“My Darling Molly:“Heavy, heavy hangs over your head! You are severely penalized for not writing me of your return. But to surprise your friends was always one of your greatest delights, you sly little minx! So I am not holding it up against you. I’ll even the score with you some day in a way you little imagine.“Well, well, well, you just can’t guess what I have to tell you! And I’m glad you can’t, for that would take away the pleasure of the telling. Aunt Betty has planned a fine outing for me in the South Mountains, which, as you know, form a spur of the Blue Ridge range in Western Maryland. We are to be gone several weeks, during which time who can say what glorious adventures we will have?“You are going with us. I want your acceptance of the invitation by return mail, Lady Breckenridge, and I shall take pleasure in providing a brave knight for your escort in the person of one Gerald Blank, in whose automobile we are to make the trip. He has a new seven-passenger car given him by his father, and, in the vulgar parlance of the day, we are going to ‘make things hum.’ It is only some sixty miles to the mountains, and we expect to be out only one night between Baltimoreand our destination. Besides yourself, Aunt Betty and I, there will be only Gerald, Aurora, his sister, Jim Barlow, and Ephraim, who will be camp cook, and general man-of-all-work.“Now write me, dear girlie, and say that you will arrive immediately, for I am just dying with anxiety to see you, and to clasp you in my arms. Jim is already here, having traveled to Canada with Ephy to bring me safely home. As if a girl of my mature age couldn’t travel alone! However, it was one of Aunt Betty’s whims, she being in too ill health to come herself, so I suppose it is all right. Dear auntie will improve I feel sure—now that I am back. That may sound conceited, but I assure you it was not meant to. We are just wrapped up in each other—that’s all. The outing will do her good, and will, I am sure, restore in a measure her shattered health.“And oh, I forgot to tell you! I am to have violin lessons after my vacation from the famous Herr Deichenberg, Baltimore’s finest musician, whom Aunt Betty had especially engaged before my return. No one can better appreciate than you just what this means to me. My greatest ambition has been to become a fine violinist, and now my hopes bid fair to be realized. I know it rests with meto a great extent just how far up the ladder I go, and am resolved that Herr Deichenberg, before he is through with me, shall declare me the greatest pupil he has ever had. It takes courage to write that—andmeanit—Molly, dear; but if we don’t make such resolves and stick to them, we will never amount to much, I fear.“My first meeting with the Herr Professor will be within the next few days, and I am looking eagerly forward to the time. Aunt Betty says he has the dearest sort of a studio in a quiet part of the city, where he puts his pupils through a course of sprouts and brings out all the latent energy—or, temperament, I suppose you would call it.“Well, Molly, dear, you must admit that this is a long letter for my first day home, especially when I am tired from the journey, and have stopped my dressing to write you. So don’t disappoint me, but write—or wire—that you are starting at once. Tell the dear Judge we hope his health has improved to such an extent that you will be free from all worry in the future. Remember us to your aunt, and don’t forget that your welcome at old Bellvieu is as everlasting as the days are long.“Ever your affectionate“Dorothy.”
“My Darling Molly:
“Heavy, heavy hangs over your head! You are severely penalized for not writing me of your return. But to surprise your friends was always one of your greatest delights, you sly little minx! So I am not holding it up against you. I’ll even the score with you some day in a way you little imagine.
“Well, well, well, you just can’t guess what I have to tell you! And I’m glad you can’t, for that would take away the pleasure of the telling. Aunt Betty has planned a fine outing for me in the South Mountains, which, as you know, form a spur of the Blue Ridge range in Western Maryland. We are to be gone several weeks, during which time who can say what glorious adventures we will have?
“You are going with us. I want your acceptance of the invitation by return mail, Lady Breckenridge, and I shall take pleasure in providing a brave knight for your escort in the person of one Gerald Blank, in whose automobile we are to make the trip. He has a new seven-passenger car given him by his father, and, in the vulgar parlance of the day, we are going to ‘make things hum.’ It is only some sixty miles to the mountains, and we expect to be out only one night between Baltimoreand our destination. Besides yourself, Aunt Betty and I, there will be only Gerald, Aurora, his sister, Jim Barlow, and Ephraim, who will be camp cook, and general man-of-all-work.
“Now write me, dear girlie, and say that you will arrive immediately, for I am just dying with anxiety to see you, and to clasp you in my arms. Jim is already here, having traveled to Canada with Ephy to bring me safely home. As if a girl of my mature age couldn’t travel alone! However, it was one of Aunt Betty’s whims, she being in too ill health to come herself, so I suppose it is all right. Dear auntie will improve I feel sure—now that I am back. That may sound conceited, but I assure you it was not meant to. We are just wrapped up in each other—that’s all. The outing will do her good, and will, I am sure, restore in a measure her shattered health.
“And oh, I forgot to tell you! I am to have violin lessons after my vacation from the famous Herr Deichenberg, Baltimore’s finest musician, whom Aunt Betty had especially engaged before my return. No one can better appreciate than you just what this means to me. My greatest ambition has been to become a fine violinist, and now my hopes bid fair to be realized. I know it rests with meto a great extent just how far up the ladder I go, and am resolved that Herr Deichenberg, before he is through with me, shall declare me the greatest pupil he has ever had. It takes courage to write that—andmeanit—Molly, dear; but if we don’t make such resolves and stick to them, we will never amount to much, I fear.
“My first meeting with the Herr Professor will be within the next few days, and I am looking eagerly forward to the time. Aunt Betty says he has the dearest sort of a studio in a quiet part of the city, where he puts his pupils through a course of sprouts and brings out all the latent energy—or, temperament, I suppose you would call it.
