At this moment Mabel heard Shirley calling. Accompanied by Mr. Willing, she made her way around the house, where her friend stood awaiting her.
“Let’s go and look at the horses, Mabel,” said Shirley.
In spite of a certain sadness caused by her father’s condition, Mabel agreed, and the two girls made their way to the large stable a quarter of a mile from the farmhouse.
Shirley flung open the door and dashed inside.
“We’ll call on Gabriel first,” she called back over her shoulder.
Mabel followed her.
Straight to the stall of the young animal of splendid pedigree Shirley led the way. It had been months since she had last seen this horse, but the noble creature recognized her footsteps and whinnied in delight at her approach.
Unmindful of the possibility that the horse mightstep upon her, Shirley ran into the stall and, reaching up, threw both arms around his glossy black neck. Gabriel trembled with happiness, and then thrust his nose into her hand.
“See,” laughed Shirley, “he wants his lump of sugar. Did you think I had forgotten you?” she asked.
Again Gabriel whinnied.
Gabriel took the lump of sugar from the girl’s hand and munched it contentedly. Then he pleaded for more.
“No, sir,” said Shirley, stepping back. “One lump is all you get; you should know better than to ask for more. If Dad knew I had given you even one, he wouldn’t like it.”
She stepped farther back and surveyed the animal with a critical eye.
“And so,” she said, speaking to Gabriel, “you are going to win the Derby for Dad and me this year.”
She patted him affectionately upon the head and stroked his mane. Gabriel rubbed his head up and down against her arm.
“Come, Shirley,” said Mabel at this juncture, “don’t stand there talking to Gabriel all day. We must pay our respects to some of the other horses.”
“All right,” her friend agreed and, giving Gabriel a parting pat, she followed her friend from the stall.
All along the length of the stable the heads of other horses appeared above their stall doors as the two girls passed along, and everywhere they were greeted with whinnies of welcome and delight; for there was not a horse there who did not love the two girls.
But of all the horses in her father’s “string,” Shirley loved Gabriel most, for he was her own personal property. Descended from a long line of distinguished and powerful racehorses, Gabriel had been presented to Shirley by Mr. Willing when the horse was nothing but a colt. His pedigree was of the best, and now, in the approaching Derby to be run in Louisville the following month, Shirley and Mr. Willing both looked to him to maintain the supremacy of the Willing stable.
Besides Jimmy Smith, Mr. Willing’s diminutive sixteen-year-old jockey, none but Shirley had ever sat upon Gabriel’s back. Many had tried, but the result had always been the same. A quick leap to the saddle, a few stiff bucks and jumps by Gabriel, and the would-be rider was rolling on the ground.
But now when Shirley decided upon a little run, Gabriel always received her with joy and was as gentle as a kitten while she rode him. They often had long gallops together, and were the best of friends.
Gabriel was now three years old, and had been entered for the Derby. There was no doubt inShirley’s mind that he would be the first under the wire at the end of the mile-and-a-quarter run in Louisville, when the great day, August 31st, arrived.
The two girls spent perhaps an hour in the stable, and as they were about to leave, Shirley decided to see Gabriel once more, and so approached his stall.
Suddenly she halted in her tracks and laid a warning finger to her lips. Mabel also stopped.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I thought I heard strange voices in there,” said Shirley, pointing to Gabriel’s stall.
“Impossible,” returned Mabel in a low voice. “Gabriel wouldn’t allow a stranger in there. He would kick him to pieces.”
Silently she approached closer, and stood still, listening intently.
Then only the two girls heard a voice they recognized.
“Jimmy,” said Mabel. “You were mistaken, Shirley.”
She started to go closer, but Shirley stopped her with a whispered word of caution.
“There is some one else there, too! Listen.”
“Yes,” came the voice of Jimmy Smith, “he is in fine shape, as you see. He will be in perfect condition for the Derby. He is sure to win.”
“Yes, he’ll win, all right,” was the answer, in avoice that neither Shirley nor Mabel recognized. “He’ll win unless something happens.”
“But what can happen to him?” inquired Jimmy. “He is being nursed carefully. I am attending to him myself. No other hand but mine touches him, unless it is that of Miss Shirley; and I have promised to have him perfectly fit for the big race.”
“That,” said the stranger in a hoarse whisper, “is what I have come to see you about.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jimmy.
“Well,” said the stranger, “I represent a syndicate of bookmakers. You know what bookmakers are, don’t you?”
“Yes: a bookmaker is a man who lives by betting on the races.”
“Almost that. He is a man who lives by allowing others to bet with him. Now, after looking over all the horses entered for the Derby, we have come to the conclusion that Gabriel is bound to win if the race is absolutely straight.”
“Straight,” repeated Jimmy. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I say. If Gabriel is allowed to win, we stand to lose considerable money. But if he should lose——” the stranger paused.
“But he won’t lose,” said Jimmy confidently.
“He will if you will help us,” said the stranger.
“Why should I help you?” asked Jimmy.
“Because,” said the stranger, “there will be moneyin it for you. What would you say to five hundred dollars?”
Both girls heard Jimmy give a slight gasp.
“Five hundred dollars,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” was the reply, “then your sister, who is so ill, may receive the proper medical attention.”
“How do you know of my sick sister?” asked Jimmy in surprise.
“Oh, we know many things,” was the reply. “For instance, we know that your employer is paying you very little, because he hasn’t anything to pay you with. He has lost practically everything playing the races.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy, “that is true. He told me that everything depended upon Gabriel’s winning the Derby.”
