“What a perfectly grand time we have had after all,” remarked Betty to Bob one day, after a ride into the country.
“Yes, everything seems to be coming our way,” said the boy, with satisfaction. “Gee, I never dreamed I’d be so rich!”
“Oh, you’ll be richer some day, Bob. And wiser, too. Now you’ve got the chance for an education I hope to see you a great lawyer or a doctor or an engineer—or something or other like that,” and Betty gazed at him hopefully.
“All right, Betty,” he answered promptly. “If you say so, it goes—so there!”
And here let us leave Betty Gordon and say good-bye.
BETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOL, by Alice B. Emerson and Josephine Lawrence
or, The Treasure of Indian Chasm
CHAPTER I
NEW PLANS
“Me make you velly nice apple tart. Miss Betty.” The Chinese cook flourished his rolling pin with one hand and swung his apron viciously with the other as he held open the screen door and swept out some imaginary flies.
Lee Chang, cook for the bunk house in the oil fields, could do several things at one time, as he had frequently proved.
The girl, who was watching a wiry little bay horse contentedly crop grass that grew in straggling whisps about the fence posts, looked up and showed an even row of white teeth as she smiled.
“I don’t think we’re going to stay for dinner today,” she said half regretfully. “I know your apple tarts, Lee Chang—they are delicious.”
The fat Chinaman closed the screen door and went on with his pastry making. From time to time, as he passed from the table to the oven, he glanced out. Betty Gordon still stood watching the horse.
“That Bob no come?” inquired Lee Chang, poking his head out of the door again. Fast developing into a good American, his natural trait of curiosity gave him the advantage of acquiring information blandly and with ease.
Betty shaded her eyes with her hand. The Oklahoma sun was pitiless. Far up the road that ran straight away from the bunk house a faint cloud of dust was rising.
“He’s coming now,” said the girl confidently.
Lee Chang grunted and returned to his work, satisfied that whatever Betty was waiting for would soon be at hand.
“Bake tart ‘fore that boy goes away,” the Chinaman muttered to himself, waddling hastily to the oven, opening it, and closing the door again with a satisfied sniff.
The cloud of dust whirled more madly, rose higher. Out from the center of it finally emerged a raw-boned white horse that galloped with amazing awkwardness and incredible speed. Astride him sat a slim, tanned youth with eyes as blue as Betty Gordon’s were dark.
“Got something for you!” he called, waving his arm in the motion of lasso-throwing. “Catch if you can!”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Betty eagerly. “What is it, Bob? Be careful or you’ll break it.”
Bob Henderson reined in his mount and slipped to the ground. The white horse contentedly went to munching dry blades of dusty grass.
“Bob, I do believe you’ve been silly,” said Betty, trying to speak severely and failing completely because her dimple would deepen distractingly. “You know I told you not to do it.”
“How do you know what I’ve done?” demanded Bob, placing a square package in the girl’s hands. “Don’t scold till you know what you’re scolding about.”
Betty, busy with the cord and paper, paused.
“Oh, Bob!” she beamed, her vivid face glowing with a new thought. “What do you think? I had a letter yesterday from Bobby Littell, and she’s going to boarding school. And, Bob, so am I! Uncle Dick says so. And, Bob—”
“Yes?” smiled Bob, thinking how the girl’s face changed as she talked. “Go on, Betty.”
“Well, Louise is going, too, and they think Libbie will come down from Vermont. Dear old Libbie—I wonder if she is as incurably romantic as ever!”
Betty’s fingers had worked mechanically while she spoke, and now she had her parcel undone.
“Why, Bob Henderson!” she gasped, as she drew out a handsome white box tied with pale blue ribbons and encased in waxed paper.
“I hope they’re not stale,” said Bob diffidently.
Betty slit the waxed paper and took off the box lid, revealing a perfectly packed box of expensive chocolates.
“They’re beautiful,” she declared. “But I never dreamed you would send East for ’em simply because I happened to say I was hungry for good candy. Um—um—taste one quick, Bob.”
Bob took a caramel and pronounced it not “half bad.”