“Well, Molly, dear, you must admit that this is a long letter for my first day home, especially when I am tired from the journey, and have stopped my dressing to write you. So don’t disappoint me, but write—or wire—that you are starting at once. Tell the dear Judge we hope his health has improved to such an extent that you will be free from all worry in the future. Remember us to your aunt, and don’t forget that your welcome at old Bellvieu is as everlasting as the days are long.
“Ever your affectionate“Dorothy.”
“There! I guess if that don’t bring Miss Molly Breckenridge to time, nothing will.”
Dorothy put the letter in a dainty, scented envelope, stamped and addressed it, and laid it on her dresser where she would be sure to carry it down to Ephraim when she had dressed.
An hour later, when the declining sun had disappeared behind the big hedge to the west of Bellvieu, and the lawn was filled with cool, deep shadows, Dorothy and Aunt Betty settled themselves in the open air for another chat.
The arrival of Herr Deichenberg at Bellvieu was looked forward to with breathless interest by Dorothy, and calm satisfaction by Aunt Betty, whose joy at seeing her girl so well pleased with the arrangements made for her studies, had been the means of reviving her spirits not a little, until she seemed almost like her old self.
The day following Dorothy’s return Ephraim was sent to the musician’s studio with a note from Mrs. Calvert, telling of the girl’s arrival, and suggesting that possibly the first meeting would be productive of better results if held at Bellvieu, where the girl would be free from embarrassment. Here, too, was a piano, the note stated, and Herr Deichenberg, who was also an expert on this instrument, might, if he desired, test Dorothy’s skill before taking up the work with her in earnest in his studio.
Ephraim returned in the late afternoon, bringing a written answer from the music master, in whichhe stated that it was contrary to his custom to visit the homes of his pupils, but that in the present instance, and under the existing circumstances, he would be glad to make an exception. He set the time of his visit at ten the following morning.
Dorothy awoke next day with a flutter of excitement. To her it seemed that the crucial moment of her life had come. If she were to fail—! She crowded the thought from her mind, firmly resolved to master the instrument which is said by all great musicians to represent more thoroughly than any other mode of expression, the joys, hopes and passions of the human soul.
Breakfast over, with a feeling of contentment Dorothy stole up to her room to dress, the taste of Dinah’s coffee and hot biscuits still lingering in her mouth.
As the minutes passed she found herself wondering what Herr Deichenberg would look like. She conjured up all sorts of pictures of a stoop-shouldered little German, her final impression, however, resolving itself into an image of “The Music Master’s” hero, Herr Von Barwig.
Would he bring his violin? she wondered. It was a rare old Cremona, she had heard, with a tone so full and sweet as to dazzle the Herr’s audienceswhenever they were so fortunate as to induce him to play.
Descending finally, arrayed in her prettiest gown, a dainty creation of lawn and lace, Dorothy found Aunt Betty awaiting her.
“Never have I seen you dress in better taste, my dear!” cried Mrs. Calvert, and the girl flushed with pleasure. “The Herr, as you have perhaps surmised, is a lover of simple things, both in the way of clothes and colors, and I am anxious that you shall make a good impression. He, himself, always dresses in black—linen during the warmer days, broadcloth in the winter. Everything about him in fact is simple—everything but his playing, which is wonderful, and truly inspired by genuine genius.”
“Stop, auntie, dear, or you will have me afraid to meet the Herr. After holding him up as such a paragon, is it any wonder I should feel as small and insignificant as a mouse?”
“Come, come, you are not so foolish!”
“Of course, I’m not, really—I was only joking,” and Dorothy’s laugh rang out over the lawn as they seated themselves on the gallery to await the arrival of the guest. “But I do feel a trembling sensation when I think that I am to meetthe great Herr Deichenberg, of whom I have heard so much, yet seen so little.”
“There is nothing to tremble over, my dear—nothing at all. He is just like other men; very ordinary, and surely kind-hearted to all with whom he comes in contact.”
As they were discussing the matter, Jim and Ephraim came around the corner of the house, their hands full of fishing tackle.
“Well, Aunt Betty,” greeted the boy, “we’re off for the old Chesapeake to court the denizens of the deep, and I’m willing to wager we’ll have fish for breakfast to-morrow morning.”
He pulled off his broad-brimmed straw hat and mopped a perspiring brow.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” returned Aunt Betty. “Fish do not always bite when you want them to. I know, for I’ve tried it, many’s the time.”
“Mah Miss Betty suah uster be er good fisher-woman,” quoth Ephraim, a light of pride in his eyes. “I’ve seen her sot on de bank ob de Chesapeake, en cotch as many as ’leben fish in one hour. Big fellers, too—none ob yo’ lil’ cat-fish en perch. Golly! I suah ’members de time she hooked dat ole gar, en hollered fo’ help tuh pull ’im out. Den all de folks rush’ up en grab de line, en ole MistahGar jes’ done come up outen de watah like he’d been shot out ob er gun.”
Slapping his knees at the recollection, Ephraim guffawed loudly, and with such enthusiasm that Aunt Betty forgot her infirmities and joined in most heartily.
“The joke was on me that time, Ephy,” she finally said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “But we landed old ‘Mistah Gar,’ which I suppose was what we wanted after all.”
“Wish I might hook a gar to-day,” said Jim.
“En like as not yo’ will, chile, ’case dem gars is mighty plentiful in de bay. Hardly a day go by, but w’at two or t’ree ob ’em is yanked outen de sea, en lef’ tuh dry up on de bank.”
“Well, we’ll try our hand at one if possible. Good-by, Dorothy! Good-by, Aunt Betty. Have plenty of good things for lunch,” were Jim’s parting words, as he and Ephraim strode off down the path toward the gate. “We will be as hungry as bears when we get back, and I’m smacking my lips now in anticipation of what we’re going to have.”
