"Wait until you get the order," and she laughed, "Mother declares I have a positive faculty for business."
"I rather agree with her," said Paul with a smile, as his fair companion turned the machine into the main street of Chelton. "I really feel unable to properly thank you for what you have done for me to-day—"
"Now, please," interrupted Cora. "I was amply repaid in beating SidWilcox. But I cannot understand why he wanted the position. Evenyour explanation will hardly account for his extraordinary conduct.Why should he want to run a car across country?"
"Well, it can't be because he is short of funds," said Paul frankly. "I'm positive of that. He took particular pains to display a roll of bills when he was in the auto office, and I think that did not favorably impress the manager, though I was practically sure of the place when he came in."
"Well, that's just like Sid Wilcox," and Cora shuddered. It was a reaction of the unpleasant ride she had been forced to take with him.
"I hope, Miss Kimball, that you will soon be able to meet my sister," said Paul after a little silence, during which the car had run along. They were near the Beachwood Road, at the end of which, in a little grove of trees, was Cora's home.
"Not on account of what you have done for me," he went on, "but because I am sure you and she would be good friends. Hazel is a fine girl, as I said before, and besides that—" Paul stopped abruptly.
"Oh, I'm going to meet Hazel," declared Cora warmly as Paul alighted from the car. "I'll invite her to my affair. I am going to wake up folks around here. Do you know, we all seem to be terribly depressed since that money was—lost."
"Yes, and I don't wonder at it. Twenty thousand dollars is a large sum. I'd call it a fortune. But, somehow, I feel sure that Mr. Foster will recover it. I wish I could help unravel the mystery. I would like to—for more reasons than one."
What could he mean by that? His manner was very earnest. Cora glanced at him gratefully.
"Good-by," she said suddenly.
"Good-by," echoed Paul, and he turned up the street.
Reflecting on her strange experience while in New City, seated late that same afternoon on the broad veranda of her handsome home, Cora had one gratifying thought. No one whom she knew had seen her while Sid Wilcox was in possession of her car—and of her.
Feeling this assurance she decided not to mention to any one at home the fact of his having stolen the ride. She resolved to ask Paul to keep it a secret, and she knew he would. As for Sid himself, if he did boast of it, few would credit his story, for he did not bear a very good reputation for truth, and he was constantly getting into scrapes. Cora especially hoped Jack would not hear of the escapade.
Now Cora, who had been sitting in an easy chair, trying to read a book, decided to take the hammock for a change. She did not feel like reading.
She wore a simple frock of white muslin, and her hair was let down in a most becoming fashion, in long, loose braids, all combining to make her particularly girlish-looking.
Cora was taking what she called her "loll." This particular form of rest, she always declared, was the only sort a healthy girl could reasonably enjoy.
"When you rest, why, just rest," she used to say to Isabel Robinson, who, on account of her nervous temperament, had rather been overdone with "rest cure" ideas. Isabel delighted in such terms as "relaxation" and "siesta," while Cora reveled in her "loll."
A box of "deadly chocolates"—that is what Isabel would have called them—were at Cora's elbow, and she was just reaching for the tenth one, when Isabel herself, and her sister, sauntered along the path.
"Come on up, girls," called out Cora. "But please don't ask me to move. I'm in the most delicious heap."
"Exactly that!" exclaimed Isabel, who looked particularly pretty in a soft-blue summer gown, while Elizabeth was like some flower, in deep-pink muslin. "You do get into the most awful heaps, Cora, dear. But you never can rest without relaxing, and to do that—"
"Belle!" exclaimed Cora, "that is precisely why you never rest—you never relax your brain. You're always thinking of resting and not doing it."
Bess sank into a wicker chair and smothered the cushions. Bess was stout—"when she sat down," as Cora expressed it.
"Got your car ordered yet?" asked the hostess, passing around the box of chocolates. Neither girl could resist them.
"Oh, no," answered Belle. "Poor papa is in the greatest muddle. Every one in New City seems to have the best car to sell, and, as he wants a good one, he doesn't know which one to select."
"Why not ask Jack?" suggested Cora. "He's had lots of experience."
"Just what I proposed," replied Belle. "You, know how queer poor, dear papa is. He really dislikes motors."
"Seen Ida lately?" asked Bess.
"Not a sight of her," answered Cora. "I was hoping you might bring some news—not particularly about her, though, but some news. I am just pining for a real, choice bit."
She passed the chocolates again. Bess took one, but her sister shook her head.
