they’ve just started and take a peek at the chimney. I guess it needed looking after, for the whole thing tumbled over on him, coming down full-weight on his right foot. Forcet, the foreman, had an awful time getting him down from the roof, and instead of telephoning for the car, some nervous person sent for the ambulance and scared us all into fits.”
Betty blinked again. No mention of building houses had been made in Uncle Dick’s letters to her.
“Did he get my telegram?” she asked, leaning forward to look at a monument they were passing.
“A little before noon,” replied Bobby. “Louise and Esther and I had such a violent argument as to which of us should come to meet you that we didn’t even dare draw lots; it seemed safer for us all to come along.”
Esther, who sat opposite Betty, had noticed her interest in the Washington Monument.
“We’re going to take you sightseeing to-morrow,” she promised. “Aren’t we, Bobby? And I don’t see why we don’t go home by way of Fort Myer. It doesn’t take any longer, and dinner isn’t till seven, you know.”
“All right.” Bobby leaned forward and spoke to the chauffeur. “Take us round by Fort Myer, please, Carter,” she directed.
The car turned sharply, and in a few minutes they were rattling over an old bridge.
“We live out in the country, Betty, I warn you,” said the voluble Bobby. “But it has its compensations. You’ll like it.”
Betty, a stranger to Washington, decided that the Willard must be a country hotel. It would be like Uncle Dick, she knew, to shun the heart of the city and establish himself somewhere where he could see green fields the first thing every morning.
“What is Fort Myer?” she asked with lively curiosity, as the car began to climb a steep grade. “Is that where they had training camps during the war?”
“Right,” said Bobby. “It’s an army post, you know. See, here are some of the officers’ houses. I only hope we live here when Louise and I are eighteen—they give the most heavenly dances and parties.”
Betty looked with interest at the neat houses they were passing. The names of the officers were conspicuously tacked on the doorsteps, and there was a general air of orderliness and military spic and spanness about the very gravel roads. Occasionally a dust-colored car shot past them filled with men in uniform.
“Do you ride?” asked Betty suddenly. “Uncle Dick has always wanted me to learn, but I’ve never had a good chance.”
“Well, you can begin to-morrow morning,” Bobby informed her. “We’ve three ponies that are fine under the saddle. Betty, I do wish you’d make up your mind to live in Washington this winter. There’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t, and we were talking it over last night, making plans for you.”
“Why! that’s entirely as Uncle Dick says,” returned Betty, surprised. “I haven’t any say in the matter.”
Bobby shot a triumphant glance toward the other girls.
“He said he hadn’t much right to dictate, but I told him I knew better,” she said with satisfaction. “He wants you as much as we do, and that’s considerable, you know.”
Again a wave of doubt swept over Betty. Uncle Dick had said he had not much right to dictate! When he was her only living relative!
“Uncle hasn’t a fever or anything, has he?” she asked apprehensively. “I mean the injury to his foot hasn’t, it didn’t—” she floundered.
“Oh, that old hurt to his head never amounted to anything,” declared Bobby with convincing carelessness. “No, indeed, he’s perfectly well except for the crutches, and the doctor says keeping him indoors for a few days will give him a much-needed rest.”
Betty recalled the accident in which her uncle had been stunned when he had slipped down a bank into an excavation made along a road on which they had been driving. Bobby evidently referred to that old injury.
“Now you can begin to watch for the house,” said the silent Esther, as Carter swung the car around another curve in the beautiful road. “I don’t see why I couldn’t have been named Virginia!”
“Esther has a personal grievance because she’s the only one of us born in the South, and she had to be named for an aunt like the rest of us,” laughed Bobby. “Every tenth girl you meet down here seems to be named Virginia.”
“But was she born in Virginia?” asked Betty. “Where did you live then?”
Bobby stared. Then she laughed.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “We lived at Fairfields. Of course you know that. But, like so many friends, you have always thought of us as living in Washington. We’re in Virginia, Betty, didn’t you know that?”
“No.” Betty’s puzzlement was plainly written on her face.
“When we crossed the bridge, we left the District of Columbia,” explained Bobby. “Of course we’re very close to the line, but still we are not in Wash
ington.”
“There’s the house!” exclaimed Louise. “I wonder if mother got back from shopping. I don’t see her on the porch.”
