The long train slid into the Union Station. With what different emotions both Bob and Betty had seen the beautiful, brilliantly lighted building on the occasion of their first trip to Washington! Then each had been without a friend in the great city, and now they were to be welcomed by a host.
Betty’s cheeks flushed rose-red, but her lovely eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears.
“I’m so happy!” she whispered to the bewildered Bob.
“Want my handkerchief?” he asked anxiously, at which Betty tried not to laugh.
CHAPTER VII
FUN AT FAIRFIELDS
The long platform was crowded. Betty followed Bob, who carried their bags. She tried to peer ahead, but the moving forms blocked her view. Just after they passed through the gate, some one caught her.
“Betty, you lamb! I never was so glad to see any one in my life!” cried a gay voice, and Bobby Littell hugged her close in one of her rare caresses.
Bob Henderson held out his hand as soon as Bobby released Betty. He liked this straightforward, brusque girl who so evidently adored Betty.
“Why, Bob, you’ve grown a foot!” was Bobby Littell’s greeting to him.
Bob modestly disclaimed any such record, and then Louise and Esther, who had swooped upon Betty, turned to shake hands with him.
“The rest of the crowd is out in the car,” said Bobby carelessly.
Outside the station, in the open plaza, a handsome closed car awaited them. The gray-haired chauffeur, cap in hand, stood back as a procession of boys and girls advanced upon Bob and Betty and their escort.
“Oh, Betty, dear!” Short, plump Libbie Littell, who had relinquished her claim to the name of “Betty” in Betty Gordon’s favor some time ago, hurled herself upon her friend. “To think we’re going to the same school!”
“Well, Frances is going, too,” said Bobby practically. “She might like to be introduced, you know. Betty, this is Frances Martin, a Vermont girl who is out after all the Latin prizes.”
Frances smiled a slow, sweet smile, and, behind thick glasses, her dark near-sighted eyes said that she was very glad to know Betty Gordon.
“Now the boys!” announced the irrepressible Bobby, apparently taking Bob’s introduction to Frances for granted. “The boys will please line up and I’ll indicate them.”
The five lads obediently came forward and ranged themselves in a row.
“From left to right,” chanted Bobby, “we have the Tucker twins, Tommy and Teddy, W. M. Brown, who asks his friends to use his initials and punches those who refuse, Timothy Derby who reads poetry and Sydney Cooke who ought to—” and Bobby completed her speech with a wicked grin, for she had managed to hit several weaknesses.
“As an introducer,” she announced calmly to Carter, the personification of propriety’s horror, “I think I do rather well.”
They stowed themselves into the limousine somehow, the girls settled more or less comfortably on the seats, the boys squeezed in between, hanging on the running board, and spilling over into Carter’s domain.
Bob liked the five boys at once, and they seemed to accept him as one of them. If he had had a little fear that he would feel diffident and unboyish among lads of his own age, it vanished at the first contact.
“Betty, you sweet child, how we have missed you!” cried Mrs. Littell, standing on the lowest step under the porte-cochère as the car swept up the drive of Fairfields, as the Littell’s home was called.
Behind her waited Mr. Littell, fully recovered from the injury to his foot which had made him an invalid during Betty’s previous visit.
From Carter, who had beamingly greeted her at the station, to the pretty parlor maid who smiled as Betty entered her room to find her turning down the bed covers, there was not a servant who did not remember Betty and seem glad to see her.
“It is so good to have you two here again,” Mr. Littell had said.
“I never knew such people,” Betty repeated to herself twenty times that evening. “How lovely they are to Bob and me!”
Mrs. Littell, who was happiest when entertaining young people, had put the six boys on the third floor in three connecting rooms. The girls were on the second floor, and Esther, the youngest, who had strenuously fought to be allowed to go to Shadyside with her two sisters, was almost beside herself with the effort to be in all the rooms at once and hear what every one was saying.
“I’m so glad your uncle let you come,” said Bobby, as they waited for Betty to change into a light house frock for dinner. “I don’t know much about this school, except that mother went to school with the principal.”