"Well, as to news," remarked Bess, "we have heard that Sid Wilcox has a new machine."
This was news indeed, after what that youth had said to Cora that very day. Or had he been only fooling her?
"A new one," repeated Cora vaguely, trying to, gather her thoughts.
"Brand, spick—span new," went on Bess. "We haven't seen it, you know, but we've heard that it is a beauty."
"What extravagance!" murmured Cora,—still busily thinking. "His runabout isn't very old. I wonder where he gets all his money?"
"Don't you remember he said he had some to invest in the new issue of bank stock?" suggested Belle.
"But the bank wouldn't let him subscribe," added her sister.
"What did he do with his other car—the one that was broken in the collision?" asked Cora.
"Maybe he—pawned it," suggested Belle, who had rather vague ideas concerning pawnshops.
"Very likely he would if he could." This from Cora with a light laugh. "I guess Sid is very fond of a change—and excitement." She thought of her experience with him.
"Even a change of girls," commented Belle.
"Aula Allen told me that he and Ida were `on the outs.'"
"Indeed!" and Cora raised her pretty eyebrows. "I fancied he was too—too convenient a friend for Ida to drop. But my dears, as our English teacher says, I have something more important to discuss than Ida Giles and Sidney Wilcox. I'm going to have a `doings,' as I used to call them."
"Goody!" exclaimed Bess, helping herself to some more of the chocolates. "Make it a lawn party."
"Well, that's just what I want you to help me with. I know that Belle will want to make it a seance with relaxed robes and collapsed masks and relapsed—"
"Oh, you're mean!" exclaimed the taunted one. "I'm not such a freak as that."
"Oh, no," drawled Bess.
"Cer-tain-ly not," added Cora in a teasing tone.
"Well, go on with your `doings,'" insisted Belle. "I won't make a single suggestion."
"Not make them; but veto them," persisted Cora. "Well, then, never mind, sissy. You sometimes have splendid ideas, even if they are all sterilized."
"And when they are disclosed the sterilization gets away," put in Bess. "That's what mother's nurse declared when we tried on those aprons that come in air-tight packages. But now, Cora, let's have a lawn party."
"Wouldn't it be nicer to have an out-door play?" asked Belle, who had forgotten her resolution not to make a suggestion.
"Oh, dear! I suppose we'll have to have it in the afternoon, when our nurses can be with us," said Bess. "We're supposed to be such kiddies—not out yet, and all that. It's detestable—"
"Indeed," interrupted Cora, "mother says I may have an evening affair, and also out of doors, if I like. Since my last birthday I've been wonderfully grown up."
"Out of doors! And after dark!" cried Bess. "That's great!" and she clapped her hands. "Oh, let's have it a masked affair. I never have been to one in all my life, and I'm just dying to mask!"
"Now, girls, let's be serious," suggested Cora, "for I haven't any too much time to arrange this affair. We ought to have it in June, when we can depend on having a pleasant evening. Suppose we plan a masked mythology fete? Have a dark, green cavern, presided over by: er—um—let's see—who was the gentleman who had charge of passing shades from earth to some place, and where did he pass 'em to?"
"You mean Charon," said Belle. "But, Cora Kimball, do you suppose we could make mythological frocks that would stand damp, night air? Of course, they would be comfortable."
"Oh, we'll manage somehow. At any rate, we'll have a masked 'doin',' that's settled."
"That's all that really counts," said Bess.
"Masks?" questioned Cora. "Just mask in order to be of some account? Not the blessed boys, and the jealous girls—and the chances of pretending you mistake Jack for Walter—and you say a lot of things you are just dying to say, and would not dare to say if you weren't masked. All that—But hush! Here comes Jack!"
"Hello, girls," greeted her brother, and at the sight of Jack, Bess and Belle adjusted themselves in more conventional attitudes. "How are you all?" he went on. "Sis, here's a letter for you. I kept it in my hand all the way from the post-office so as not to forget to give it to you."
"Awfully kind of you, Jack."
Cora glanced at the postmark, and slipped the missive into the large, loose sleeve of her gown.
"Oh, you may read it," spoke Bess, smiling frankly at Jack. "We don't mind."
"Not in the least," came from Jack as he took a chair next toIsabel. "In fact, we would be glad to have you do so. Go ahead, sis.Help yourself," he went on pleasantly, dipping into the chocolatebox.