“Go along!” said Aunt Betty. “You’re too much trouble. I’ll feed you on corn bread and molasses.” But she laughed heartily. It pleased her to see Jim enjoying himself. “Oh, maybe I’ll cooksomething nice for you,” she called after him—“something that will make your mouth water sure enough.”
“Yum yum! Tell me about it now,” cried Jim.
“No; I’m going to surprise you,” answered the mistress of Bellvieu, and with a last wave of their hands, Jim and the old darkey disappeared behind the big hedge.
They were hardly out of sight before the figure of a little, gray-haired man walked slowly up to the gate, opened it, and continued his way up the walk, and Dorothy Calvert, her heart beating wildly, realized that she was being treated to her first sight of the famous music master, Herr Deichenberg.
As the Herr paused before the steps of the Calvert mansion, hat in hand, both Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy arose to greet him.
Dorothy saw before her a deeply intellectual face, framed in a long mass of gray hair; an under lip slightly drooping; keen blue eyes, which snapped and sparkled and seemed always to be laughing; a nose slightly Roman in shape, below which two perfect rows of white teeth gleamed as Herr Deichenberg smiled and bowed.
“I hope I find you vell dis morning, ladies,” was his simple greeting.
“HERR DEICHENBERG.” “Dorothy’s Triumph.”“HERR DEICHENBERG.”“Dorothy’s Triumph.”
“Indeed, yes, Herr,” Aunt Betty responded, offering her hand. “I am glad to see you again. This is the young lady of whom I spoke—my great-niece, Dorothy Calvert.”
“H’m! Yes, yes,” said the Herr, looking the girl over with kindly eye, as she extended her hand. Then, with Dorothy’s hand clasped tightly in his own, he went on: “I hope, Miss Dorothy, dat ve vill get on very good togedder. I haf no reason to believe ve vill not, an’ perhaps—who knows?—perhaps ve shall surprise in you dat spark of genius vhich vill make you de best known little lady in your great American land.”
“Oh, I hope so, Herr Deichenberg—I hope so,” was the girl’s fervent reply. “It has been my greatest ambition.”
The Herr turned to Aunt Betty:
“She iss in earnest, Madame; I can see it at a glance, and it iss half de battle. Too many things are lost in dis world t’rough a lack of confidence, and de lack of a faculty for getting out de best dat iss in one.”
The Herr sank into one of the deep, comfortable rockers on the gallery, near Aunt Betty, as Dorothy, at a signal from her aunt, excused herself and went in search of Dinah, with the result that mintlemonade, cool and tempting, was soon served to the trio outside, greatly to the delight of the Herr professor, who sipped his drink with great satisfaction. After a few moments he became quite talkative, and said, after casting many admiring glances over the grounds of old Bellvieu:
“Dis place reminds me more than anything I have seen in America, of my fadder’s place in Germany. De trees, de flowers, de shrubs—dey are all de same. You know,” he added, “I live in Baltimore, dat iss true, yet, I see very little of it. My list of pupils iss as large as I could well desire, und my time iss taken up in my little studio.”
“But one should have plenty of fresh air,” said Aunt Betty, “It serves as an inspiration to all who plan to do great things.”
“Dat sentiment does you credit, madame. It iss not fresh air dat I lack, for I have a little garden in vhich I spend a great deal of time, both morning und evening—it iss de inspiration of a grand estate like dis. It makes me feel dat, after all, there iss something I have not got out of life.”
There was a suspicious moisture in the Herr’s eyes, brought there, no doubt, by recollections of his younger days in the Old Country, and Aunt Betty, noticing his emotion, hastened to say:
“Then it will give us even greater pleasure, Herr Deichenberg, to welcome you here, and we trust your visits will be neither short nor infrequent.”
“Madame, I am grateful for your kindness. No one could say more than you have, and it may be dat I vill decide to give Miss Dorothy her lessons in her own home, dat ve may both have de inspiration of de pretty trees und flowers.”
“Aside from the fact that I am anxious to see your studio,” said the girl, “that arrangement will please me greatly.”
“It vill please me to be able to show you my studio, anyvay,” said the Herr.
“How long have you been in America?” Aunt Betty wanted to know, as the Herr again turned toward her.
“I came over just after de Civil War. I was quite a young lad at de time und a goot musician. I had no difficulty in finding employment in New York City, vhere I played in a restaurant orchestra for a number of years. Den I drifted to Vashington, den to Baltimore, vhere I have remained ever since.”
“And have you never been back across the water?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes; once I go back to my old home to see mypeople. Dat was de last time dat I see my fadder und mudder alive. Now I have few relatives living, und almost no desire to visit Germany again. America has taken hold of me, as it does every foreigner who comes over, und has made of me vhat I hope iss a goot citizen.”
The talk then drifted to Dorothy’s lessons. Herr Deichenberg questioned her closely as to her experience, nodding his head in grave satisfaction as she told of her lessons from Mr. Wilmot at Deerhurst. Then, apparently satisfied that she would prove an apt pupil, he asked to be allowed to listen to her playing. So, at Aunt Betty’s suggestion, they adjourned to the big living-room, where Dorothy tenderly lifted her violin from its case.
As she was running her fingers over the strings to find if the instrument was in tune, she noticed Herr Deichenberg holding out his hand for it.
She passed it over. The old German gave it a careful scrutiny, peering inside, and finally nodding his head in satisfaction.
“It iss a goot instrument,” he told her. “Not as goot as either a Cremona or a Strad, but by all means goot enough to serve your purpose.”