“But if Gabriel did win,” protested the stranger, “what would you get? Not much; and here I am offering you five hundred dollars!”
“But you are asking me to be a traitor to my trust,” said Jimmy.
“Not at all. I am simply showing you how to make the money you so badly need. Come, what do you say?”
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy slowly. “I don’t know.”
“Here,” said the strange voice after a pause, “is my card. I shall give you a week to consider. Write me at this address, and I will tell you whereyou can meet me, and we will have another talk. You will surely do that, won’t you?”
“Yes,” said Jimmy. “I will do that.”
“Good. Now I am going up to see your boss.”
There was a sound of persons moving and, taking Mabel by the arm, Shirley quickly drew her into the nearest stall, where they stooped down to be out of sight.
Footsteps passed along the outside, and a moment later the girls heard the voices of Jimmy and the stranger outside the stable.
“Quick,” whispered Shirley, “we must get out of here without being seen.”
Making sure that there was no one near, they emerged from the stall and, running the length of the stable, came out at the other end.
Hurrying to the shelter of a magnificent oak tree a hundred yards away, they sat down. For some minutes Shirley was silent, and Mabel did not interrupt her meditations. But at last Shirley spoke.
“And to think that Jimmy Smith would even consider a thing like that,” she said slowly.
“It does seem impossible, doesn’t it?” replied Mabel.
“After all Dad has done for him,” continued Shirley. “Why, I remember the day Dad found him lying beside the pike. He was ragged and dirty, and had fallen from exhaustion. He had not eaten for two days, he said. And it was true. Dadbrought him home with us, and when he became stronger, offered him work, although Dad did not need him. That was two years ago, and he has been with us ever since. We have had entire confidence in him.
“I remember how pleased Dad was when he found Jimmy loved horses, and that horses loved him. He has carried our colors to victory more than once. And now to think that he would even consider selling Dad out. What shall we do?”
“I would tell your father immediately,” said Mabel.
“It would seem best, wouldn’t it?” said Shirley. “But he is so fond of Jimmy that I hate to do it.”
She was silent for some moments.
“My gracious!” she exclaimed at length. “I have it.”
“Have what?”
“A plan.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I haven’t had time to work it out yet, but when I do, I shall tell you. Now I want you to promise you will say nothing of what we have overheard to any one.”
“I promise, of course,” said Mabel, “but I wonder if I should.”
The girls were still sitting there half an hour later, when Jimmy Smith ran into them.
“Miss Shirley!” he cried eagerly, and approached with outstretched hand. “Mr. Willing told me you were back, and I have been hunting all over the place for you.”
He turned to Mabel.
“And how are you, Miss Mabel?” he asked.
Both girls returned his greeting cordially, not showing in any way that they knew of his talk with the stranger.
“We are so glad to be back, Jimmy,” said Shirley.
“Have you seen Gabriel yet?” asked Jimmy. “He has been wanting to see you.”
“How do you know that?” asked Mabel with a slight smile.
“Why, he told me so.”
“Told you?” laughed Mabel.
“To be sure,” said Jimmy quietly. “Gabriel andI have a language of our own, and when I told him Miss Shirley was coming back he just told me how anxious he had been to see you ever since you went away.”
“Well, I’m glad he missed me,” said Shirley. “Come, Mabel, I want to have a long talk with Dad.”
They left Jimmy and sought Mr. Willing. They found him a few minutes later, seated on the big front porch, deep in conversation with a stranger. Both girls felt sure that he was the man who tried to bribe Jimmy only a short time before.
They would have gone into the house but Mr. Willing called them.
“I want you to know my daughter, Mr. Jones,” he said to his visitor; “and also Miss Mabel Ashton, the daughter of my old friend, Colonel Ashton, whom you know.”
The man called Mr. Jones arose, and extended his hand, but the girls, pretending not to see it, acknowledged the introductions with the briefest of nods.
Jones noticed the unmistakable hostility in their manner, and withdrew his hand quickly. Mr. Willing also noticed it, and scowled slightly. The girls said nothing, and a moment later Mr. Willing said: “You girls run along now.”
Shirley and Mabel accepted their dismissal with gladness, and went into the house. Mr. Willing,having disposed of his visitor half an hour later, followed them. He turned to Shirley sharply.
“In the future,” he said, “you will treat your father’s friends with more respect than you did Mr. Jones.”
“I don’t like him,” said Shirley.
Mr. Willing stepped back in surprise.
“You don’t like him?” he said in some amazement. “And because you don’t like one of my friends, is that any reason you should not treat him with respect?”
“I wasn’t disrespectful,” said Shirley, with something like a pout.
“You weren’t, eh? I’d like to know what you call it.”
“Well, I don’t like him,” said Shirley again,
“Why don’t you like him?” demanded Mr. Willing.
Shirley, mindful of the task she had set for herself, found it difficult to answer this question without arousing suspicion in her father’s mind, and for Jimmy’s sake she did not wish to do this. So she answered: “I just don’t.”
Mr. Willing threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.
“Girls and women are too much for me,” he exclaimed.
He would have walked away, but Shirley stayed him.
“I want to have a private talk with you, Dad,” she said.
Mr. Willing looked at his daughter in surprise.
“Well, well,” he said finally, “you are getting to be quite a young lady, aren’t you? Want to have a private talk with me, eh? All right. Come into my sitting room.”
He led the way, and Shirley followed, after motioning to Mabel to await her return.
Seated in his big arm chair, with Shirley on the floor at his feet, Mr. Willing drew a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, fell back in the chair and puffed luxuriously.
“Now fire away,” he said.