"It will keep," said Cora quickly. "But, Jack, what's new? For mercy's sake, do tell us something new! Is there anything more about—"
"Yes, a lot about it," and Jack anticipated his sister's question. "I hear that the sleuths have a straight tip. They told Ed this afternoon that they would have his money back inside of a—"
"Oh, isn't that fine!" broke in Belle. "I have been so uncomfortable ever since that affair happened and they found the empty wallet in poor, dear Cora's car. It looked just as if we—"
"Don't!" spoke Cora quickly in a low voice.
"It certainly was uncomfortable," put in Bess.
"Especially for Ed Foster," remarked Jack with a. significant grin as he took another chocolate. "Um—um—these are mighty fine, sis!"
"Oh, take them all!" cried Cora. "But tell us some more about it; do, Jack, please!"
"Yes. Do they really think they're on the right track?" askedIsabel.
"That's all I know about it," answered Jack calmly as he finished the last candy. "I heard the detectives had promised to get the money back inside of a week, and that's all. Maybe it was only talk. They have to say something for their pay, you know. But I almost forgot. There is another bit of news, girls."
"What?" they demanded in chorus.
"Ed says he knows who took the money."
As Jack made this announcement he looked around as indifferently as if he had made the most ordinary remark on the most commonplace subject.
For a moment there was silence. Then Cora asked:
"Who does he say took it?"
"That's just it," went on her brother. "He doesn't say."
"Does he know?"
"He declares he does."
"Then why won't he tell?"
"You can search me. I don't know. He hasn't even told the police, I understand. He merely made that remark to Walter, and I heard about it."
"Oh, Jack, are you sure that's all there is to it?" asked his sister.
"Sure. I'd tell you more if I knew."
At first they thought he was teasing, and the girls, with, all the wiles of which they were capable, besought him to explain, but he could not, and, finally, they accepted his word as final.
"Well, it's very strange," commented Cora. "I hope it will be all cleared up soon—for all our sakes."
"So do I," joined in Belle.
Cora again referred to the proposed purchase of a car for the twins, and though they were disappointed that they could not have it at once, Cora was rather glad, as she felt it would be a chance for Paul to get the order. Jack was appealed to, and gave the two sisters so many points about autos that they declared they felt quite bewildered.
"Well, I think we'd better be leaving, Cora, dear," said Elizabeth at length, and the good-bys were said, with many whispered promises made to come over the next day to finish up the party plans.
"Cora," said Jack, when the pretty twins had gone down the path, "I want a chance to talk to you. You've been so busy of late that I haven't had an opportunity."
"In just a minute, Bud," interrupted his sister, feeling in her sleeve for the unread letter. "I must run upstairs for just a moment. Then I'll be right down."
"Yes, and then some one else will come in, and it will be the same thing over to-morrow. No, sis, you're not treating me right," and Jack's tone betrayed some grievance.
But Cora decided that she must read her letter, and she promised that she would soon return to the porch.
"I know it's from Mary Downs," she told herself as she glided up the stairs to the privacy of her oven room. "And I never could read it before any one."
She hastily tore open the envelope. Yes, the letter was signed withMary's name, and it was dated from Silver Falls.
Cora's heart beat expectantly. She had hoped, ever since the day of the eventful ride, that Mary might be able to furnish some clue to the missing money. She was such an observing girl. Cora began to read the letter. It ran:
"MY DEAR MISS KIMBALL: I was so sorry to leave you without having a chance to thank you for the pleasant time you gave me, but I was called away unexpectedly that same afternoon. It would only bore you to hear all the details. I simply had to come here, and here I am still. It was most unfortunate, for Madam Julia will never forgive me, and even to her I dislike to tell the reason for the hurried trip. In fact, I think she would not understand it. Well, enough about that.
"I just want to thank you for the lovely time you gave me, and I am so sorry I cannot talk with you, for I have read of the loss of Mr. Foster's money, and surely it was a very strange thing to happen. If I had a chance I might be able to give you a clue but it would not be wise to write it. I expect to be back in Chelton soon, and then I will tell you what I think about it, for I know I can trust you.
"With kindest regards,
"P.S.—I was greatly surprised yesterday to meet Mr. Wilcox, or, rather, to see him pass in a new automobile. He did not see me. I did not want him to. M. D."
"Of all things!" exclaimed Cora, dropping the letter into her lap. "Just like every other girl on earth. Tells you what she wants you to know, but never says a word about what you want to find out. I've a good mind to let Jack read this letter. He might know what would be best to do."