Betty saw a beautiful white house, dazzlingly white against a background of dark trees, with a broad lawn in front circled by a wide white driveway. A terraced garden at the side with a red brick walk was arranged with wicker chairs and tables and a couple of swings protected with gay striped awnings. It was a typical Southern mansion in perfect order, and Betty reveled in its architectural perfections even while she told herself that it did not look in the slightest like a hotel. What was it Bobby had called her home? “Fairfields”—that was it; and she, Betty, wanted to go to the Willard. Had they made a mistake and brought her to the wrong place?
There was no time to ask for explanations, however. The girls swept her out of the car and up the low steps through the beautiful doorway. A well-trained man servant closed the door noiselessly, and the three bore Betty across the wide hall into a room lined with books and boasting three or four built-in window seats, in one of which a gentleman was reading.
“We found her! Here she is!” shouted the irrepressible Bobby. “Don’t tell us we can’t pick a girl named Betty out of a crowd!”
The gentleman closed his book, and, steadying himself with a cane lying near by, rose slowly. There was no recognition in the gaze he fastened on Betty, and she for her part hung back, staring wildly.
“You’re not Uncle Dick!” she gasped accusingly.
CHAPTER XII
STRAIGHTENING THINGS OUT
Betty’s speech was shock number one. Another quickly followed.
The gentleman tugged quizzically at his short gray mustache.
“And you,” he announced quietly, “are not my niece, Betty Littell!”
Esther and Louise stared, round-eyed, while Bobby collapsed dramatically on a convenient couch.
“Have we kidnapped anybody?” she asked, a bit hysterically. “Good gracious, Dad, don’t tell me I’ve forcibly run off with a girl? Haven’t you made a mistake? She must be Betty—she said so.”
“My darlings, I’m sorry to be late,” said a new voice, a rich, sweet contralto, and a stout woman with a kindly, florid face swept through the doorway. “Why, what is the matter?” she demanded hurriedly, confronting the tense group.
“Momsie!” exclaimed Bobby, hurling herself upon the newcomer. “Oh, Momsie, isn’t this Betty Littell? We went to meet her and she said her name was Betty, and all the way home she talked about Uncle Dick, and now she says dad isn’t her uncle! I’m afraid I’ve made a mess of things.”
“Yes, I think you have,” said Betty, with blazing cheeks. “I came to Washington to meet my uncle, Mr. Richard Gordon, who is stopping at the Willard. Of course my name is Betty. I’m Betty Gordon, and he’s my Uncle Dick. And goodness only knows what he is doing now—he’ll be about crazy if he came to meet me.”
Bobby began to laugh uncontrollably.
“I never heard of such a thing in my life!” she giggled, wiping her eyes. “Dad’s name is Richard Littell, and we’ve been expecting our cousin Betty Littell to arrive today from Vermont for a long visit. We haven’t seen her since she was six years old, but I took a chance on recognizing her. And then there was the name! How could I guess there would be two Bettys looking for two Uncle Dicks! Don’t be mad, Betty; you can see a mix-up like that wouldn’t happen twice in a life time.”
“She isn’t mad,” interposed Mr. Littell, lowering himself carefully to the window seat, for he had been standing all this time and his foot began to pain again. “After she knows you a little better, Bobby, she will expect this sort of denouement to follow whatever you undertake. I say we ought to have some dinner, Mother, and then talk at the table.”
“Of course, of course,” agreed motherly Mrs. Littell. “The poor child must be famished. Take Betty—you don’t mind if I call you Betty, do you, dear?—up to your room, Bobby, and when you come down dinner will be served.”
“But my uncle!” urged Betty. “He will be so worried. And the other girl—where do you suppose she is?”
“By George, the child has more sense than I have,” said Mr. Littell energetically. “I’d give a fortune if Bobby had half as level a head. Our Betty is probably having hysterics in the station if she hasn’t taken the next train back to Vermont.”
His keen eyes twinkled appreciatively at Betty, and she knew that she liked him and also sensed instinctively that his eldest daughter was very like him.
“Why, Father, how you do talk!” reproved Mrs. Littell comfortably. “I’ll call up the station while the girls are upstairs and then Betty shall call the Willard, or you do it for her, and then perhaps we can eat dinner before the souffle is quite ruined.”
The girls took Betty upstairs to a luxurious suite of rooms they shared, and when she had bathed her face and hands and brushed her hair, they came down to find that Mr. Littell had called up the Union Station and discovered that because of a freight wreck the Vermont express had been delayed and would not be in before nine o’clock that night.
“So our Betty is probably having a comfortable dinner on the train,” he announced. “Now just a minute, and I’ll have the Willard for the other Betty. We’ll tell your uncle you are safe and that we’ll bring you into Washington tonight.”