“Uncle Dick’s gone somewhere with Dave Thorne,” announced Betty, biting into another candy. “He didn’t know when he would get back, and I’m supposed to ride to the Watterby farm for lunch. It must be after eleven now.”
“Miss Betty!” Lee Chang’s voice was persuasive. “Miss Betty, that apple tart he all baked done now.”
“Apple tart?” shouted Bob. “Show me, Lee Chang! I’d rather have a corner of your pie than all the candy in New York.”
“Him for Miss Betty,” said the Chinaman gravely.
“But you don’t care if I give Bob some, do you?” returned Betty coaxingly. “See, Lee Chang, Bob gave me these. You take some, and we’ll eat the tart on our way home.”
Lee Chang’s wish was fulfilled when he placed the flaky tart in Betty’s hands, and he took a candy or two (which he privately considered rather poor stuff) and watched the girl no longer. From now on till dinner time Lee Chang’s whole attention would be concentrated on the preparation of an excellent dinner for the men who worked that section of the oil fields.
“I don’t believe I can ride and eat this, after all,” decided Betty. “Let’s sit down on the grass and finish it; Clover hasn’t finished her lunch, either.”
The little bay horse and the tall, shambling white were amiably straying up and down the narrow borders of the road, never getting very far away.
“You haven’t said a single word about my going to boarding school, Bob,” Betty said, dropping down comfortably on the dusty grass and breaking the tart across into two nearly even pieces. “There—take your pie. Don’t you think I’ll have fun with the Littell girls?”
“You’ll have a lark, but I’m not so sure about the teachers,” declared Bob enthusiastically, an odd little smile quivering on his lips. “With you and Bobby Littell about, I doubt if the school knows a dull moment.”
“Bobby is so funny,” dimpled Betty. “She writes that if Libbie comes, her aunt expects Bobby to look after her. Wait a minute and I’ll read you that part—” Betty took a letter from the pocket of her blouse. “Listen—
“Aunt Elizabeth has written mother that she hopes I will keep an eye on Libbie. Now Betty, can you honestly see me trailing around after that girl who sees a romance in every bush and book and who cries when any one plays violin music? I’ll look after her all right—she’ll have to study French instead of poetry if I’m to be her friend and guide.”
* * * *
“But, of course, Bobby does really love Libbie very dearly,” said Betty, folding up the letter and returning it to her pocket. “She wouldn’t hurt her for worlds.”
“You’ll be a much better guardian for Libbie, if she needs one,” pronounced Bob, with unexpected shrewdness. “Bobby hasn’t much tact, and she makes Libbie mad. You could probably control her better with less words.”
“Well, I never!” gasped Betty, gazing at Bob with new respect. “I never knew you thought anything about it.”
“Didn’t until just now,” responded Bob cheerfully. “So Uncle Dick is willing to let you go, is he? When do you start?”
“You don’t mind, do you, Bob?” countered Betty, puzzled. “You sound so kind of—of funny.”
“Don’t mean to,” said Bob laconically.
Having finished his tart, he lay back and rested his head in his hands in true masculine contentment.
“I like that blue thing you’ve got on,” he commented l
azily. “Did I ever see it before?”
“Certainly not,” Betty informed him. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice it. It’s wash silk, Bob, and your Aunt Faith said I could have it if I could do anything with it. She’s had it in a trunk for years and years.”
“I don’t see how you and Aunt Faith could wear the same clothes, she’s so much taller than you are,” said Bob, obviously trying to put two and two together in his mind. “But it looks fine on you, Betty.”
Betty smiled at him compassionately.
“Oh, Bob, you’re so funny!” she sighed. “I made this blouse all myself—that is,” she corrected, “Mrs. Watterby helped me cut it out and she sewed the sleeves in after I had basted them in wrong twice, but I did everything else. There wasn’t a scrap of goods left over, either. I put it on today because I wanted you to see me in it.”
She was worth seeing, Bob acknowledged to himself. The over-blouse of blue and white checked silk, slashed at the throat for the crisp black tie, and the gray corduroy riding skirt and smart tan shoes were at once suitable and becoming.