Then she hesitated. Cora always did hesitate before taking an important step, just as she always stopped and looked around when leaving her room—to see if she had forgotten anything, or if she had left it all right.
"But it does look strange," she reasoned. "Yet I would trust Mary.She has such an honest face. I will just tell Jack the whole thing."
Picking up the letter she hurried back to the porch.
There sat Walter Pennington and Ed Foster with her brother. Concealing one expression of surprise, and another of disappointment that Jack was not alone, Cora greeted the young men pleasantly and invited them in to dinner, an invitation which Jack, in his rough-and-ready fashion had given by asking his chums to stay to dine.
Mrs. Kimball was preparing for a little trip, and though very busy she warmly greeted her son's friends, and entertained them, as she knew so well how to.
"You young folks are so taken up with your motors," she said as she took her place at the head of the table, "that we older and less fortunate people scarcely get a chance to speak to you. Cora is so enthusiastic over her car and its swift motion that our maid declares she will soon turn into a bird and fly."
"A dove," whispered Walter, just loud enough to be heard by every one, but softly enough to disguise the platitude.
Cora laughed lightly. Walter had a very taking way of saying things. He seemed to know exactly how to be nice without being silly.
The dinner over, the young people went to the porch. Mary's letter was in Cora's belt, and the edge of the envelope, scratching her hand as she sat down reminded her of her anxiety concerning the contents. Should she tell all the boys? Ed ought to know, that was her first thought. Surely Jack ought to know of it, and, as for Walter—well, he ought to know also, for he had found the empty pocketbook.
Ed was making some remark to Jack about the lost money. Cora listened to see if it had any reference to what her brother had told her that morning. She crushed the letter in her hands.
"I've just had a note," she began, "from my friend Mary Downs."
"What I From the pretty runaway?" exclaimed Jack. "So that letter was from her, eh? No wonder I didn't recognize the hand."
"She did not run away, Jack," objected his sister, and there was a warning note in her voice.
"Oh, no, of course not. But, anyway, she vas pretty. Wasn't she, boys?"
"A hummer!" declared Walter, adjusting a porch steamer chair forCora.
"Well, if you want to hear about the letter—" began the girl.
"Hear about it? Why, we want to read it for ourselves!" cried Jack, and he tried to take it from his sister's hand. Cora struggled to retain it, and finding that she was being bested, threw it over Jack's head to Walter. He grabbed it, and defied his chum to touch it.
"Now, easy, fellows," begged Ed in his quiet way. "If there happens to be news from Mistress Mary, though she be quite contrary, pray let us hear it."
"That's what I say," added Walter, handing Cora the missive. "Now,Jack, I'm going to stand on guard, and if you interfere again—"
"Oh, go ahead. I'll get it, anyway, later, when sis is asleep."
"No, you'll not!" declared his sister. "But this is the news," she went on guardedly. "Mary intimates that she knows something about the money."
"Is that so?" cried Ed eagerly.
"Oh, every one is intimating that," declared Jack in some contempt."Is that all? What we want is an intimation that makes good, eh,Ed?"
"Yes, I suppose so. But what does Mary say?" and he looked sharply at Cora.
"I think I had better read the letter," she said, "for, like all girls, or most of them, at least, she only hints at the most important statement."
"Go ahead," ordered Jack. "I'll listen and close my eyes to call up a picture of pretty Mary. She's pretty, she's witty, she's all a girl—"
He began to sing.
Cora jumped up.
"If any one wants to hear this letter he has got to keep—" she began.
"I'll be good," promised Jack contritely.
Walter gently slipped his arm around Cora's waist. Ed, towering above Walter, put his arm around his chum and Jack's sister. Jack managed to edge under her arm.
"Well, we're a happy family now," said Jack. "You may read the letter, Cora. We each have you all to ourselves."
With a quick move Cora freed herself.
"Oh, you might know she'd duck," pouted Jack, "just as we were getting comfortable. Keep your old letter. I won't listen to it now," and he moved away.
"I've forgotten something in my machine!" exclaimed Ed suddenly with a sly wink at Cora. "I'll just run and get it, if you'll excuse me."
Cora knew exactly what he intended to do. Quickly, as he came back in his runabout, she ran down the piazza steps, and was in the machine before either Walter or Jack realized what was taking place.
"Now I'll hear the letter without being interrupted!" exclaimed Ed as he put on speed and escaped with the laughing girl, who waved the missive above her head.