In a few minutes he had the connection, and they heard him ask for Mr. Richard Gordon. His mobile face changed as the clerk answered, and Betty, watching, knew that he had disconcerting news. He turned to them, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.
“Mr. Gordon left early this morning for Oklahoma,” he said. “He left an address for mail, and there’s a telegram which came after he left. It was sent from Halperin and was received at eleven-thirty this morning.”
“That’s the one I sent!” answered Betty. “And Uncle Dick’s gone to Oklahoma! What on earth shall I do?”
“Do!” repeated Mr. and Mrs. Littell in concert. “Why, stay right here with us, of course! Do you suppose we’d let a young girl like you knock around alone in a city? We’ll be glad to have you stay as long as you will, and you mustn’t be uncomfortable another second. When you hear from your uncle there’ll be plenty of time to make other plans.”
Betty did not try to express her gratitude to these new kind friends, for she knew that she could never say one-half the thanks she felt toward them. They were cordiality itself, and did everything in their power to make her feel at home. An excellent dinner was served in the charming dining-room with a mixture of formality and simple home courtesy that was as unusual as it was delightful, and in this atmosphere of good breeding and tact, Betty bloomed like a little rose.
“A charming girl, whoever she is,” said Mr. Littell to his wife, as he smoked his cigar after dinner and the girls drew Betty to the piano. “She has plenty of spirit, but lacks Bobby’s boisterousness. It will be a good thing for the girls to have some one like her, self-reliant and quiet and yet with decided snap, to chum with.”
“I like the idea of five girls in the house,” beamed Mrs. Littell, who was the soul of hospitality and fairly idolized her three daughters. Whatever discipline they had came from their father. “And now I think I had better go to the station, after our Betty, don’t you?”
“Oh, Mother!” came in concert from the piano, where Bobby was rattling off a lively waltz. “We all want to go. Please? There’s plenty of room in the car.”
Mrs. Littell looked undecided.
“One of you may go with your mother,” said Mr. Littell decisively. “I think it had better be Louise. Now, there is no use in arguing. One girl is enough. Betty will be tired after traveling all night and all day, and she will be in no mood for talking and carrying on. I’ll tell Carter to bring the car around, Mother.”
Bobby pouted for a few moments after her mother and sister had gone, but her good-nature was easily restored and she and Betty and Esther were deep in an exchange of confidences when Mrs. Littell returned bringing the missing Betty with
her.
“Now stand up for a minute, you two Bettys,” commanded Bobby, when greetings had been exchanged and explanations made. “I want to see if I made such a dreadful mistake in taking Betty Gordon for Betty Littell.”
The two girls stood side by side, and though they both had dark eyes and hair, there the resemblance ceased. Betty Littell was a dumpling of a girl with curly hair, a snub nose and round face. She looked the picture of good-nature, and her plumpness suggested a fondness for sweets that subsequent acquaintance with her fully sustained.
Betty Gordon had grown tall through the summer, and she was of a slender, wiry build that hinted of a fondness for outdoor life. Her heavy straight hair was wrapped around her well-shaped little head in braids, and her exquisite little hands and feet, so far her one claim to beauty, though later promises lay in her glowing face, gave her, as Louise afterward confided to her mother, “an air like an Indian princess.”
“No, you don’t look much alike,” conceded Bobby, after a prolonged scrutiny. “But Betty Gordon looks the way I thought Betty Littell would look, so I don’t see that I am to blame.”
“Trust Bobby to excuse herself from a scrape,” chuckled her father. “By the way, how are you going to arrange about names? Two Bettys in the family will involve complications.”
“I think we’ll have to call Betty Littell, ‘Libbie’” suggested Mrs. Littell, smiling. “That was your mother’s name at home, always, Betty.”
“Yes, I know it; and that’s why they called me Betty,” replied the Littell girl. “Two names, the same names, I mean, do make confusion. I’m willing to be called Libbie, Aunt Rachel, if you let me have a little time to get used to it. If I don’t answer right away, you’ll understand that I’m listening for ‘Betty.’”
“Well, Mother, I think at least two of these girls need sleep,” announced Mr. Littell. “Betty Gordon looks as if she couldn’t keep her eyes open another moment, and Betty Littell has yawned twice. I should say we all might retire—it’s after eleven.”
“Goodness, so it is,” said his wife hastily. “Time does fly so when you’re talking. Come, girls, if you are going sightseeing to-morrow, you’ll need a good night’s rest.”
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 204