“It was a present from my Uncle Seth,” saidDorothy, “and I prize it very highly, aside from its actual value.”
“Und so you should—so you should,” said the Herr. “Come, now,”—moving toward the piano. “You read your music of course?”
Dorothy admitted that she did.
The Herr, sitting on the stool before the large, old-fashioned instrument, struck a chord.
“Tune your instrument with me, und we vill try something you know vell. I shall then be able to judge both of your execution und your tone. There iss de chord. Ah! now you are ready? All right. Shall we try de ‘Miserere’ from ‘Il Trovatore?’ I see you have it here.”
Dorothy nodded assent.
Then, from somewhere in his pocket, Herr Deichenberg produced a small baton, and with this flourished in his right hand, his left striking the chords on the piano, he gave the signal to play.
Her violin once under her chin, the bow grasped firmly in her hand, what nervousness Dorothy had felt, quickly vanished. She forgot the Herr professor, Aunt Betty—everything but the music before her. Delicately, timidly, she drew her bow across the strings, then, when the more strenuous parts of the Miserere were reached, she gatheredboldness, swaying to the rhythm of the notes, until a light of positive pleasure dawned in Herr Deichenberg’s eyes.
“Ah!” he murmured, his ear bent toward her, as if to miss a single note would be a rare penance. “Ah, dat iss fine—fine!”
Suddenly, then, he dropped his baton, and fell into the accompaniment of the famous piece, his hands moving like lightning over the keys of the piano.
Such music Aunt Betty vowed she had never heard before.
With a grand flourish the Herr and Dorothy wound up the Miserere, and turned toward their interested listener for approval. And this Aunt Betty bestowed with a lavish hand.
“I am proud indeed to know you and to have you for a pupil,” the music master said, turning to Dorothy. “You have an excellent touch and your execution iss above reproach, considering de lessons you have had. I am sure ve shall have no trouble in making of you a great musician.”
Flushing, partly from her exertions, partly through the rare compliment the great professor had paid her ability, the girl turned to Aunt Betty and murmured:
“Oh, auntie, dear, I’m so glad!”
“And I am delighted,” said Aunt Betty. “That is positively the most entrancing music I have ever heard.”
Herr Deichenberg showed his teeth in a hearty laugh.
“She shall vait until you have practiced a year, my little girl,” he said, winking at his prospective pupil. “Den who shall say she vill not be charmed by vhat she hears? But come,” he added, sobering, “let us try somet’ing of a different nature. If you are as proficient in de second piece as in de first, I shall have no hesitation in pronouncing you one of de most extraordinary pupils who has ever come under my observation.”
Dorothy bowed, and throwing her violin into position, waited for the Herr professor to select from the music on the piano the piece he wished her to play.
“Ah! here iss ‘Hearts und Flowers.’ Dat iss a pretty air und may be played with a great deal of expression, if you please. Let me hear you try it, Miss Dorothy.”
Again the baton was waved above the Herr professor’s head. The next instant they swung off into the plaintive air, Dorothy’s body, as before,keeping time to the rhythm of the notes, the music master playing the accompaniment with an ease that was astonishing. In every movement the old German showed the finished musician. Twice during the rendition of the piece did he stop Dorothy, to explain where she had missed the fraction of a beat, and each time, to his great satisfaction, the girl rallied to the occasion, and played the music exactly as he desired.
The ordeal over at last, Herr Deichenberg was even more lavish in his praise of Dorothy’s work.
“Of course, she iss not a perfect violinist,” he told Aunt Betty. “Ve could hardly expect dat, you know. But for a young lady of her age und experience she has made rapid progress. Herr Wilmot, who gave de first lessons had de right idea, und there iss nothing dat he taught her dat ve shall have to change.”
Out on the broad gallery, as he was taking his leave, the professor looked proudly at Dorothy again.
“I repeat dat I am glad to meet you und have you for a pupil. Vhen shall de first lesson be given?”
Dorothy threw a quick glance at Aunt Betty.
“Not for at least four weeks, Herr Deichenberg,” said that lady.
“Eh? Vhat!” cried the old music master. “Not for four veeks! Vhy iss it dat you vait an eternity? Let us strike vhile de iron iss hot, as de saying has it.”
“But, Herr, my little girl has just returned from a winter of strenuous study at the Canadian school of Oak Knowe, and I have promised her a rest before she takes up her music.”
“If dat iss so, I suppose I shall have to curb my impatience,” he replied, regretfully. “But let de time be as short as possible. If you are going avay, please notify me of your return, und I vill manage to come to Bellvieu to give Miss Dorothy her first lesson. But don’t make it too long! I am anxious—anxious. She vill make a great musician—a great musician. So goot day, ladies. It has been a pleasure to me—dis visit.”
“Let us hope there will be many more, Herr Deichenberg,” said Aunt Betty.
They watched the figure of the little music teacher until it disappeared through the gate and out of sight behind the hedge. Then they turned again to their comfortable rockers, to discuss the visit and Dorothy’s future.
“Oh, Aunt Betty,” confessed the girl, “I was terribly nervous until I felt my violin under my chin. It seemed to give me confidence, and I playedas I have never played before. Somehow, I felt I could not make a mistake. I’m so glad the Herr professor was pleased. Isn’t he a perfect dear? So genteel, so polished, in spite of his dialect—just the kind of a man old Herr Von Barwig was in ‘The Music Master.’”
Dinah came out on the gallery to say that Dorothy was wanted at the ’phone.
“Oh, I wonder who it can be?” said the girl. “I didn’t think any of my friends knew I was home.”
She hastened inside, and with the receiver at her ear, in keen anticipation murmured a soft:
“Hello!”