When Cora finished reading Mary's letter to Ed, which did not take long, she looked up at him and asked:
"Well, what do you think of it?"
"I—er—I think—would you mind very much if I didn't tell you whatI think of it?" he answered her in turn.
"No," she said slowly; "not if you don't care to. But I thought perhaps—Jack says you know who took the money," she finished hurriedly. She had wanted to get alone with Ed more to ask him this than to read Mary's letter to him.
Ed started.
"Jack said that?" he asked, obviously to gain time.
"Yes."
"I didn't exactly say, that. I said I had my suspicions. He must have misunderstood me."
"Very likely. Jack's rather impetuous. Then you don't know?"
"Not exactly."
"I'll not ask you whom you suspect," declared Cora, though it was hard work not to, for she had her share of curiosity, and she felt, in a measure, that suspicion for the robbery was upon her and her friends.
They were both rather sober after that, and following a short ride around quiet streets Ed brought her home. Walter and Jack were gone.
"Good-by," said Ed as he started away. "If I—er—if I make my suspicions a certainty I'll tell you before I do any one else."
"Will you—really?"
"Yes."
When the Robinson girls called on Cora the next afternoon she had about completed her plans for the lawn fete. It was to be a novel affair, and almost all the eligible young folks of Chelton were to be invited.
"All," declared Cora, "except Sid Wilcox. He simply shall not come."
"But how can you leave him out?" questioned Bess. "Especially as you are going to ask Ida and others in that set."
"I simply will not have him," insisted Cora, "and I don't care what any one thinks about it. He is too—too impertinent to be polite, and I will not run the risk of having him offend some one."
Secretly Cora was thinking of his last transgression, and it afforded her no small consolation to note that her particular friends had not heard of the stolen ride.
Belle, "relaxing" on the low divan in the library window, just where the sun could help her out on the rest theory, was too deeply buried in thought to make rash comment on Cora's decision. She wanted everything simply perfect, and to shape plans with such precision was no easy matter.
"Of course,—you will ask the Sheldons," she finally venture.
"Of course," answered Cora. "But, Belle, we expected a more important remark after such forethought on your part."
"And the Winters," went on the serene one, not noticing the bit of sarcasm.
"Yes; and I have a new star," said Cora quickly. "Who ever do you imagine she can be?"
"I know," declared Bess. "She is Paul's sister."
"Who told you?" demanded Cora.
"Not a soul," Bess assured her; "but I saw you out in your car with her this morning. Isn't she nice."
"Very. But being nice is not her strongest point. She is—brainy."
"O-h-h-h!" sighed Bess. "Then let's not take her up. Belle has brains enough for one town."
"But Hazel isn't that kind. Isn't that a pretty name?" demanded Cora quickly. "She has a different sort of brains. She is a student of nature—biology and evolution, to be exact."
"Perhaps she could tell what makes Bess so—so fat," suggested Belle with marked sarcasm.
"Or what makes you so thin," retaliated Bess.
"At any rate, she is a very sweet girl," declared Cora, "and I'm most anxious for you to meet her. At the same time I am afraid you will like her a lot better than you do me."
"Cora Kimball!" exclaimed Bess. "As if any one could be more likable than you—to us!"
"Oh, I don't know," sighed Cora. "There's Jack."
"Well—er—he's nice—just because he's your brother," replied Bess a bit awkwardly.
"Now for plans," said Cora suddenly, wishing to change the subject, as it was becoming too personal. "We must get the cards out to-morrow. Every one must be masked—that's settled—and we'll try to confine the characters to—"
"The Roman period," interrupted Belle. "That will make it pretty."
"I wonder how the boys will take it?" asked Bess. "I shouldn't wonder if they all came as gladiators."
"Or some such character as Nero," added Belle.
"As long as they don't try to emulate him on his burning Rome affair," came from Cora.
"And every one must keep his or her costume a secret," went onBelle, who was nervous with enthusiasm. "I am not even going to letBess know whit mine will be."
"All right, sister," replied Bess, glancing at her tiny, enameled watch; "but pray don't be too—too spirituelle. That is, if there were any Roman spirits."
"There was Roman punch!" laughed Cora merrily. "I believe I would like to be Roman punch, if it's not too strong."
"And served up to—" began Bess.
"The gentleman with whom she was riding yesterday afternoon," finished Belle. "The idea of a young lady going out motoring in a morning dress—"
"Bareheaded," chimed in Bess, and a laugh followed.