“I’ll have to have some new clothes for school,” declared Betty, who had a healthy interest in this topic. “We can’t wear very fussy things, though—Bobby sent me the catalogue. Sailor suits for every day, and a cloth frock for best. And not more than one party dress.”
“I asked her when she started,” Bob confided to the blank eye of the white horse now turned dully toward him. “But if she answered me, I didn’t hear.”
“I’m going a week from this Friday,” announced Betty hastily. “That will give me a week in Washington, and Mrs. Littell has asked me to stay with them. I must write to Mrs. Bender tonight and tell her the news; she has been so anxious for me to go to school again.”
“Oh, gee, Betty, that reminds me—” Bob sat up with a jerk and began a hasty search of his pockets. “When you spoke of Mrs. Bender that reminded me of Laurel Grove, and Laurel Grove reminded me of Glenside, and that, of course, made me think of the Guerins—Here ‘tis!” and the boy triumphantly fished out a small letter from an inside pocket of his coat and tossed it into Betty’s lap.
“It’s from Norma Guerin!” Betty’s expressive voice betrayed her delight “Why, I haven’t heard from her in perfect ages. I wonder what she has to say.”
“Open it and see,” advised the practical Bob. “I meant to give you the letter right away, and first the tart and then the blouse thing-a-bub drove it out of my mind. I’ll lead the horses and you can read as we walk. Want me to take the plate back to Lee Chang?”
He dashed back to the bunk house, returned the tin, and rejoined Betty, who was slowly slitting the envelope of her letter with a hairpin. She had tucked her candy box under her arm, and Bob took the bridles of the two horses.
“Mercy, what was that?” Betty glanced up startled, as a wild yell sounded over on their right.
There was a chorus of shouts, the same wild yell repeated, and then, sudden and without warning, came a dense and heavy rain of blackest oil.
“Oh, Bob, Bob!” There was genuine anguish in Betty’s wail of appeal. “My new blouse—look at it!”
But Bob had no time to look at anything. Action was to be his course.
“It’s a premature blast!” he shouted. “Come on, we’ve got to get out!”
CHAPTER II
NORMA’S LETTER
This was not Betty Gordon’s first experience with an oil well set off prematurely, and while she was naturally excited, she was not at all afraid.
“Get on Clover!” shouted Bob. “I do wish you’d ever wear a hat—”
Betty laughed a little as she scrambled into her saddle. Bob, mounting his own horse, wore no hat, but it was a pet grievance of his that Betty persistently scorned headgear whether riding or walking.
“Gallop!” cried Bob. “Shut your eyes if you want to—Clover will follow Reuben.”
The white horse set off, his awkward lunge carrying him over the ground swiftly, and the little bay Clover cantered obediently after him. Oil continued to rain down as they headed toward the north.
Betty closed her eyes, clutching her letter and candy box tightly in both hands and letting the reins lie idle on her horse’s neck. Clover, galloping now, could be trusted to follow the leading horse.
“Getting better now!” Bob shouted back, turning in his saddle to see that Betty was safe.
Betty’s dark eyes opened and she shook back her hair, making a little face at the taste of oil in her mouth. She slipped Norma Guerin’s letter into her pocket, glancing down at her blouse as she did so.
“I’m a perfect sight!” she called to Bob dolorously. “I don’t believe I can ever get the oil spots out of this silk.”
“Sue the company!” Bob cried, with a grin. “Don’t let Clover go to sleep till we’re nearer home, Betty.”
The girl urged the little bay forward with a whispered word of encouragement, and gradually, very gradually, they began to draw out of the rain of oil.
Betty Gordon was not an Oklahoma girl, though she rode with the effortless ease of a Westerner. She was an orphan, of New England stock, and had come from the East to the oil fields to join her one living relative, a beloved uncle whose interest in oil holdings made an incessant traveler of him.
This Richard Gordon, “Uncle Dick” to Bob Henderson as well as to Betty, had found himself unexpectedly made guardian of his little niece at a time when it was impassible for him to establish a home for her. His time and skill pledged to the oil company he represented, Mr. Gordon had solved the problem of what to do with Betty by sending her to spend the summer with an old childhood friend of his, a Mrs. Peabody who had married a farmer, reputed well-to-do. Betty’s experiences, pleasant and otherwise, as a member of the Peabody household, have been told in the first book of this series entitled “Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm; or The Mystery of a Nobody.”