“Hello, Dorothy, dear! How are you?”
It was a girl’s voice and the tones were familiar.
“Who is this? I—I don’t quite catch the—! Oh, surely; it’s Aurora Blank!”
“You’ve guessed it the first time. I only learned a few moments ago that you were home. I’m just dying to see you, to learn how you liked your trip and the adventures you had at school. You’ll tell me about them in good time, won’t you, Dorothy?”
“Why, yes, of course. On our camping trip, perhaps.”
“Won’t that be jolly? Papa says we’re to stay in the mountains as long as we like—that’s what he bought the auto for. Gerald and I have been planning to start the first of the week if you can be ready.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can. I’ll speak to Aunt Betty and let you know.”
“Do so, and I’ll run over to Bellvieu to-morrow to discuss the details. Did that nice boy, Jim Barlow, return to Baltimore with you?”
“Yes; he is going with us on the trip—at least, Aunt Betty said he was included in the invitation.”
“Indeed he is! I like him immensely, dear—lots more than he likes me, I reckon.”
“Oh, I don’t know!”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Aurora, I’m afraid you’re trying to make a conquest.”
“No, I’m not—honor bright. But he’s a dear boy and you can tell him I said so.”
“I’ll do that,” said Dorothy, with a laugh. Then she said good-by and hung up the receiver. “I guess I won’t!” she muttered, as she went out to join Aunt Betty again. “Jim Barlow would have a conniption fit if he ever knew what Aurora Blank had said.”
“I’m glad to see you again, Miss Blank. You’ll find Dorothy waiting for you in the house.”
It was the following morning, and Jim had been roaming about the grounds when Aurora came in. At first he had seemed disinclined to be affable, for her actions on Dorothy’s houseboat had been anything but ladylike, until, like many another young girl, she had been taught a lesson; but he decided to be civil for the Calverts’ sake, at least.
“But I want to see you, Jim,” Aurora persisted. “You don’t mind my calling you ‘Jim,’ do you?”
“No.”
“And will you call me Aurora?”
“If you wish.”
“I do wish. We’re going on a long camping trip together, as I suppose you’ve heard.”
“Yes, and I want to thank you for the invitation.”
“You’ve decided to accept, of course?”
“Yes. At first I didn’t think I could; but AuntBetty—Mrs. Calvert, that is—said if I didn’t I’d incur her everlasting displeasure, so I’ve arranged to go.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. We just can’t fail to have a good time.”
“I figure on its being a very pleasant trip, Miss Blank—er—I mean, Aurora.”
“You should see our new car, Jim. Papa presented it to Gerald and I, and it’s a beauty. Gerald’s coming over with it to-day to teach you and Ephraim how to run it. Then you can take turns playing chauffeur on our trip across country. I imagine if I were a boy that I should like nothing better.”
Jim’s face brightened as she was speaking.
“Thank you; I believe I will learn to run the machine if Gerald doesn’t care.”
“Care? He’d better not! The machine is a partnership affair, and I’ll let you run my half. But he won’t object, and what’s more, he’ll be only too glad to lend you the car occasionally to take Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy riding.”
“I’ll ask him when he comes over,” said the boy.
Electricity was Jim’s chief hobby, but anything of a mechanical nature appealed to him. While a gasoline car uses electricity only to explode itsfuel, Jim was nevertheless deeply interested, particularly as he had never been able to look into the construction of an auto as thoroughly as he would have desired.
“When do we start?” he asked Aurora.
“The first of next week, if it’s all right with Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy.”
“Who dares talk of Dorothy when she is not present?” demanded that young lady, coming out on the gallery at this moment. “I believe this is a conspiracy.”
“Dorothy Calvert!”
“Aurora Blank!”
These sharp exclamations were followed by a joyous hug and a half dozen kisses, while Jim stood looking on in amusement.
“Say, don’t I get in that game?” he wanted to know.
“If you wish,” said Aurora, throwing him a coquettish glance.
“No indeed!” laughed Dorothy. “Gentlemen are entirely excluded.” She turned to her girl friend. “How well you are looking! And what a pretty dress!”
“Do you like it, Dorothy? Mamma had it made for me last week. At first it didn’t please me—thethe front of the waist is so crazy with its pleats and frills.”
“Oh, that’s what I liked about it—what first caught my eye. It’s odd, but very, very pretty.”
“Excuse me!” murmured Jim. “The conversation grows uninteresting,” and turning his back, he walked off down the lawn. He cast a laughing glance over his shoulder an instant later, however, shaking his head as if to say, “Girls will be girls.”
“Come into the house, Aurora, and tell me about yourself. What has happened in old Baltimore since I’ve been gone? Really, Aunt Betty and I have been too busy arranging for my music lessons, and with various and sundry other things to have a good old-time chat.”
“Things have been rather dull here. Gerald and I went with papa and mamma to the theaters twice a week last winter, with an occasional matinée by ourselves, but aside from that, life has been very dull in Baltimore—that is, until the auto came a few weeks since. Now we take a ‘joy’ ride every afternoon, with an occasional evening thrown in for good measure.”
“I am anxious to see your car, Aurora.”
“And I am anxious to have you see it.”
“It must be a beauty.”
“Oh, it is.” Aurora leaned toward her friend. “Confidentially, Dorothy, it cost papa over four thousand dollars.”
“Just think of all that money to spend for pleasure!” cried Dorothy. “But then, it makes you happy, and I suppose that’s what money is for.”
“Did you ask your aunt about starting on our trip the first of the week?”
“Yes, and it’s all right. We’ll be ready. The only thing worrying me now is that I’m expecting to hear from one of my dearest girl chums, Molly Breckenridge—”
“Oh, and is she going with us?”