"Come to think of it, girls," spoke Cora, making an effort to get back to the party, "I do not think we ought to confine this fete to any particular period. Suppose some one wants to be—well, say, Priscilla—and has been wanting to be Priscilla all her life."
"That's right," agreed Bess. "It's just like you, Cora, to think all around a thing. Yes, I vote for a masked fete. Any sort of a costume, so long as we are masked."
Belle also agreed that this would be a better plan than the one first proposed, and then the trio of girls busied themselves over the invitation list. There was no time to spare, as the "doings" must come off before Mrs. Kimball's trip to Bermuda, for which she was preparing.
"And you feel you must invite Ida?" asked Bess. "I am sure she is almost as certain to do something rude as Sid would be."
"Yes, we had better have her," declared Cora, putting down Ida's name on the long list. "Ida is not really mean—she is rather unfortunate—and I think, as she has been in Chelton so long it would be unkind to leave her out."
"I hardly think she will come," commented Belle. "She has been so—so snippy lately."
"Well, we'll ask her, at any rate. And, now, don't forget, we are all to keep our costumes secret."
"Oh, won't it be jolly!" sang out Bess. "I can scarcely wait."
"And to think of having it after dark, without chaperons to look after us!" exclaimed Belle. "I doubt if some of the stiff girls will be allowed to come on that account."
"Then we'll have a better time without the stiffs," declared the young hostess. "I'm sure our patronesses are protection enough, and mother is going to delay her trip a few days on purpose to be on hand."
"Oh, of course," Belle hurried to explain, "I think it is just perfectly all right and delicious, but I was just speculating on the kind who may be jealous."
"And is Paul coming?" asked Bess. She was always so self-conscious when she asked a question like that.
"Why, of course," answered Cora, "and also his sister Hazel. I particularly like them both, and Jack, who has met Paul, agrees that he is a very nice young man."
"Expert opinion, I suppose," murmured Belle.
They talked in jolly mood for some time longer, and the twins were about to leave for home when a shout out in the street attracted their attention.
"What's that?" asked Cora, starting up.
"Runaway! Look out for the runaway!" the girls heard several persons shout.
"It's a horse running `away," declared Belle. "Let's stay where it's safe—up here."
But Cora had started down the path, and Bess followed her.
"It's a runaway motor—a car!" exclaimed Cora as she caught sight of something flashing through the trees. It was a runabout, dashing along the avenue without a hand to guide it, and as it gathered speed it swerved from side to side.
"Why, it's Jack's car!" cried Cora as the auto flashed past her."Can he be hurt? Where is he? 'Oh, Jack!"
She started to run, leaving Bess on the path.
"I must stop it!" thought Cora. "It may run into a person or a team and kill some one."
Before she thought of the uselessness of her act she found herself running down the street, along with a shouting crowd of men and boys. As if she could catch up to an auto!
She hardly knew what she was doing.
"Oh, can't some one stop it?" she cried. "Turn off the power! It must be stopped!"
"By Jove! That's a plucky chap!" exclaimed a stranger. "There!He's lost his hold! He'll be run over!"
A young man, who had made a daring attempt to stop the runabout, was seen to be slipping beneath the wheels. But as the car sped on he pulled himself up to the seat. He grasped the wheel just in time to prevent the car from running up on the sidewalk, and an instant later he had shut off the power and applied the brakes.
"Why, it's Ed Foster!" exclaimed Cora as she came up beside the halted runabout. "Oh, Ed, are you hurt? I'm so glad you stopped Jack's car. There might have been a bad accident."
"Oh, I'm all right. I nearly slipped out, though. How did it happen?"
"I don't know. We were sitting on our piazza when we heard the cry, and I saw the car speeding away."
"Where's Jack?"
"I don't know that, either. I'm afraid he's hurt."
"The car doesn't seem to be damaged," remarked a man who had been nearly run down.
The crowd, rather disappointed, on the whole, that no accident had happened, turned away. Cora got in Jack's car beside Ed, who started the machine back. They were met half way to the Kimball home by Paul Hastings.
"Any damage done?" he called out as soon as he saw them. He appeared very anxious.
"None, but it was a narrow squeak," answered Ed.
"Where's Jack?" asked Cora.
"We took him home."
"Oh, is he—is he badly hurt?"
"No; only a sprained leg, I believe, and some bruises. The doctor is there."