That was a characteristic Bobby Littell remark, and the other girls laughed.
“I had a letter from a girl who lives in Glenside,” confided Betty, re-braiding her hair. “She and her sister are going—Norma and Alice Guerin. I know you’ll like them. Norma wrote her mother went to Shadyside when it was a day school.”
“Yes, I believe it was, years and years ago,” returned Louise Littell. “The aristocratic families who lived on large estates used to send their daughters to Mrs. Warde. Her daughter, Mrs. Eustice, is the principal now.”
Betty wondered if Norma Guerin’s mother had belonged to one of the families who owned large estates, but they went down to dinner presently and she forgot the Guerins for the time being.
That was a busy week for the school boys and girls.
The beautiful house and grounds of Fairfields were at their disposal, and the gallant host and gentle hostess gave themselves up to the whims and wishes of the houseful of young people.
“Racket while you may, for school-room discipline is coming,” laughed Mr. Littell, when he went upstairs unexpectedly early one night and caught the abashed Tucker twins sliding down the banisters.
Both Bob and Betty had wired Mr. Gordon of their safe arrival in Washington, and Bob had also telegraphed his aunts. While they were at Fairfields a letter reached them from Miss Hope and Miss Charity, describing in glowing terms the boarding house in which they were living and the California climate which, the writers declared, made them feel “twenty years younger.” So Bob was assured that the elderly ladies were neither homesick nor unhappy and that added appreciably to his peace of mind.
He and Betty found time, too, to slip away from their gay companions and go to the old second-hand bookshop where Lockwood Hale browsed among his dusty volumes. He had set Bob upon the trail that led him West and brought him finally to his surviving kin, and the boy felt warm gratitude to the absent-minded old man.
Mr. and Mrs. Littell rigidly insisted that the last night before the young folks started for Shadyside must be reserved for final packing and early retirement so that the gay band might begin their journey auspiciously. The Tuesday evening before the Thursday they were to leave for school, the host and hostess gave a dance for their young people.
“I’m glad to have at least one chance to wear this dress,” observed Bobby, smoothing down the folds of her rose-colored frock with satisfaction. “The only thing I don’t like about Shadyside, so far, is that restriction about party clothes.”
“I imagine it is a wise rule in many ways,” said Betty sagely, thinking particularly of the Guerin girls, who would probably be hard-pressed to get even the one evening frock allowed. “You know how some girls are, Bobby; they’d come with a dozen crêpe de chine and georgette dresses and about three clean blouses for school-room wear.”
“Like Ruth Gladys Royal,” giggled Bobby. “I remember her at Miss Graham’s last year. Goodness, the clothes that girl would wear! The rest of us didn’t even try to compete. And, by the way, girls, Ruth Gladys is going to Shadyside. Her aunt telephoned mother last night while we were at the movies.”
“That’s the girl we went to call on that day we saw Mr. Peabody tackle Bob in the hotel,” Louise explained in an aside to Betty. “I wonder why every one seems bent and determined to go to Shadyside this year.”
“Because it is a fine school with a half-century
reputation,” Bobby, who had studied the catalogue, informed her sister primly.
“I’m not going,” objected Esther. “I think it’s mean.”
“Mother and dad need one girl at home, dearest,” her mother reminded her, as she came in looking very handsome and kindly in a black spangled net gown. “All ready, girls? Then suppose we go down.”
It was a simple and informal dance, as befitted the ages of the guests, but Mr. and Mrs. Littell knew to perfection the secret of making each one enjoy himself. There were a handful of outside friends invited, and Betty, to whom a party was a never-failing source of delight, felt, as she confided to Bob, as though she were “walking on air.”
“You look awfully nice in that white stuff,” he said frankly, and Betty liked the comment on her pretty ruffled white frock which she had dubiously decided a moment before was too plain.
Betty was what country folk call a “natural-born dancer,” and she quickly learned the new steps she had had no opportunity to practice since going West. All the girls and most of the boys were excellent dancers, too, and Bob was not allowed to beg off. Frances Martin, the last girl one would have named, had taught a dancing class in her home town with great success and she volunteered to lead Bob. To his surprise, the boy found he liked the music and movement and before the evening was over he was in a fair way to become a good dancer.