“Aunt Betty made me ask her. She said you wanted us to make up the party, and include Gerald and yourself.”
“That’s the very idea. It’s your trip, Dorothy, given in honor of your home-coming.”
“I’m sure that’s nice of you, Aurora. And now let’s discuss—”
“Pawdon me, Miss Dorot’y,” interrupted Ephraim, entering at this moment. “I—I—er—good mawnin’, Miss Aurory.”
“Good morning, Ephy,” Dorothy’s visitor responded. “Has anyone told you that you are to become a chauffeur?”
“W’at’s dat, Miss Aurory? A show fer? A show fer w’at?”
“A chauffeur, Ephy, is a man who drives an automobile.”
“One o’ dem fellers dat sets up in de front seat en turns de steerin’ apparatus?”
“Exactly. How would you like to do that?”
“I ain’t nebber monkeyed round dem gasoline contraptions none, but I reckon I’d like tuh do w’at yo’ say, Miss Aurory—yas’m; I jes’ reckon I would.”
“Well, Gerald is coming over some time to-day to show you and Jim a few things about the car. You will take turns playing chauffeur on our camping trip, and he wants to give you a lesson every day until we leave.”
“Dat suah suits me,” grinned the old negro.
“But what did you want, Ephy?” Dorothy asked, recalling him suddenly to his errand.
“Oh, Lordy, I done fergit w’at I come fo’. Lemme see—oh, yas’m, I got er lettah fo’ yo’. Jes’ lemme see where I put dat doggone—er—beggin’ yo’ pawdon, young ladies, I—Heah hit is!”
The letter, fished from one of Ephraim’s capacious pockets, was quickly handed over.
“Oh, it’s from Molly!” the girl cried, joyously, as she looked at the postmark. “Let’s see what she has to say. You may go, Ephy.”
“Yas’m,” responded the darkey, and with an elaborate bow he departed.
Tearing open the letter, Dorothy read as follows:
“My Dear, Dear Chum:—“To say that I was overwhelmed by your very kind invitation, is to express it mildly, indeed. The surprise was complete. I had hardly realized that you had finished your course at Oak Knowe and returned to Baltimore. It is strange how rapidly the time flies past.“We returned from California, some two weeks ago. Papa is greatly improved in health, for which we are all duly thankful. He says he feels like a new man and his actions bear out his words. He wants to know how his little Dorothy is, and when she is coming to visit him. In the meantime, it may be that I shall bring the answer to him in person, as I am leaving next Monday evening for Baltimore, and you, dear Dorothy!“How glad I shall be to see you! As for the camping trip, you know how I love an outing, and this, I am sure, will prove to be one of the finest Ihave ever had. So, until Tuesday morning, when you meet me at the train,au revoir.“Ever your loving”Molly.”
“My Dear, Dear Chum:—
“To say that I was overwhelmed by your very kind invitation, is to express it mildly, indeed. The surprise was complete. I had hardly realized that you had finished your course at Oak Knowe and returned to Baltimore. It is strange how rapidly the time flies past.
“We returned from California, some two weeks ago. Papa is greatly improved in health, for which we are all duly thankful. He says he feels like a new man and his actions bear out his words. He wants to know how his little Dorothy is, and when she is coming to visit him. In the meantime, it may be that I shall bring the answer to him in person, as I am leaving next Monday evening for Baltimore, and you, dear Dorothy!
“How glad I shall be to see you! As for the camping trip, you know how I love an outing, and this, I am sure, will prove to be one of the finest Ihave ever had. So, until Tuesday morning, when you meet me at the train,au revoir.
“Ever your loving”Molly.”
“I just know I shall like Molly Breckenridge,” cried Aurora. “Such a nice letter! I have already pictured in my mind the sort of girl that wrote it.”
“You will like her, Aurora, for she is one of the best girls that ever breathed. Full of mischief, yes, but with a heart as big as a mountain. There is nothing she won’t do for anyone fortunate enough to be called her friend.”
“I hope to be that fortunate before our trip is over. But you, Dorothy, are more than friend to her. One can see that from the tone of the letter.”
“I hope and believe I am her dearest chum.”
“You aremydearest chum, Dorothy Calvert!” cried Aunt Betty, who entered the room at this moment. “How are you, Aurora?”
“Very well, Mrs. Calvert.”
“I am glad to see you here. My little girl will get lonesome, I fear, unless her friends drop in frequently to see her.”
“I shall almost live over here, now Dorothy is home,” replied Aurora.
“Indeed she will,” Dorothy put in. “And Molly is coming, Aunt Betty!” Triumphantly she displayed the letter. “Ephy just brought it. Want to read it?”
“No; you can tell me all about it, dear,” returned Aunt Betty. “I am glad she is coming. I hardly thought she’d refuse. Judge Breckenridge is very good to her, and allows her to travel pretty much as she wills.”
The talk turned again to the camping trip.
“I have talked it over with Dorothy,” said Aunt Betty, “and we have decided to be ready Wednesday morning.”
“That will suit us fine,” said Aurora. “Gerald couldn’t get away before Tuesday anyway, and another day will not matter. He thinks we’d better plan to start in the cool of the morning, stopping for breakfast about eight o’clock at some village along the route—there are plenty of them, you know. The recent rains have settled the dust, and the trip, itself, should be very agreeable. We figure on being out only one night, reaching the mountains on the second morning. Of course, if pushed, the auto could make it in much less time, but Gerald thinks we’d better take our time and enjoy the ride.”
“The plan is a fine one,” said Aunt Betty, “especially the getting away in the early morning, before the hot part of the day sets in.”
“I thoroughly agree with you, auntie,” said Dorothy.
