CHAPTER XXIVMR. GOUPIL CALLS
After practice that afternoon Laurie returned to the room to find Ned engaged in sorting things out preparatory to packing up. When Laurie entered, however, the other paused in his effort to stuff more rubbish into an already overloaded waste-basket and announced in triumph, “We had it right, partner!”
“Elk Thurston?”
“Elk and Jim Hallock. Elk’s just left here.”
“Left here? You mean he was in to see you?”
Ned nodded. “Yes. It was rather decent of him, I think. Take that idiotic expression from your face and sit down. This is how Elk tells it. He and Jim were looking out of their window that night and saw the lights of Mr. Wells’s car on the other side of the hedge. One of them said something about Mr. Wells always leaving his car around and what a joke it would be if it wasn’t there when he came back for it. Well,that idea sort of stuck, and after a while Elk suggested that they sneak down and run the car off around the corner. Elk says that Jim usually wouldn’t have gone in for anything like that on a bet, but there’d been some tough exams that day, and Jim was sort of keyed up. Anyhow, they sneaked down-stairs after a while and got out by one of the windows in the recreation-room. They didn’t dare try the front way, for Cornish had his study door open. They put the brakes off and tried to push the car toward Washington Street, but it was heavy, and after they’d got it a little ways they decided to start it and run it around the corner. So they did, pretty sure that it was too far off for Mr. Wells to hear. Elk took the wheel and they went to Washington Street. Then, he says, the thing was working so pretty they thought they’d go on further. When they got to where Washington joins Walnut it was pretty dark, and he swung to the right too soon.
“That’s when they hit the hydrant. Of course, they were scared pink, and Elk shut the motor off and they beat it as fast as they could. When they got back here they found thatsome one had been prowling around and had locked the window. Then they saw our windows open and decided to climb up by the ivy. Elk says they hoped we’d be asleep. If we waked up they meant to tell us and ask us to keep mum. Jim climbed up first and made it all right, but Elk had hurt his wrist when the car struck the hydrant, and he had a hard time of it. They didn’t either of them know that Cornish had seen them. For that matter, he only saw one, I guess, and that one was probably Elk, for he says it took him two or three minutes to get to the window because his wrist hurt him so. Seems that Jim left the hall door open after him, but the draft closed it, and that’s what woke us up, I guess. Well, what Elk came for was to say that neither of them knew they’d been seen and that they hadn’t meant to throw suspicion on us. He says if they’d known that Cornish was prowling around they wouldn’t have entered our window. He was very particular about making that clear. Guess he thought you might think he had done it on purpose to get even with you. And that’s that, old son.”
Laurie nodded thoughtfully. “Kind of toobad,” he mused. “I suppose they didn’t intend anything but a sort of joke on Mr. Wells. Did he tell you what they were going to get?”
“Get? Oh, they’re suspended, he says. He seemed to feel worse about Jim than about himself. Do you know, old son, after all Elk isn’t such a bad sort. At least, that’s the way it strikes me after hearing his spiel. He says he’s not coming back next year. He’s going to tutor this summer and try and make college in the fall.”
“Yeah,” said Laurie abstractedly. “Well, I’m sort of sorry for him. And of course he didn’t mean to get us in wrong.” He lapsed into silence. Then, abruptly, “Cas Bennett split his finger with a foul tip about half an hour ago,” he announced.
“He did?” exclaimed Ned. “Gosh, that’s tough luck! Will it keep him out of the game?”
“Yes,” replied Laurie.
“Thatistough! Say, what are you looking so queer about?”
“Just thinking,” answered Laurie. “You try it.”
“Huh?”
“Use the old bean, son. Cas has split his finger, Elk’s suspended—”
“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Why, then, you—you—”
“Correct,” said Laurie. “I’ll have to catch to-morrow, and—and at the present moment, Ned, I’m scared to death!”
That had been a day of events, and it was not yet over. Attic Society was giving its usual end-of-the-term blow-out that evening, and both Ned and Laurie were invited. The affair began at eight, and at half-past seven they were in No. 16 putting the finishing touches to their toilets. Although it was a stag-party it called for best clothes and polished shoes and carefully brushed hair, and Laurie was trying hard to subdue a rebellious lock on the crown of his head when there came a knock on the door. Both boys shouted “Come in!” simultaneously. Then the door was opened, revealing Mr. Cornish, the hall master, and a stranger. The boys grabbed for their coats, Laurie dropping a military brush to the floor with a disconcerting noise. Mr. Cornishushered the stranger in but himself came no further than the door-sill.