“Dad,” said Shirley, coming to the point at once, “is it true that you have lost all your money?”
Mr. Willing came out of his chair with a bound.
“Who has been putting such notions into my little girl’s head?” he asked, but his voice was slightly strained.
Shirley was not deceived.
“Is it true that you have lost large sums on horse races?” she demanded.
Mr. Willing looked at his only daughter long and earnestly.
“Would it please you very much if I gave up gambling?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed it would, Dad,” said Shirley, rising to her feet.
Mr. Willing considered.
“Then here is what I will do,” he said at length. “I promise that after this one time, I will never bet a cent again.”
Shirley shook her head.
“No,” she said.
“You mean,” demanded her father, “that you even want me to let this sure thing go by?”
“Yes.”
“But after the comforts you have been used to, think how hard that will make it.”
“I can do with less,” said Shirley quietly.
“Do you realize,” said Mr. Willing, “that if I do as you say, and Gabriel wins, and he must, all we shall have is the prize, when we might have four times that much?”
“Is the farm clear?” demanded Shirley.
“Yes, but I was figuring on raising some money on it to recoup my earlier losses.”
“Then,” said Shirley, “if the farm is clear, and Gabriel wins, we shall have enough. What more do we need?”
Mr. Willing hesitated, and Shirley continued.
“Come, Dad, promise me before it is too late. Mother would wish it, were she alive. You know that. We’ll get along some way. Come, Dad, will you promise?”
She stood tip and threw her arms around her father’s neck. Mr. Willing held her in a closeembrace for several moments, and as he looked over her head he saw, in memory, another face that also seemed to plead with him.
He stepped back and held Shirley off at arms’ length, and for a long time gazed at her in silence.
“You are so like your mother,” he said quietly, “I can refuse you nothing.”
“Then you will promise?” asked Shirley eagerly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Willing slowly, “I promise.”
“There never was a better Daddy,” exclaimed Shirley.
Laughing happily, she threw both arms around him and squeezed him tightly.
“Stop, stop,” laughed Mr. Willing, “or you will make me sorry I promised.”
Shirley released him, and he patted her on the back affectionately.
“Run away now,” he said, “and leave your old Daddy here to think.”
With a parting kiss, Shirley left him, and rejoined Mabel on the porch.
The morning following the girls’ arrival, Mr. Willing and Mr. Ashton, who was feeling much better, were seated with the girls around the breakfast table.
“Mabel and I are going to town this morning,” said Shirley.
“All right,” said Mr. Willing. “I’ll tell Frank to hitch up. What time will you be ready?”
“Ten o’clock will be early enough, I reckon,” said Shirley. “We probably won’t be home until late this afternoon.”
It was the first time the girls had been in the little town of Paris, except for a few minutes on their way back from Illinois, since school had closed for the summer vacation. Therefore, they called on some of their girl friends, and spent a very pleasant day.
They did some shopping and it was after five o’clock when they started for home.
“It looks as though there was going to be astorm,” said the livery-stable keeper, where they had left their horse.
Mabel glanced at the sky. Huge clouds were gathering in the west.
“They look like wind clouds,” said Mabel.
“You had better wait,” said the stableman. “You will be caught in the storm.”
“Oh, I think we’ll make it,” said Shirley. “Besides, Dad expects us in time for supper.”
“Telephone him,” said the man.
“No,” said Shirley, “we’ll run the risk.”
“Well, all right,” was the reply, “but you had better hurry.”
Shirley shook out the reins, and touched the horse lightly with her whip. The animal started off at a rapid trot.
It was a good three miles home, and Mabel, glancing once more at the sky, urged Shirley to hurry.
“We’ll get a good soaking,” she said.
“It won’t hurt us any,” said Shirley. “I’m sure I won’t melt, and I don’t think you will.”
They continued up Main Street, and finally reached the outskirts of the town.
“Guess we can go a little faster now,” said Shirley, and touched the horse with her whip.
At that moment there came a brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a terrific peal of thunder. The horse shied and broke into a gallop.
Shirley tightened her hold on the reins, and, withan effort, succeeded in pulling him down to a trot again.
“Well, here’s where we turn off, anyhow,” said Shirley. “If the rain will hold off for twenty minutes we will be all right.”
“And then, just as they turned onto the Bethlehem pike, darkness enveloped them, shutting out the sight of the road ahead. It descended so suddenly and unexpectedly that Mabel cried out in alarm.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Shirley in a low voice. “I know the road and can drive just as well in the dark.”
Nevertheless she was forced to check the horse slightly, and this required great effort, for the animal, badly frightened, was trying to bolt.
Suddenly Shirley’s hat went flying from her head, as the wind was blowing a gale. Mabel, her hands free, caught hers as it left her head.
“Mine’s gone,” cried Shirley.
“Shall we stop and get it?” asked Mabel, raising her voice to make herself heard above the roaring wind.
“I should say not,” was the reply. “We’ll get home just as quick as we can.”
Their horse, at this moment, was puffing up a steep hill. The wind was blowing fiercely. The girls felt a few drops of rain upon their faces.
And then, above the roaring of the wind, came another sound—the sound of a horse coming rapidlytoward them. Mabel heard it first, and called to Shirley. Shirley pulled as far to the right as she felt was safe, being absolutely unable to see in the darkness.
A sudden flash of lightning lit the scene before them, and Mabel uttered an involuntary cry of fear.
Not fifty yards away, and bearing down on them, came a galloping horse. The one flash had permitted the girls to see that he was running wild. There was no one in the buggy.