“If we fail to find a village,” Aunt Betty continued, “where we can get coffee and rolls, we will draw on our own supply of provisions and eat our breakfast en route. Or we can stop by the wayside, where Ephy can make a fire and I can make some coffee.”
“Oh, you make my mouth water,” said Aurora, who knew that Aunt Betty Calvert’s coffee was famous for miles around.
Aurora took her leave a short while later, and hardly had she gone before Gerald Blank drew up in front of the Calvert place in his big automobile and cried out for Jim and Ephraim.
Neither the boy nor the negro needed a second invitation. Each had been keen in anticipation of the ride—Jim because of his natural interest in mechanism of any sort; Ephraim because he felt proud of the title “chauffeur,” which Aurora had bestowed upon him, and was curious to have his first lesson in running “dat contraption,” as he termed it.
“I tell you, Gerald, she’s a dandy,” said Jim, after the boys had shaken hands and made a few formal inquiries about the interval which had elapsed since last they met. As Jim spoke, his eye roamed over the long torpedo body of the big touring car.
Straight from the factory but a few weeks since, replete with all the latest features, the machine represented the highest perfection of skilled mechanical labor. The body was enameled in gray and trimmed in white, after the fashion of many of the torpedo type of machines which were then coming into vogue.
Seeing Jim’s great interest, Gerald, who was already a motor enthusiast, went from one end of the car to the other, explaining all the fine points.
“There is not a mechanical feature of the Ajax that has not been thoroughly proven out in scores of successful cars,” he said. “Now, here, for instance, is the engine.” Throwing back the hood of the machine, the boy exposed the mechanism. “That’s the Renault type of motor, known as ‘the pride of France,’ and one of the finest ever invented. Great engineers have gone on record that the men who put the Ajax car together have advanced five years ahead of the times. You willnotice, Jim, that the engine valves are all on one side. You’re enough of a mechanician to appreciate the advantage of that. It makes it simple and compact, and gives great speed and power. We should have little trouble in traveling seventy miles an hour, if we chose.”
“Lordy, we ain’t gwine tuh chose!” cried Eph.
“Why, I thought you had the speed mania, Ephy,” was Gerald’s good-natured retort.
“Don’ know jes’ w’at dat is, Mistah Gerald, but I ain’t got hit—no, sah, I ain’t got hit.”
“Now, Jim,” Gerald continued, as they bent over to look under the car, “you see the gear is of the selective sliding type, which has been adopted by all the high grade cars. And back here is what they term a floating axle. The wheels and tires are both extra large—in fact, there is nothing about the car, that I’ve been able to discover, that is not the best in the business.”
“What a fine automobile agent you’d make, Gerald!”
“Do you think so?”
“Surely. You spiel it off like a professional. The only difference is, I feel what you say is true. I am greatly taken with that engine, and should like to see it run.”
“When we start in a moment, you shall have that pleasure. Of course, I could run it for you now, while the machine is standing still, but they say it’s poor practice to race your engine. If you do so, the wear and tear is something awful.”
“I’d heard that, but had forgotten,” said Jim.
“Well, come on, now, and I’ll take you and Ephy for a spin, and, incidentally, I’ll teach you both how to run the car.”
Jim crawled into the front seat, Ephraim occupying the big five-passenger compartment in the rear. Gerald, after “cranking up,” took his seat behind the steering wheel.
“All ready, Ephy?”
“Yas’r—yas’r.”
“Then we’re off.”
The big Ajax started without a jar and moved almost noiselessly off down the road. The engine ran so smoothly that it was hard to imagine anything but an electric motor was driving the machine.
Gerald knew Baltimore and its environs by heart. He did not enter the city immediately, however, but kept to the fine country roads which lay just outside. When a level stretch was reached once, he put her on the high speed, and Jim and Ephraim traveled for a few moments at a pace neither hadever experienced before—even on a railroad train.
Finally, slowing down, Gerald said:
“Now I’ll change places with you, Jim, and you shall run the car.”
The change was quickly effected, Jim being eager to feel the big steering wheel in his grasp, his feet on the pedals in front, with the single thought in his mind that the Ajax was run and controlled by his hand alone.
Gerald explained the points of starting, showing him the three speeds forward and the reverse; how to regulate his spark so as to keep the motor from knocking, especially on heavy grades; then how to advance the spark where the pull was slight, so as to make the motor work cooler and to use less gasoline.
Jim admired Gerald’s thorough knowledge of the car. It showed a side to the boy’s nature that Jim had not suspected—in fact, the Gerald Blank who owned this auto was hardly the same boy who had caused so much dissension on the houseboat the summer before.
“When you think you’ve had enough, we’ll let Ephy try it,” said Gerald.
“I’d never get enough,” smiled Jim. “So better let Ephy get a-hold right here and now.”
He good-naturedly resigned his post, and Ephraim soon found himself sitting in the chauffeur’s seat, the big steering wheel almost touching his breast, his feet on the pedals. Then Gerald instructed him as he had Jim. When he told the old negro to press slowly on one of the pedals to make the machine slow down, Ephraim misunderstood his orders and pressed the wrong one, with the result that the speed remained undiminished, while the exhaust set up such a beating that Ephy turned a shade whiter.
The joke was on him. No harm was done, and soon, when Gerald and Jim were through laughing at him, he began to show considerable agility in the handling of the car.
“I’ll give you both another lesson to-morrow,” said Gerald, as, some seven miles out of the city, he took charge of the big machine and turned for the run back to Baltimore.