The party broke up promptly at eleven o’clock, and a few minutes later the whir of the last motor bearing home the departing guests died away. There was a natural lingering to “talk things over,” but by twelve the house was silent and dark.
Betty had just fairly dozed off when some one woke her by shaking her gently.
“Betty! Betty, please wake up!” whispered a frightened little voice.
CHAPTER VIII
TOO MUCH PARTY
Betty shared a room with Bobby. The single beds were separated by a table on which an electric drop light and the water pitcher and glasses were placed.
Betty’s first impulse was to snap on the light, but as she put out her hand, Esther grasped her wrist.
“It’s only me,” she whispered, her teeth chattering with fright. “Don’t wake Bobby up.”
“Are you cold?” asked Betty, sitting up anxiously. “Perhaps you were too warm dancing. Do you want to get into bed with me?”
It was a warm night for October, and Betty was at a loss to understand Esther’s shivering.
“I can’t find Libbie!” Esther cried. “Oh, Betty, I never thought she would do it, never.”
Betty reached for her dressing gown and slippers.
“Don’t cry, or you’ll wake up Bobby,” she advised the sobbing Esther. “Come on, I’ll go back with you. Don’t make a noise.”
The girls occupied three connecting rooms, and Esther and Libbie had slept in the end of the suite. To reach it now, the two girls had to go through the room where Louise and Frances lay slumbering peacefully. Betty breathed a sigh of relief when they gained Esther’s room and she closed the door carefully and turned on the light.
Esther’s bed, madly tumbled, and Libbie’s, evidently occupied that night, but now empty, were revealed.
Esther dropped down on the floor, wrapping her kimono about her, and regarded Betty trustfully. She was sure her friend would straighten things out.
“Where is Libbie?” demanded Betty. “What is she doing?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Esther unhappily. “But I tell you what I think—I think she’s eloped!”
Esther was only eleven, and as she sat on the floor and stared at Betty from great wet blue eyes, she seemed very young indeed.
“Eloped!” gasped Betty. “Why, I never heard of such a thing!”
“She’s always talking about it,” the younger girl wailed, beginning to cry again. “She says it’s the most romantic way to be married, and she means to throw her hope chest out of the window first and slide down a rope made of bedsheets.”
“Well, I think it’s very silly to talk like that,” scolded Betty. “And, what’s more, Esther, however much Libbie may talk of eloping, she hasn’t done it this time. All her clothes are here, and her shoes and her hat. Here’s her purse on the dresser, too.”
“I never thought of looking to see if her clothes were here,” confessed Esther. “But then, where is she, Betty?”
“That’s what I mean to find out,” announced Betty, with more confidence than she felt. “Come on, Esther. And don’t trip on your kimono or walk into anything.”
They tiptoed out into the wide hall and had reached the head of the beautiful carved staircase when they saw a dim form coming toward them.
Esther nearly shrieked aloud, but Betty put a hand over her mouth in time.
“Who—who, who-o-o are you?” stammered Betty, her heart beating so fast it was painful.
“Betty!” Bob stifled a gasp. “For the love of Mike! what are you doing at this time of night?”
“Esther’s here—we’re hunting for Libbie,” whispered Betty. “She isn’t in her room.”
“So that’s it!” For some reason unknown to the girls Bob seemed to be vastly relieved. “I was just going after Mr. Littell,” he added.
“But Libbie is lost! Maybe she is sick,” urged Betty.
“She’s all right,” declared Bob confidently. “You see, I couldn’t go to sleep, and after I’d been in bed about an hour I got up and sat by the window. I was staring down into the garden, and all of a sudden I saw something white begin to move and creep about. I watched it a few moments and I got the idea it was a burglar or a sneak thief, it kept so close to the house. I came down to call Mr. Littell and bumped into you.”
“Do you suppose it is Libbie?” chattered Esther. “Why would she go into the garden in the middle of the night?”