Shirley pulled desperately upon the right rein, turning her horse sharply from the road. Her action undoubtedly saved them from serious injury, but it was not quick enough to entirely avert disaster.
There was a sudden crash, and both girls felt the left side of the buggy sink and then crash to the ground. The wheel of the other and heavier vehicle had smashed the two left-hand wheels and carried them away. The other buggy had been damaged in the same manner, but the frightened horse did not pause in his wild race, and dashed on down the road, dragging the broken buggy after him. In spite of the accident, Shirley maintained a firm grip on the reins, and when the left side of the buggy went down to the ground she managed to bring her horse to a stop almost at once.
But Mabel was not so fortunate. When the buggy had collapsed she was thrown out, and badlyshaken when she came in contact with the hard ground.
She pulled herself to her feet dizzily and stood still. Some distance down the road she could hear the bumping of Shirley’s buggy, and she heard it finally come to a stop. She could not see a foot in front of her, but started slowly in the direction she knew Shirley must be.
As soon as the horse stopped, Shirley called to Mabel not to be frightened. Receiving no response, she felt along the seat beside her. Mabel was not there.
Jumping quickly from the damaged buggy, unmindful of the horse, Shirley turned and hurried in the direction from which she had come. Twice she called and received no response. The third time she thought she heard Mabel.
“Here I am,” screamed Mabel, trying to make herself heard above the howling wind.
A moment later they found each other.
“Are you much hurt?” Shirley asked her friend anxiously.
“No,” said Mabel. “I am pretty well shaken up, but I am all right. And you?”
“Perfectly safe,” replied Shirley. “The question now is what to do.”
Still the rain held off, only a few drops falling occasionally but the wind blew violently.
“We had better climb up on Cato and ride home that way,” said Mabel. (Cato was their horse.)
“A good idea,” spoke Shirley. “Come!”
She led the way to where she thought Cato would be standing, but she could not find him.
“Strange,” she told herself. “I am sure it was here that I stopped him.”
Just then there came another flash of lightning, and far down the road, they saw Cato and the broken buggy making rapidly for home.
In spite of the serious situation, Shirley laughed.
“What do you think of that?” she exclaimed. “Cato has run away and left us. I’ll speak to him about it when we get home.”
“Well, we must not stand here,” said Mabel impatiently. “We can walk home in half an hour. Let’s start.”
“I suppose that is the best way,” said Shirley.
They started down the road, walking rapidly.
And now it began to rain. Lightning flashed and terrific peals of thunder reverberated through the air. By no means of timid dispositions, both girls, nevertheless, became nervous.
“Hadn’t we better stop under one of these trees?” asked Mabel.
“No,” Shirley decided instantly. “I have heard it is dangerous in an electric storm. Lightning may strike the tree. We are safer in the middle of the pike, even if we do get soaking wet.”
The rain fell in torrents, and both girls by this time were drenched to the skin.
They hurried down a steep declivity in the road. There was one more hill to climb, and then the long walk from the pike to the house.
They reached the top of the hill ten minutes later and turned in at the first gate.
“I thought Cato would be here,” said Shirley.
But there was no sign of horse or buggy.
The two girls hurried down the road, now muddy from the downpour. It was hard walking, and they made slow progress.
“I’ll bet the creek has overflowed,” said Shirley. “If so, we will wade part of the way.”
“I am very much afraid you are right,” said Mabel.
Now they came to the second gate, and passed through it. They descended the little hill toward the creek slowly, for there was no telling how high the water might be.
It was good they had been so cautious. They had hardly walked ten paces when Shirley drew back suddenly. She had come upon water.
“My gracious,” she exclaimed. “I had no idea the water could rise so high in such a short time.”
“I doubt if we can get across,” said Mabel.
Shirley took Mabel by the hand.
“We’ll try,” she said briefly.
Very slowly they continued their way.
The water rose to their shoe tops, then to their knees, and still they went on.
“It can’t be much deeper,” said Mabel.
“I don’t know,” said Shirley. “I have never seen it this high, but I have heard Dad say that forty years ago it rose until it was impossible to cross for two days.”
The water had now reached their waists, and was still rising. Fortunately there was no current to speak of, so there was little danger so long as they kept their heads above water.
But when the water reached their armpits and continued to rise, Shirley turned back.
“It’s no use,” she said.
“No,” Mabel agreed, “it’s no use. But what are we going to do now?”
“We’ll have to wait, that’s all,” was the reply.
Shivering and cold, Mabel turned her face to the sky and the rain fell upon it.
“Wait here in this rain?” she demanded.
“What else is there to do?” asked Shirley. “I am just as anxious to get in as you are, and if you will suggest a plan we will act upon it.”
“I haven’t any plan,” replied Mabel mournfully.
In spite of her discomfort, Shirley was forced to smile to herself. Her friend’s tone amused her.
“I’m going to sit down,” said Shirley, and suited the action to the word.
Mabel also sat down in the mud.
“We can’t get any wetter nor any dirtier,” said Shirley, “so we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible.”
“How long do you suppose we shall have to stay here?”
“I haven’t any idea. Perhaps all night.”
“All night?”
“Yes. Of course, it is possible that Dad will have telephoned to town inquiring about us. If he called up the stable and learns that we have started, he may come looking for us. That’s the only thing that will save us an all-night stay in the rain.”
“But how would he get across the creek?”
“If Dad starts looking for me,” said Shirley, “it will take more than this to stop him.”
The two girls became silent, and huddled as close together as they could, for in their wet garments they were chilled to the bone, and the air was very cool, in spite of the season.
How long they sat there they did not know, but they jumped at the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the opposite side of the stream.