“Here is a gentleman to see you, Laurence,” said the instructor. “I was quite certain you were in, and so I brought him up.”
Mr. Cornish smiled, nodded to the guest, who bowed impressively, and departed, closing the door behind him.
“Very glad indeed—” began Laurie.
“Have a seat, won’t—” supplemented Ned.
“Thank you.” The stranger again bowed and seated himself, placing a cane across his immaculately clad legs and balancing a somewhat square derby hat perilously atop. “I begin by offering you my apologies for this intrusion,” he continued.
“Not necessary,” mumbled Laurie, his gaze busy with the guest. The latter appeared to be about fifty, was under rather than over average height, and was very broad and thick and, like his derby, rather square of contour. He even had a distinctly square face which began very high up, because of the disappearance of what hair may have adorned the front of his head atone time, and ended in an auxiliary chin. He wore a very black mustache whose ends were waxed to sharp points. His eyes were quite as black and almost as sharp as his mustache. He looked foreign, and, indeed spoke with more than a trace of accent, but he was evidently a gentleman, and he impressed the boys very favorably.
“With your permission,” he continued, “I will introduce myself.” He regarded Laurie. “I have the honor of addressing Mr. Laurie Turner?” Laurie nodded. The guest carefully secured hat and stick, arose, and bowed deeply. “I,” he announced then, “am Mr. Goupil.”
For an instant silence ensued. Then, “Mister—I beg your pardon,” said Laurie, “but did you sayGoupil?”
“Goupil,” confirmed the gentleman, bowing again and smiling very nicely.
“You mean,” stammered Laurie, “theMr. Goupil? Of Sioux City? Miss Comfort’s Mr. Goupil?”
“Surely.”
“Why—why, then,” exclaimed Laurie, “I’m mighty glad to meet you, sir.” He stepped forward with outstretched hand, and Mr. Goupil enfoldedit in a far more capacious one. “And this is my brother Ned.” Mr. Goupil then shook hands with the amazed Ned. After that they all sat down. Mr. Goupil arranged stick and hat with precision, cleared his throat, and began:
“My dear sister-in-law has told me of your most kind efforts in her behalf, and I have presented myself to make explanation and to add my expressions of gratitude.” Mr. Goupil spoke rather deliberately and seemed to choose his words with care. “That your telegram received no response is a matter of extreme regret. Yet, when I inform you that it never reached me, you will, of a certainty, exonerate me from discourtesy, Mr. Laurie.”
“Why, surely,” agreed Laurie eagerly. “We had already found out that the telegram was delivered to the wrong person, sir.”
“Ah! Is it so? But doubtless!” Mr. Goupil paused and nodded several times. “Allow me, please, the explanation of certain ever-to-be-regretted circumstances. You must know, then, that after the death of my excellent and never-to-be-forgotten wife I was plunged in sorrow. You,sir, have never lost a beloved wife—but, no, no, of a certainty you have not!” Mr. Goupil laughed at himself heartily before he went on. “Very well. To pursue. In my sorrow I returned to the country of my birth for a visit, to France, to Moissac, where live many of my relations. But, sir, one does not elude Sorrow by crossing the ocean! No, no, it is here!” Mr. Goupil struck himself twice on the chest. “Soon I return, sir, yet in the brief period of my absence the harm has been done!” He paused with dramatic effect.
“Indeed,” said Ned sympathetically, yet puzzled.
“Yes, sir, for although I am absent but five months, yet when I return a so horrible deed has been perpetrated in my name.”
“Indeed.” It was Laurie’s turn this time. Mr. Goupil’s large countenance depicted the utmost dejection, but only for a moment.
“In my absence,” he went on, brightening, “my lawyer, in whose hands all my affairs of person were left, learned of the terms of the will of my late wife’s mother. The will says that at the death of my late wife the property in this soquaint town occupied by my dear sister-in-law shall revert. Thereupon, stupid that he was, my lawyer proceeds to write to my sister-in-law to that effect. The rest, sir, you know. Yet this lamentable news reached me but three days ago! ‘What,’ asks this lawyer, ‘will you do with this property in Orstead, New York?’
