CHAPTER X
INQUIRIES
The next day Farnsworth made an occasion to see Azalea alone.
"Come for a stroll in the rose garden," he said to her as they left thebreakfast table.
"But aren't you in a hurry to go to town?" she objected.
"No, I'm not. Come along, Zaly, I want to talk to you."
Azalea looked embarrassed. She had on a trim linen street suit, and hadan air of alertness as if about to start on a trip of some sort.
"I was--I was just going for a walk," she said, hesitatingly.
"All right, I'll walk with you. Let's make it a long hike."
"Oh,--I'd love to, Cousin William,--really,--but I--I've a lot to do inmy room, this morning."
"A lot to do! What do you mean? Does Patty make you take care of yourroom?"
"Oh, not that sort of work. I've got to--to--write letters."
"To your father?" Bill's look was significant.
"Yes--no,--oh, a lot of letters."
"Look here, Azalea, you come out with me for a few minutes,--I won'tkeep you long." Farnsworth took her arm, and led her gently down theverandah steps and along a garden path.
"Now, my child," he said most kindly, "tell me why you pretended thatletter was from your father, when it was not?"
"Oh, yes, it was--"
"Stop, Azalea! Don't add to your list of falsehoods! You wrote thatletter yourself on my typewriter, in my library. _Why_ did you do it?"
"How do you know?" Azalea turned an astonished face to her inquisitor.
"I recognised the typing. How do you know how to use the machine sowell? Were you ever a stenographer?"
"No; I don't know shorthand at all. And I didn't--"
"Stop, I say, Azalea! I _know_ you wrote that! Now, tell me why! Ican't imagine any reason for it."
The girl was stubbornly silent
"Unless you tell me why you did it, I shall be compelled to think thereis some wrong reason--"
"Oh, no, there isn't!"
"Then,--come now, Zaly,--'fess up. Was it for a joke on me?"
"Yes, yes, that was it!"
"No, that _wasn't_ it, and you only grasped at my suggestion to evadethe real truth! Now, you must tell me. Out with it!"
"Well--you see, Cousin William, you are always asking me why I don't getletters from my father, and--as I didn't get any, I manufactured oneto--to satisfy you. That's all."
"No, no, my girl, we haven't got the truth yet. You had more of a motivethan that. And, too, why _don't_ you get letters from your father? Is heangry with you? Are you two at odds?"
"Yes,--we are. He and I had a quarrel."
"Azalea, you have a very readable face. I know when you are telling methe truth and when you are not. Now, you are ready to grasp at anythingI suggest rather than let me know the real facts of the case. So I amjustified in thinking it's something pretty bad. What is it, child?Don't be afraid of me. Did you run away from home?"
"Oh, no!" Azalea looked frightened. Then she burst into tears. "Wh-whatmakes you think I'm doing wrong?" she sobbed; "I'm not,--I'm oh,--I'mall right!" Her air of bravado suddenly returned and she looked updefiantly, brushing her tears aside.
Farnsworth could, as he said, read her face, and he was quite ready tomeet her explanations when she was in a docile mood, but this quickreturn to her pose of injured innocence roused him to fresh indignation.
"I daresay you _are_ all right, Azalea, and therefore it will be easyfor you to answer a few questions which I must insist on havinganswered. Who was it that telephoned you yesterday?"
"Oh, that was Mr. Smith."
"His name is _not_ Smith!" Farnsworth spoke so sharply that Azaleafairly jumped.
But she insisted, "Yes, it is--"
"I _know_ it is not! It was the man who came here to see you oneday,--and whatever his name is, it is not Smith! Tell me the truth ornot, as you choose, but don't try to insist on Smith!"
"All right, then I choose to tell you nothing, I have a perfect right tohave friends telephone me, and I think it shows an ill-bred curiosityfor you to ask their names!"
Azalea's would-be haughty face and her reference to ill-breeding struckFarnsworth so funny he laughed in spite of himself.
Azalea was quick to take advantage of this.
"Oh, Cousin William," she said, smilingly, "don't be hard on me. I'monly a wild Western girl, I know, but I'm--I'm your cousin and I claimyour--your--"
Azalea didn't quite know what she _was_ claiming, but as it was really acessation of the interview that she most desired, she turned on her heeland walked rapidly toward the house.
"Hold on!" cried Farnsworth, "not so fast, Zaly. Before you leave me,listen to this. I am not at all satisfied with what you have toldme,--or, rather, what you have refused to tell me,--and I am going towrite to your father, and ask him why he doesn't write to you."