“Who’s there?” cried Shirley, rising to her feet and pulling her chum up after her.
“Is that you, Shirley?” came a shout.
“Dad!” cried Shirley. “Yes, Mabel and I are here.”
“I’ll be across in a jiffy,” called the father.
“Be careful, Dad,” called Shirley, “the water is very deep. We tried to get across and couldn’t.”
There was no reply from the opposite side, but a moment later the splashing of water gave evidence that a horse was floundering into it. A few minutes later, dripping wet, Mr. Willing pulled upin front of the two girls, who had advanced to the edge of the water to meet him.
He dismounted quickly, and caught Shirley in his arms.
“Where is Cato?” he asked.
In a few words Shirley explained.
“You are both soaked,” exclaimed Mr. Willing. “You must get home to bed at once.”
He turned to Shirley and would have lifted her to the saddle, but she protested.
“Take Mabel first,” she said.
Mr. Willing knew his daughter, and therefore he did not question her decision. Without a word he turned to Mabel and lifted her gently to the saddle. Then he swung himself up in front of her.
The horse plunged again into the creek, and in a few moments Mabel was safe on the other side.
“Now you run to the house as quick as you can get there,” said Mr. Willing as he handed her down.
Mabel wasted no time, and set out for the house on a run, while Mr. Willing turned his horse’s face toward the stream, and went after his daughter.
The second trip was made without incident, and Shirley found herself being borne toward the house in her father’s arms. Wet and bedraggled, she snuggled close to him, and though the trip to the house took but a few minutes, she was half asleep when he called to her to jump down.
“Go to bed at once,” he commanded. “If you are not careful you will be sick. You are not strong enough for such experiences.”
But Shirley must stop and kiss him first, and then she left him with a word of caution.
“I am just as strong as you are, Dad. You, too, are soaking. Mind, you change your clothes at once.”
“Good night,” said her father, and Shirley ran into the house. There, at the foot of the steps stood Mabel, waiting for her.
The two girls ran quickly to their room. Later, when Mr. Willing looked in to see them, they were sleeping soundly.
“Poor children,” he said softly. “They have had a hard night. I shall let them sleep late to-morrow.”
But Shirley and Mabel, in spite of the hardships of the night before, were up bright and early, and down in the kitchen talking to “Aunt” Charlotte, the old colored cook, while she prepared breakfast.
Shortly after breakfast, Shirley, with an air of great importance, drew Mabel back to their room.
“Now,” she said, “I shall explain the plan I have formed to save Jimmy Smith.”
“What is it?” asked Mabel eagerly.
Shirley seated herself comfortably before she spoke and told Mabel to do the same. Her reply was a question.
“Have you ever noticed,” she asked, “how closely Jimmy Smith and I resemble each other?”
“Of course,” said Mabel. “Father and I have often spoken of it. Others also have noticed the resemblance. Why?”
“Because,” said Shirley, slowly and distinctly, “in that resemblance lies the success of my plan.”
Mabel looked at her friend in astonishment.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
Shirley smiled a little at her chum’s very evident surprise.
“I’ll tell you,” she replied, and settled herself to explain. “You remember, of course, that Mr. Jones,”—she spoke the “Mr.” with a touch of sarcasm—“told Jimmy Smith to communicate with him if he considered his proposition favorably?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the first thing I want to do is to get the address he gave Jimmy. Then I—not Jimmy—shall communicate with him. I’ll tell him I have decided to accept his offer, and that I should like to have another talk with him; and I’ll sign the letter ‘Jimmy Smith.’”
“But what good will that do?”
“It will do a whole lot of good.”
“But I can’t see——”
“It will do a whole lot of good,” explained Shirley quietly, “because when Mr. Jones has an interview withJimmy Smith, he will have an interview with me, disguised as Jimmy Smith.”
Mabel jumped to her feet in surprise.
“You mean that you—” she began.
“Exactly,” interrupted Shirley. “Jimmy Smith will know nothing about the matter.”
Shirley sat back in her chair and beamed at her friend.
“Now what do you think of my plan?” she asked.
“I think it’s foolish,” was Mabel’s prompt response. “You are sure to get yourself in trouble. Suppose your identity should be discovered?”
“But it won’t. Jimmy and I look too much alike for that. Besides, the very boldness of the plan will work in my favor. In any event, I am going to try it, and I need your help.”
“Of course I shall help,” said Mabel, “but just the same I think you would do a whole lot better to tell your father the whole business.”
“And have Jimmy Smith thrown off the place? I should say not.”
“But if he considers doing a thing like that, he should be thrown off the place.”
“No,” said Shirley gravely. “It is his first temptation, and we should do what we can to save him.”
“But,” said Mabel, “if you write to Mr. Jones, and he answers, he will naturally address his reply to ‘Jimmy Smith,’ and Jimmy will get it.”
“Goodness gracious,” ejaculated Shirley. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
She was silent some moments and then continued:
“Well, then, when I find the address, I’ll simply write and tell him to meet me in a certain place.”
“That will be much better,” agreed Mabel. “But, honestly, Shirley, I don’t think much of the plan. You are sure to get into trouble of some kind.”
“Perhaps,” said Shirley with a shrug of her shoulders, “but I’ll get out all right. Besides, I shall be saving Jimmy; and, after all, the saving of one boy’s honor is surely worth the risk.”
Mabel was struck with a new thought.
“Perhaps Jimmy has already written.”
“I hardly think so,” was the reply. “It is too soon.”
“But he may write after you do, and thus lead to your discovery.”