“Walking in her sleep,” explained Bob. “I’ve heard it is dangerous to waken a sleep-walker suddenly. Perhaps you’d better call Mrs. Littell, Betty, and I’ll sit here on the window seat and see that she doesn’t walk out into the road.”
The two girls hurried off and tapped lightly on Mrs. Littell’s door. That lady hurriedly admitted them, her motherly mind instantly picturing something wrong.
“It’s Libbie,” said Betty softly. “Bob saw her from his window in the garden and he thinks she’s walking in her sleep. We don’t want to frighten her. What can we do?”
“I’ll be right out,” said Mrs. Littell reassuringly. “Libbie’s mother used to walk in her sleep, too. I think I can get the child into bed without waking her at all.”
In a few moments she came out, a heavy corduroy robe and slippers protecting her against the night air.
“Esther, lamb, you stay here in the hall with Bob,” she directed her youngest daughter. “You won’t be afraid with Bob, will you, dear? I don’t want too many to go down or we may startle Libbie.”
Betty crept downstairs after Mrs. Littell, the soft, thick rugs making their progress absolutely noiseless. Not a step in the well-built staircase creaked.
They found the chain and bolt drawn from the heavy front door. Libbie had evidently let herself out with no difficulty. From the wide hall window Bob and Esther watched breathlessly.
“Just go up to her quietly and take one of her hands,” Mrs. Littell whispered to Betty. “I’ll take the other, and, if I’m not mistaken, we can lead her into the house.”
Libbie stood motionless beside a rosebush as they approached her. Her eyes were wide open, and her dark hair floated over her shoulders. In her white nightdress, the moonlight full upon her, she looked very pretty and yet so weird that Betty could not repress a shiver.
Mrs. Littell did not speak, but took one of the limp hands in hers, and Betty took the other. Libbie made no resistance, and allowed them to draw her toward the house. They crossed the threshold, led her upstairs, past the quivering Esther and Bob huddled on the windowseat, and into the bedroom she had so unceremoniously left.
Then Mrs. Littell lifted her in strong arms, put her gently d
own on the bed, and Libbie rolled up like a little kitten, tucked one hand under her cheek and continued to sleep.
“Now go to bed, children, do,” commanded Mrs. Littell. “Bob, I’m so thankful you saw that child—she might have wandered off or caught a severe cold. As it is, I don’t believe she has been out very long. What’s the matter, Esther?”
“Can I come and sleep with you?” pleaded Esther. “I’m afraid to sleep with Libbie. She might do it again.”
“I don’t think so—not tonight,” said her mother, smiling. “However, chicken, come and sleep with me if you’ll rest better.”
Betty awoke and went in later that night to see if Libbie had vanished again, but found her sleeping normally. In the morning the girl was much surprised to find she had been wandering in the garden and betrayed considerable interest in the details. Betty decided that it would be better to omit Esther’s belief that she had eloped, and Libbie was allowed to remain in blissful ignorance of the action her youthful cousin attributed to her.
The last day sped by all too soon, and what the Tucker twins persisted in pessimistically designating the “fateful Thursday” was upon them.
“I don’t know why you sigh so frequently,” dimpled Betty, who sat next to Tommy Tucker at the breakfast table. “I’m very anxious to go to school. Don’t you really like to go back?”
“It’s like this,” said Tommy, the “dark Tucker twin,” solemnly. “From four to ten p.m. (except on drill nights) I like it well enough, and from ten, lights out, till six, reveille, I’m fairly contented. But from nine to four, when we’re cooped up in classrooms, I simply detest school!”
Teddy, the “light Tucker twin,” nodded in confirmation.
“I suppose we have to be educated,” he admitted, with the air of one making a generous concession to public opinion, “but I don’t see why they find it necessary to prolong the agony. Any one who can read and write can make a living.”
“Perhaps your father hopes you’ll do a bit more than that,” suggested Mr. Littell slyly.
This effectually silenced the twins, for their wealthy father was a splendid scientist who had made several explorations that had contributed materially to the knowledge of the scientific world, and he had lost the sight of one eye in a laboratory experiment undertaken to advance the cause for which he labored.
The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 228