Azalea stood still, facing him, and her face turned white.
"Oh, no!" she cried, in a tone of dismay, "you _mustn't_ do that!"
"But I will. There's no reason I shouldn't write to my relative. And Imust get at the mystery of this thing."
"Don't do that, Cousin William, don't, I beg of you!" The girl wasgreatly excited now. Her face was drawn with terrified apprehension andher voice shook with fear.
"Why not?" Farnsworth demanded, and he grasped her arm as she tried torun away. "I'm going to have this out now, Azalea! _Why_ shan't I writeto Uncle Thorpe?"
"Be--because he isn't--he isn't there--"
"Is he dead?"
"Oh, _no_! He's--he's--gone away on a--a business trip."
"You're making up, Azalea,--I see it in your face. Tell me the truthabout him. Has he married again?"
"No,--oh, no."
"Well, then, where is he?"
"He's--I don't know--"
"You don't know where he is,--and yet you claim you had a letter fromhim!"
"You say I wrote that letter myself--"
"And you did!"
"Well, then, it was because you insisted on my getting a letter fromhim,--and--and that's the only way I could think of."
Azalea gave a half-smile, hoping Farnsworth would laugh, too.
But he did not. He said, sternly, "I can't understand you, Azalea. Idon't want to misjudge you, but you must admit, yourself, that you'remaking it very hard for me. Why won't you tell me everything? If UncleThorpe disowned you,--cast you off,--or anything like that,--tell me;I'll take your part,--and I'll defend you."
"Would you, Cousin William?" Azalea's voice was wistful; "would youdefend me?"
The serious tone disturbed Farnsworth more than her anger had done, andhe looked at her keenly.
"Yes," he answered, "but only if you are frank and truthful with me.Now, once again, Azalea, what is the _real_ name of the man who calledyou up yesterday?"
"Brown," said Azalea, and Farnsworth gave a gesture of impatience.
"You're a very poor story-teller!" he exclaimed. "It is not Brown,--orGreen,--or Smith. If you had said some less common name, I might havebelieved you. But your inventiveness doesn't go far enough. When peoplewant to deceive, it's necessary to frame their falsehoods convincingly.If you had said Mersereau or Herncastle,--I might have swallowed it."
Azalea stared at him.
"Why would you have thought those names were right?" she asked.
"Because I should have felt sure you didn't invent them. But when youwant to conceal a name, and you say Smith or Brown, it doesn't go! Also,you _look_ as if you were fibbing. Why do you do it, Azalea? _Why_?"
"Oh, Cousin William," the girl looked genuinely distressed, "I wish Icould tell you all,--I believe I will,--but--no,--I can't--"
Then she shrugged her shoulders, and tossed her head, and her defiantmanner returned.
Farnsworth gave up in despair. "Very well, Azalea," he concluded, "Ishall write to-day to Uncle Thorpe. I tell you this frankly, for _I_ donot do things on the sly. I'm sorry you take the attitude you do, butwhile I'm waiting to hear from your f
ather, I shall continue to treatyou as a guest and a trusted friend. That is all."
Farnsworth stood aside, and let Azalea pass. The girl went back to thehouse, in deep thought.
She did not go to her room, or write any letters. She dawdled about,started the phonograph going, read a little in a magazine, and seemedgenerally distraught.
As she sat in the big, pleasant hall, she saw Farnsworth come in, go tothe library and sit at his desk writing. Apparently this was one of thedays when he did not go to New York. Patty came by--spoke cheerily toAzalea as she passed her, and then went on to speak to Bill.
The two went out of doors together. Azalea jumped at the chance, andrunning into the library, glanced over the letters Farnsworth hadwritten. As she had surmised, there was one addressed to Samuel Thorpe,Horner's Corners, Arizona.
Azalea didn't touch it. She merely glanced at her wrist-watch andhurried up to her own room.
Sitting there at the pretty desk, she wrote two or three letters, andsealed and addressed them.
Then, sitting on her window-seat, she looked out over the beautifullawns and gardens. She saw Bill and Patty walking about, pausing hereand there. She knew they were selecting places for the booths and standsto be used at the forthcoming Fair.
How happy they were! And how miserable she was! She looked at themenviously, and then again she tossed her hand, in her defiant way, andturned from the window.