She made some true friends during the months she spent with the Peabodys, and perhaps the closest, and certainly the most loyal, was Bob Henderson. A year older than Betty, the fourteen year old Bob, whose life at Bramble Farm had been harsh and unlovely and preceded by nothing brighter than a drab existence at the county poor farm, became the champion of the dark-eyed girl who had smiled at him and suggested that because they were both orphans they had a common bond of friendship.
How Bob Henderson got track of his mother’s people and what steps were necessary before he could discover a definite clue, have been related in the second volume of the series, entitled, “Betty Gordon in Washington; or Strange Adventures in a Great City.”
In this book Bob and Betty came together again in the Capitol City, and Betty acquired a second “Uncle Dick” in the person of Richard Littell, the father of three lively daughters who innocently kidnapped Betty, only to have the entire family become her firm friends. While in Washington Bob and Betty each received good news that sent them trustfully to Oklahoma, there to meet Uncle Dick Gordon, and later, Bob’s own aunts.
The story of the “Saunders’ place” and of the unscrupulous sharpers who tried to cheat the old ladies who were the sisters of Bob’s dead mother, has been told in the third book about Betty Gordon. This book, “Betty Gordon in the Land of Oil; or The Farm that Was Worth a Fortune,” relates the varied experiences of Bob and Betty in the oil section of Oklahoma and the long train of events that culminated in the sale of the Saunders farm for ninety thousand dollars. Uncle Dick had been made guardian of Bob, at his own and the aunts’ request, so Bob was now a ward with Betty.
The possession of money, though it meant the difference between poverty and debt and great comfort, had, to date, made very little change in the mode of living of Miss Faith and Miss Charity Saunders, or of their nephew.
This morning he had been delayed by some extra work on the farm, for the oil company did not take possession till the first of the month, now a week away, and Betty had ridden to the oil fields ahead of him. She divided her time between the Saunders’ place and the Wa
tterby farm, where she and Bob had stayed when they first came to Flame City.
“Whew!” gasped Bob as they finally emerged from the black curtain of oil. “Of all the messy stuff! Betty, you look as though an oil lamp had exploded in your face.”
“Now I’ll have to wash my hair again,” mourned Betty. “You’d better come to Grandma Watterby’s and get tidied up, Bob. It’s nearer than your aunts’, taking this road; and they always have the stove tank full of hot water.”
Bob took this advice, and the sympathetic Watterby family came to the oil-spotted pair’s assistance with copious supplies of hot water, soap and towels and liberal handfuls of borax, for the water was very hard. Fortunately, Betty had a clean blouse and skirt at hand (most of her wardrobe was in the guest room at the Saunders farm), and Bob borrowed a clean shirt from Will Watterby, in which the boy, being much smaller than the man, looked a little absurd.
“I’m clean, anyway, and that makes me feel good, so why should I care how I look?” was Bob’s defense when his appearance was commented on.
“I’m so hungry,” announced Betty, coming out of her room, once more trim and neat, and sniffing the delicious odor of hot waffles. “I wonder if I could pin my hair up in a towel and dry it after lunch?”
“Of course you may,” said Mrs. Will Watterby warmly. “Did you fix a place for Betty, Grandma?”
“What a silly question, Emma,” reproved old Grandma Watterby severely. “Here, Betty, you sit next to me, and Bob can have Will’s place. He’s gone over to Flame City with a bolt he wants the blacksmith to tinker up.”
Ki, the Indian who helped with the farm work, smiled at Betty but said nothing more than the single “Howdy,” which was his stock form of salutation. Mrs. Watterby’s waffles were quite as good as they smelled, and she apparently had mixed an inexhaustible quantity of batter. Every one ate rapidly and in comparative silence, a habit to which Bob and Betty were by now quite accustomed. When Mr. Gordon was present he insisted on a little conversation, but his presence was lacking today.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 225