“I had thought of that,” said Shirley, “and for that reason we must manage to get the address away from him at once. He is hardly likely to remember it, and when he cannot find the card he probably will forget all about the matter.”
“But——” began Mabel.
Shirley waved her right hand impatiently.
“My gracious,” she exclaimed, “don’t be looking for trouble all the time. I know there is a risk, but we shall have to take it. Now the first thing to do is to get the card from Jimmy.”
“And how do you expect to manage that?”
“Just leave that to me,” said Shirley, airily. “I’ll get it, and he won’t know anything about it.”
“All right,” said Mabel, doubtfully, “but——”
Shirley cut short these protests.
“Come with me,” she said, and led the way from the room.
They found Jimmy Smith in the stable leaning over Gabriel’s stall and talking to him in low tones. The lad stepped back and lifted his cap from his head as the two girls approached.
“Are you telling Gabriel that he must win the Derby, Jimmy?” asked Shirley with a bright smile.
“Yes, Miss,” was the reply. “Gabriel and I have many talks, and he always promises me that he will win.”
“But, suppose he should lose?”
“He can’t lose,” said Jimmy decisively.
“Are you sure?” asked Shirley sharply.
Jimmy looked at her queerly.
“Why—I—yes—of course he can’t,” he stammered.
“But suppose something should happen?” persisted Shirley.
“What do you mean?” asked Jimmy, plainly startled.
“Oh, nothing,” said Shirley, and changed the subject abruptly.
“Jimmy,” she said a few moments later, “I wish you would go up in the loft and see how much hay there is up there.”
“All right, Miss,” said the boy, and reached for his coat, which hung over the stall door.
“You don’t need the coat,” said Shirley. “Hurry up, please. Dad is anxious to know right away.”
Without another word, but with a sidelong glance at the coat, Jimmy hastened to obey. He clambered up the ladder quickly.
Hardly had his hand disappeared when Shirley stepped quickly forward and took up the coat. Rapidly she explored the pockets, one after another, and, at last, drawing forth a small piece of paste-board, she gave a little cry of triumph.
“I have it,” she whispered to Mabel.
She slipped the card into her dress, and hastily put the coat back where she had found it. She was leaning over the stall door talking to Gabriel when Jimmy came down the ladder.
“Plenty of hay for two weeks, Miss Shirley,” said Jimmy.
He reached out cautiously and picked up his coat, which he donned with an audible sigh of relief.
“All right, then,” said Shirley. “Come, Mabel, we may as well go.”
She gave Gabriel another little pat, and led the way from the stable.
“I feel like I had picked somebody’s pocket,”Shirley confided to Mabel, as they made their way back toward the house.
“You have,” replied her friend, “and I don’t know whether you were right or not.”
“The end will justify the means,” said Shirley quietly. “It’s for Jimmy’s own good, for my father’s good, and for the good of others. I am sure I did no wrong.”
They sat down on the porch and talked for some moments.
“Look,” said Mabel suddenly, “here comes Jimmy. I wonder what is the matter with him. He seems to be looking for something.”
In truth, he did seem to be looking for something. The boy seemed greatly excited, and his eyes roved about the ground as he approached.
“It’s the card he misses,” said Shirley. “He thinks he has lost it.”
“You don’t suppose he suspects us, do you?”
“I hope not.”
Jimmy was close to them now, and Shirley called out: “What’s the matter, Jimmy? Lost something?”
Jimmy, unaware of their presence until then, looked up in confusion.
“No—no, Miss Shirley,” he stammered, and disappeared.
“Poor Jimmy,” said Shirley. “One evil leads to another. He was forced to lie, you see. Come,Mabel, let’s go upstairs and have a look at this card, and figure out a letter to Mr. Jones that will do the work.”
Mabel followed her friend up the stairs, where both sat down, and Shirley produced the card.
“Mr. A. B. Jones,” she read, “Fifth Avenue Hotel, Louisville, Ky.”
“Very well, Mr. Jones,” she said, “we shall attend to your case.”
She turned to Mabel. “What do you think?” she asked. “Would it be better to ask him to meet me in Paris, Lexington, or where?”
“I don’t know,” replied Mabel. “But it seems to me that Paris is pretty close to your home. Besides, Jimmy is well known in Lexington also.”
“True,” said Shirley. “I think I shall select Cincinnati.”
“Goodness,” said Mabel, “that is a long ways.”
“So it is,” said Shirley, “but I can make an excuse to go there. I can tell father we are going to spend a couple of days with Clara Morton. He will not object.”
“Suit yourself,” said Mabel. “I reckon it might as well be there as any place else. It probably will be safer too. We can stay with Clara while there.”
“My idea exactly,” said Shirley. “Now let’s see if I can write the proper kind of a letter.”
She drew forth some paper—and wrote long and earnestly. Sheet after sheet she tore up, but atlast, with a little cry of satisfaction, she took the last sheet, upon which she had just written, and passed it to Mabel.
“I think that will do very well.”
Mabel read:
“Mr.A. B. Jones:—Dear Sir:—I have considered your offer. I shall be in Cincinnati, Palace Hotel, Friday. If offer is still open, meet me in the lobby at 6 o’clock Friday night. I am going to Cincinnati on an errand for Miss Willing.
“Jimmy Smith.”
Mabel read the letter over several times.
“I guess it is all right,” she said at last. “There is only one thing I would suggest.”
“What is it?”
“I would add a line and say, ‘Under no circumstances write me!’”
“Good,” said Shirley. “I’ll do it.”