“‘What property do you speak of?’ I ask him. He tells me then. I am overcome. I am frantic. ‘Imbecile!’ I shout. ‘What have you done?’ I come at once by the fastest of trains. I am here!”
“That—that was very nice of you,” faltered Laurie, keeping his eyes carefully away from Ned.
“Nice! But what else to be done? For nothing at all would I have had it so happen, and so I hasten to make amends, to offer apologies to my dear wife’s sister, to you, sir, to correct a so great mistake!”
“Certainly,” assented Laurie hurriedly. “Of course. But what I don’t understand is why the letter that Miss Comfort wrote to you didn’t reach you, sir.”
Mr. Goupil made a gesture of despair. “Iwill explain it also. My dear sister-in-law made a mistake of the address. I saw the letter. It was wrong. I—but wait!” Mr. Goupil drew forth a handsome card-case, selected of the contents, and reached forward. Laurie took the card and read:
Chicago Sioux City Des MoinesGOUPIL-MacHENRY COMPANYStocks Bonds Investments514–520 Burlington Bldg., Sioux City, Ia.Members of theChicago Stock Exchange
Chicago Sioux City Des Moines
GOUPIL-MacHENRY COMPANY
Stocks Bonds Investments514–520 Burlington Bldg., Sioux City, Ia.
Members of theChicago Stock Exchange
“You see?” pursued Mr. Goupil. “My dear sister-in-law made the mistake regrettable. She addressed the letter to the ‘Goupil Machinery Company.’ There is none.”
“I see,” said Laurie, enlightened, as he passed the engraved card to Ned. “This MacHenry is your partner, sir?”
“Of a certainty. Adam MacHenry he is, a gentleman of Scottish birth, but now, like me, William Goupil, a citizen of the United States, sir.”
“Oh! Well, but look here, Mr. Goupil. MissComfort must have had your initials wrong, too, then, for—”
“Ah, another misfortune! Attend, please. My name is Alphonse Guillaume Goupil. Yes. Very well. When I am in this country but a very short time I find that Alphonse is the name of all waiters in all hotels everywhere I go. I put aside Alphonse then. I am Guillaume Goupil. Then I become prosperous. I enter into business. Many do not know how to pronounce my first name, and that is not well. So I then spell it the American way. To-day I am William Goupil, American citizen!”
“That explains why the telegram didn’t get to you,” said Laurie. “Well, the whole thing’s been a sort of—of—”
“Sort of a comedy of errors,” suggested Ned.
Mr. Goupil seized on the phrase with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, a comedy of errors! You’ll say so! A comedy of errors of a certainty, beyond a matter of a doubt! But now, at last, it isfinis. All is satisfactorily arranged. You shall hear. First, then, I offered my dear sister-in-law a nice home in Sioux City, but no, she must stay here where it has been her home andher people’s home for so long a time. Also”—Mr. Goupil laughed enjoyably—“also, Mr. Laurie, she fears the Indians! But at last it is arranged. In the fall she will return to her house. By then it will be a place worthy of the sister of my dear and greatly lamented wife. To-morrow I shall give orders, oh, many orders! You shall see. It will be—” Mr. Goupil raised his eyes ecstatically—“magnificent!”
“Well, that certainly is great,” said Laurie. “I can’t tell you how pleased I—we both are, Mr. Goupil.”
Mr. Goupil bowed again, but without arising, and smiled his own pleasure. “I shall ask you to believe, Mr. Laurie, that never did I suspect that my dear sister-in-law was in any need of assistance. But now I understand. It shall be arranged. From now on—” He waved a hand grandly. Words would have said far less.
He arose. Laurie arose. Ned arose. Mr. Goupil bowed. Laurie and Ned bowed.
“Once more, Mr. Laurie, I thank you for your kindness to my dear sister-in-law. I thank also your so noble brother. I shall be in Orstead forseveral days and it will give me great pleasure to see you again. We shall meet, yes?”
“Of a certainty,” answered Laurie, with no thought of impertinence. “To-morrow, perhaps, at Miss Comfort’s, sir. We are going there in the morning to say good-by to her.”
“Excellent! Until the morning, then.” Mr. Goupil bowed. Laurie bowed. Ned bowed. Mr. Goupil placed his derby in place, gave it an admonishing tap, smiled pleasantly once more, and was gone.
Laurie closed the door after him and leaned weakly against it.
“If anything else happens to-night,” he sighed, “I’ll go batty!”