At luncheon Azalea was very sweet and pleasant. She talked withFarnsworth gaily, and discussed the Fair with Patty and Elise.
"I'm going to donate some lovely things for the sale," she said. "I'vewritten home for some Indian baskets and Navajo blankets, and somebeadwork."
"Good gracious, Azalea," cried Elise, "you'll outshine us all ingenerosity! I'm making some lace pillows and boudoir caps, but theywon't sell as well as your gifts."
"It's very kind of you, dear," and Patty smiled at the Western girl withreal gratitude. "I wonder what booth you'd rather serve in, Azalea," shewent on. "Of course, you may take your choice."
"When is the Fair?" Azalea asked.
"We're planning it for the middle of July. I think we can get ready bythat time."
"I won't be here then," and Azalea looked thoughtful.
"Won't be here! Of course you will! What nonsense!" and Patty's blueeyes opened wide in astonishment.
"I thought I might outstay my welcome," Azalea said, seeming a littleconfused.
"Nay, nay, Pauline," and Patty smiled at her, "stay as long as you like.As long as you can be happy with us."
But there was an uncomfortable pause, for Farnsworth didn't secondPatty's invitation or make any comment on it.
"I'm going down to New York in the car this afternoon," said Elise."Want to go, Azalea?"
"Yes,--I'd be glad to."
"All right, be ready about three. You going, Pattibelle?"
"No; not to-day. My lord and master is at home, and I can't give up aprecious hour of his companionship."
"Oh, you turtle-doves! All right, then, Zaly and I will sally forth tothe great metropolis."
Elise was spending a month with Patty, and was going later to themountains with her own family. They were all anxious, therefore, to getthe Fair under way, and to hold it while Elise was still there.
So things were being pushed, and the committees were hard at work. Therewere innumerable errands to the city, and nearly every day the big carwent down and returned laden with materials for the work.
Promptly at three, Azalea was in the hall, and Elise joined her, readyfor the trip.
"I mean to mail these in New York," said Elise, who carried a handful ofletters.
"I will too," returned Azalea, who also had a number of them in herhand. "Let's take these that are on the hall table,--they go quicker ifwe mail them in the city."
"All right," said Elise, carelessly, and Azalea, with a stealthy lookabout, picked up the big pile of addressed mail that lay on the table.
No one was looking and she deftly slipped out from the lot the letterFarnsworth had written to Mr. Thorpe,--and pocketed it.
Going out the door, she handed the rest of the letters, with her own, tothe chauffeur, to mail, and then got into the car after Elise.
Away they went, chattering blithely about the Fair, and the enormous lotof work yet to be done for it.
"There are so many working with us," observed Elise, "that it seems abig job of itself to keep them in order."
"It all amazes me," returned Azalea. "I never saw people work as hard asyou and Patty do. And you accomplish such a lot! And yet, you never getflustered or hurried, or--"
"That's partly the result of long experience in these bazaar affairs,and partly because we both have a sort of natural efficiency. That's amuch used word, Zaly, but it means a lot after all."
"Yes, it does. What's your booth, Elise?"
"It isn't exactly a booth. I'm going to have a log cabin,--a real one,built just as I've planned it, and in it I'm going to sell all sorts ofold-fashioned things."
"Antiques?"
"Yes, of the proper sort. Old Willow china and Sheffield plate. Copperlustre tea-sets and homespun bedspreads. And samplers! Oh, Azalea, I'vethree or four stunning samplers! One is dated 1812. That ought to bringa fine price."
"I don't know about samplers. Of course, I know what they are,--but whatmakes them valuable?"
"Age, my dear. And authoritative dates. People make collections of oldsamplers, and those who collect will spend 'most anything for a goodspecimen."
"I've one that my grandmother made,--at least, I can get it. Would youlike it?"
"Would I? Indeed I would! But you ought to keep that, Azalea. My, what agenerous girl you are! You'd give away your head, if it weren't fastenedon! No, dear child, keep your grandmother's sampler yourself. Is it agood one?"
"I don't know what a 'good' one is. It has flowers on it, and littlepeople,--queer ones,--and a long verse of poetry and an alphabet ofletters."
"And the date?"
"Yes; 1836, I think it is."
"That's fairly old. Not a collection piece,--but a good date. Is it ingood condition,--or worn?"
"Good as new. I don't want it, Elise,--that is, I'd like to give it toyou. You've been awful good to me."
"All right, Zaly, send for it, and we'll take a look at it, anyway."
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