Soon the engines began to sing as the car gathered headway. The road was clear ahead, hence Gerald felt no qualms about “speeding her up.” He kept a close watch, however, for lanes and crossroads, twice slowing down for railway crossings, only to resume his former pace when on the other side. Trees and houses flashed past in hopelessconfusion. A cloud of dust arose behind them, and mingled with the gaseous smoke that came from the rear of the machine.
Through the city they went, now at a much lessened pace—in fact, at only eight miles an hour, which was the speed limit in the city—finally turning out along the shores of the Chesapeake toward old Bellvieu.
Dorothy and Aunt Betty were sitting on the gallery when they drew up, and waved their hands at Gerald as he let Jim and Ephraim out and turned his machine toward home.
“You are both chauffeurs now, I suppose?” queried Aunt Betty, as the pair came up the walk toward the house.
“Ephraim is, at least,” laughed Jim.
“Yas’r, yas’r; I suah is,” said Ephraim with a deep chuckle. “Dis yere joy ridin’ business am gittin’ intuh mah blood. Nebber ain’t gone so fast in mah whole life as w’en Mistah Gerald done let dat blame contraption out. Lordy, but we jes’ flew!”
“Where did Jim come in?” Dorothy wanted to know.
“Oh, Mistah Gerald teached him how tuh run de machine, en den he teached me. I tell yo’ w’at,Miss Betty, I’s gwine tuh be yo’ shofer all right, en I’s gwine tuh be a mighty good one, too.”
“He can hardly wait for Gerald to come back to-morrow,” said Jim.
“Then Gerald is coming back, is he?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes; we can’t learn to run his car in one lesson, you know. I reckon I haven’t much call to talk about Ephy’s enthusiasm, for the fever’s in my blood, too.”
“That’s what they call ‘automobilitis,’” said Aunt Betty.
“Well, whatever hit am, I’s got it,” said Ephraim, with a grave shake of his head. Then he emitted another chuckle and walked away.
The next few days passed quickly.
Gerald came each afternoon, as he had promised, and before the long-looked-for day arrived, both Jim and Ephraim were nearly as proficient in the use of the car as he.
On Tuesday afternoon Molly Breckenridge arrived, as she had promised in her letter, Dorothy, Jim and Metty meeting the train with the barouche.
To describe the meeting between the girls would be impossible. A bystander, observing the hugs and kisses they bestowed upon each other, might wellhave wondered who they were, to be so lavish with their affection.
“You dear, good girl!” Dorothy kept saying, over and over, each word accented by another kiss.
Molly surprised Jim by kissing him rapturously on the cheek, an act the boy did not like, but which he took with the good nature he knew would be expected of him.
Later, in confidence, he confessed his displeasure to Gerald, which caused that young man to go off into a fit of merriment.
“You’re a funny fellow, Jim,” he said, finally, when he had induced a sober expression to remain on his face. “Most fellows would go several miles out of their way to get a kiss from Molly Breckenridge. But you, with kisses thrust upon you, are angry. Well, that may be all right, but I don’t understand it—hanged if I do!”
But Jim vouchsafed no further comment. He only smiled and shook his head.
Old Bellvieu was early astir on Wednesday morning, the time set for the departure. At four o’clock, when the darkness without was still intense, Ephraim, who had been awakened by an alarm clock, went from door to door of the big mansion, arousing the inmates.
The provisions and cooking utensils had been packed in baskets and were setting in the front hall, ready to be carried to the automobile when Gerald and Aurora should arrive. There was also a hamper containing extra clothes for Aunt Betty, Dorothy and Molly.
It was two sleepy-eyed girls who came slowly down the back stairway to eat hominy, biscuits and coffee, prepared by Chloe and Dinah in the big kitchen—sleepy-eyed, because the chums had lain awake more than half the night talking over old times. Molly’s trip to California had been told of to the most minute detail, and at the end of the discourse Dorothy had started on her adventuresat Oak Knowe. Then to sleep at half past one, to rise at four!
It was no wonder Dorothy said, as they entered the kitchen:
“I feel like the last rose of summer. The next time you keep me awake till nearly morning, Molly Breckenridge, I’m going to be revenged.”
“The same to you, Dorothy Calvert,” was Molly’s retort. “You seem to have no regard for my condition after my long journey here. I needed rest, but you kept me awake all night with your constant chatter, telling me things that did not interest me.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did!”
And so forth and so on. Then, when Chloe, Dinah and Metty, were staring open-mouthed, impressed with the fact that the young ladies had apparently descended in a very bad humor, both girls laughed, threw their arms about each other’s neck, and concluded their performance with a resounding kiss.
“My, how affectionate!” said Aunt Betty, who entered at this moment. “And what swollen eyes!”
“Why, isn’t that strange?” asked Dorothy, assumingan innocent look. “She says our eyes are swollen, Molly—and after all the sleep we had, too.”
Aunt Betty laughed.
“Do you think, my dears, I did not hear you talking ’way into the night?”
“Oh, did you, auntie?”
“Yes; but it was your first night together, so I decided to say nothing. But come; let us eat, for Gerald and Aurora will shortly be here in the car.”
The girls needed no second invitation. The coffee, made by Chloe, after Aunt Betty’s special recipe, was delicious, and served to revive the sleepy girls, while the biscuits, as Molly expressed it, “fairly melted in your mouth.”
The meal over, preparations for departure went forward rapidly, and when, at half past five, just as the sun was getting ready to peep above the distant horizon, the big touring car drew up in front of the place, Aunt Betty, the girls, Jim and Ephraim were all waiting on the gallery.
“Ship ahoy! What ship is that?” cried Jim, cupping his hands at Gerald.
“The good ship Ajax, out of Baltimore for the South Mountains. Four first and one second class cabins reserved for your party, Mr. Barlow.”