She did, and then addressing an envelope, the two girls walked up to the mail box at the pike and waited the passing of the rural mail carrier. They did not wish the letter to remain in the box unguarded, because some one might see it.
But with the letter in the mailman’s hands, Shirley felt more comfortable. The two girls walked back to the house.
“With good luck,” said Shirley, “that is, if Dad doesn’t object, we should be able to leave here Thursday morning. We will send Clara a telegramfrom town telling her to meet us. Now we’ll go and see what Dad has to say.”
“So you want to go away again, eh?” said Mr. Willing, after Shirley had suggested the trip. “And how long do you want to be gone?”
“Until Sunday or Monday, Dad,” said Shirley.
“Well,” said Mr. Willing, after a long pause, “I can see no reason why you cannot go if Mr. Ashton doesn’t object.”
“I am sure he won’t,” said Mabel.
“Better go and ask him then,” said Mr. Willing.
Mabel hurried to obey, and returned in a few moments with her father’s consent.
“You want to go Thursday?” asked Mr. Willing. “Why, that’s day after to-morrow.”
“I know that,” said Shirley with a smile.
“All right,” said Mr. Willing. “I am going to town this afternoon. I’ll send Clara a telegram myself to meet you.”
The matter settled, Shirley and Mabel began their preparations for the trip.
“I don’t anticipate much trouble,” said Shirley. “Of course you never can tell just what will happen, and for that reason I am going to take my little pocket revolver.”
“Then I shall take mine, too,” said Mabel.
“That is hardly necessary,” said Shirley, “for, of course, I shall see Mr. Jones alone.”
“Aren’t you going to let me go with you?” demanded Mabel.
“No,” said Shirley, “that might spoil everything. Mr. Jones might suspect something even if he didn’t recognize either of us.”
“But I can’t let you face the danger alone,” protested Mabel.
“Who said anything about danger?” demanded Shirley.
“Why, didn’t you?” asked Mabel.
“No.”
“Then why do you take your revolver?”
“Well,” said Shirley with a smile, “it is always best to be prepared for the unexpected.”
“Well, I suppose you will have it your own way,” said Mabel.
Shirley smiled.
“In this, yes,” she replied.
The two days passed slowly for both girls, but at length the time came to go. The first thing in the morning, making sure that Jimmy was in the stable, Shirley made her way to his room and appropriated one of his old suits—one that she was sure he would not miss. This she packed in her suitcase.
“I shall have to buy a wig in Cincinnati,” she told Mabel.
Clara met the girls at the train, and they were soon whirled to her Walnut Hills home in a largeautomobile. There they were to remain until the following afternoon, when Mabel would accompany Shirley downtown.
The next day, shortly before five o’clock, Shirley slipped her dress on over her suit of boy’s clothes, and leaving Clara behind in spite of many protests, the two girls took the street car down town. On Fourth Street they found a little store where Shirley was fortunate enough to find a wig of the right shade.
In a secluded corner in the railroad station, when there was no one near, Shirley quickly stripped off her dress and stood revealed in her boy’s clothing. Donning wig and cap, she handed Mabel the discarded dress to put into the satchel brought for that purpose.
“Now,” said Shirley, “go back to Clara’s and, under some pretext or other, wait on the porch for me after every one has gone to bed. I’ll not come until I am sure they have all retired.”
“All right,” Mabel agreed, “and, Shirley, be very careful.”
“I shall be, never fear,” was the reply, and the young girl bade her friend good-bye and started for the rendezvous.
It was fifteen minutes to six when Shirley reached the hotel. At the Vine Street entrance she hesitated a few moments, for now that the time for action was at hand, she grew nervous. It took her but an instant to shake off this uneasy feeling, however, and she entered the hotel boldly.
She took a seat in a far corner of the lobby, where she could see all who came and went without being too exposed, and then she waited. Six o’clock came, but there was no sign of Jones.
“I reckon he is a little late,” said Shirley to herself.
A quarter after six; half-past six and still no Jones.
Shirley arose to go.
“I guess he didn’t get my letter in time,” she said.
She made her way to the door. But just as she would have passed out a hurrying figure bumped into her. Shirley drew back to let the man pass, and cried out suddenly:
“Mr. Jones.”
Jones, for it was indeed he, drew back sharply, and looked closely at Shirley. Then he smiled slightly.
“Smith?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Shirley briefly.
“Good. Come with me.”
Shirley followed the man back into the hotel. At the far side of the lobby was a door leading to the dining-room. Jones led the way inside, Shirley following close at his heels.
He selected a small table at the far end of the dining-room, and the two sat down.
“We can talk here undisturbed,” said Jones.
Their orders given, Jones leaned back in his chair.
“I wouldn’t have recognized you,” he said, looking at Shirley sharply.
“I was beginning to think you would not come,” said Shirley.
“My train was late,” Jones responded. “I had to hustle to get here as soon as I did.”
He was silent for some moments. Shirley said nothing, waiting for Jones to open the conversation.
“So,” said the man after the food had been set before them, “you have decided to accept my offer, eh?”
Shirley thought it good policy not to appear too anxious.
“It all depends upon what you want me to do,” she replied.
Jones looked at her long and carefully.
“Well,” he said at length, “I’ll tell you. You understand, of course, that it will not be healthy for you to repeat anything I may say?”
Shirley nodded assent.
“And that if you play me false, you will get the worst of it?”
Again Shirley nodded.
“Good. I don’t need to go into details, but what I want is this: I want you to see that Gabriel does not win the Derby. In other words, I want you to ‘pull’ him.”
“Pull him!” echoed Shirley.
This was a language she did not understand.
“Yes. Surely you know what pulling means?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” replied Shirley hesitatingly.
“What kind of a jockey do you call yourself?” sneered Jones. “By pulling I mean holding Gabriel back so that some other horse may finish ahead of him.”
“I see,” said Shirley. “And have you selected the horse that is to win the race?”
“Yes. Jupiter, owned by the bookmakers.”
“And that is all you want me to do?”
“That is all.”
“And you are willing to pay me $500 for that?”
“Yes.”
Shirley was silent, apparently considering. Jones waited perhaps five minutes for her to speak, and then said:
“Well, what do you say?”
Shirley rose from her chair.
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “When do I get the money?”
“After the Derby.”
“Very well,” said Shirley, “you may count upon me to do my best.”
“That’s all, then,” said Jones, also rising. “I will make it a point to see you just before the race starts.”
He walked to the door with the supposed traitorous jockey. There Shirley stopped for another word.
“One thing,” she said. “Send me no messages and do not come to see me. It would be too risky.”
“Right you are,” said Jones. “Good-bye.”
He turned on his heel and left without another word. Shirley also made her way from the hotel. Her eyes fell upon a clock in a window.
“Eight o’clock,” she said. “I can’t go to Clara’s yet. They will all see me. What shall I do to pass the time?”
She debated the point at length.
“I’ll stop in this drug store and have an ice cream soda, anyhow,” she finally decided.
This refreshment disposed of, Shirley reached for her purse. For the moment she forgot she was dressed in boys’ clothes, but in an instant she remembered, and thrust her hand in her pocket; and she drew it out with a cry of dismay.
She had forgotten to put her purse in her pocket, and she had no money, and there was the ice cream soda to be paid for.
The man at the cashier’s desk was looking at her suspiciously. Shirley, glancing up, caught the look. Again she made a desperate search of her pockets, but the search was futile. There was no money there.
Shirley turned to the cashier.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “but I have misplaced my money. I’ll have to ask you to wait till to-morrow.”
“Misplaced your money, eh,” sneered the man, looking at Shirley’s shabby attire. “I suppose, when you came in here, you were sure you had money, were you?”
“Of course I was,” said Shirley indignantly.
“Well, I’m not so sure. I’ve seen your kind before. I guess I had better call an officer.”
Shirley became greatly frightened.
“Please don’t do that,” she said, in great alarm. “I’ll pay you to-morrow sure. Honestly I will.”
“That’s an old one,” said the cashier. “Either you will dig up ten cents right now or I shall call a policeman.”
“But I haven’t ten cents,” said Shirley tearfully.
“Then I shall call the officer,” said the cashier, and reached for the desk telephone.
Shirley, badly frightened, did not know what to do. She did not know that the cashier, thinking she was trying to defraud him, would not have called the police, but was simply trying to frighten her into paying.
But help came from an unexpected source.
A young man who had been an interested listener to this conversation suddenly stepped forward, and laid a dime on the counter.
“There is your ten cents,” he said quietly to the cashier. “Let the boy alone. Can’t you see he is honest?”
“About as honest as the rest of ’em,” sneered the cashier, picking up the dime.
Shirley turned to her benefactor.
“Thank you, sir,” she said earnestly. “I’ll see that you get it back.”
“Oh, all right,” said the young man with a laugh, “but I guess it won’t break me if I don’t.”
It was plain to Shirley that he never expected to have it returned, and upon that instant she decided that he should.
“If you will give me your card,” she said, “I shall see that you get it back to-morrow.”
The young man smiled at her.
“Well, if you insist,” he said, with a smile, and extracted a card from his pocket, and handed it to Shirley.
Shirley stuffed it into her pocket.
“Thank you very much,” she said quietly. “Good-bye.”
She left the store and walked down the street. It was now half-past eight, as Shirley saw by the street clock.
“I guess I might as well go home and risk being seen,” she told herself.
She stopped at the next corner and hailed an approaching car. She was just about to step aboard, when she suddenly remembered she did not have carfare. She stepped back abruptly. The conductor rang the bell angrily, and the car went on.
“My gracious,” said Shirley to herself, “it’s a long way to Walnut Hills but I guess I shall have to walk it. I wonder if I can find the way?”
She stood still for several minutes.
“Well,” she said at last, “I might as well start. There is no use standing here. I’ll just have to follow the car line, and ask if I lose my way.”
First she made her way to Fourth and Walnut Streets, and then she started off in the direction taken by a Walnut Hills car.
She was forced to ask directions several times before she got very far, but nevertheless she made fair progress. She was just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in getting out of so serious a predicament so easily, when something else happened.
Around the corner, suddenly, came a crowd of boys, their ages ranging from twelve to fifteen. This part of the city was by no means the best, and Shirley thanked her stars that she was attired in boy’s clothes.
But her attire was not to stand her in good stead now.
The crowd of boys came on at a run, and when directly in front of Shirley the leaders stopped.
“Look here, fellows,” said one of them. “Here is a poor kid all by himself. He looks big enough to fight. Shall we take him along?”
“Sure,” came from the rest.
The boy who had first spoken grabbed Shirley by the arm, and shook him.
“Can you fight?” he asked.
Shirley again was almost in tears.
“No,” she quavered.
“Well,” came the reply, “you’ll have to fight. We are going after the Eighteenth Street gang and we need reinforcements. You will help. But if you don’t fight, well, you’ll get the worst of it anyhow. Come on.”
Shirley hung back, but it was no use. A boy grabbed her by either arm, and she found herself being hurried along.
“We’ll fix ’em this time,” was the cry of the boys.