"How did it happen?" asked Cora quickly.
"Why, Jack brought his machine to the garage to have a little repairing done. I had finished it, and he and I were in the office talking, when a fellow named Lem Gildy came along and threw in the clutch, starting the car off.'
"Jack saw him do it and ran out, trying to stop his runabout, but he wasn't quick enough, and was knocked down. I hurried out to pick him up, and I forgot all about the runaway car until I had taken Jack home. There was considerable excitement, as there was a brand-new car, a very expensive one, belonging to the Blends, in front of our garage, and the runabout nearly crashed into it. If it had, the new machine would have been wrecked."
"And what became of Lem Gildy?" asked Ed.
"Oh, he sneaked off, after whining out that he didn't mean any harm.But I think he did. He's a suspicious character."
"Hurry home. I want to see Jack," begged Cora.
Ed started Jack's runabout off again, after telling Paul what had happened down the street. The handsome young chauffeur said he would presently call at the house and inquire after Jack.
Cora found her brother in bed, where her mother had insisted that he go, though he declared he was not hurt much. Dr. Dearborn had examined him, and said he would be all right in a few days.
"Oh, weren't you awfully frightened, Cora?" asked Bess, who, with her sister, had remained at the Kimball home.
"Indeed I was, but I knew the car had to be stopped."
"And it was going some," added Ed.
"I can't see what motive Lem would have in starting the car," saidCora. "I never knew him to be malicious—only worthless."
"I believe he planned this," declared Paul, who had just arrived.
"Why so?" asked Cora.
"Well, he's been hanging around the garage for several days past, and numbers of times I've ordered him away. I heard him asking one of the men, the other day, how to throw in a clutch on a car like Jack's, and that made me suspicious."
"But what could his object be?" asked Ed, rubbing one arm, that was strained from his exertion in stopping the car:
"I believe him to be in the pay of some one," declared Paul with flashing eyes, "and I believe his object was to get me into trouble. As I told you, there stood in front of the garage a valuable new car belonging to the Blends. Their chauffeur was about to take it out for a run. If Jack's car, started by Lem, had smashed into it I would have been blamed, for I ran the car out of the garage, for their chauffeur. Then I would have lost my position here, and probably would not get that new one in New City, for the garage people would have blacklisted me."
"Oh, mercy!" gasped Belle. "Wouldn't that have been dreadful!"
"Bad for me," admitted Paul with a smile. "But I'm sorry Jack was hurt."
"Thank goodness it's no worse!" exclaimed Cora. "But, Mr. Hastings, whom do you think paid Lem to do such a mean thing?"
"I'd rather not say," answered the young garage manager. "But I shall keep my ears and eyes open, and if I find out what I suspect to be true—well, there'll be trouble for somebody."
He spoke with flashing eyes, and Cora looked at him admiringly.
"Well, since we know how your brother is, I think we'll be going, Cora," said Bess, and she and her sister took their departure, followed by Paul and Ed.
"I wonder why Lem Gildy did that?" asked Cora of herself as she went to her room that night. "Who is urging him on? Did he want to injure Jack, as well as make trouble for Paul? Well, I'll have to give up thinking of it now," she finished, "but, like Paul—I suppose I ought to say Mr. Hastings—I'm going to keep my eyes and ears on the alert, too."
It was a perfect evening—the very last of the perfect June days. Chelton lay like a contented babe in Nature's lap—contented, but not asleep, for it was the evening of the masked garden fete.
The bright-colored lanterns throughout the spacious grounds of the Kimball home flickered like eager fireflies, and the splendid dancing platform, erected on the broad lawn, fairly glistened with its coat of wax under the strings of tiny electric lights that canopied the pavilion.
It was not deemed necessary to have any one at the gate. In Chelton there were not many strangers and suppose some urchins did enter, Cora said, it would be a pity to deny them a glimpse of the pretty sight.
A tall Antonio, in a garb of the most somber black, strolled about, hoping to find his Portia. Priscilla was there, in her collar and cap, but where was John Alden? Would the dainty little Bo-peep, who looked like a bisque doll, ever find her straying sheep?
Then motor "togs"—a long linen duster, with a cap and goggles—seemed a most convenient mask for so many young men, who were not vain enough to want to don doublet and hose.
But there were some courtiers, and they did look romantic. Perhaps that stout girl in the white Empire gown, with a baby cap on her head, and a rattler around her neck, might be Bess Robinson.
But the Winter girls were both stout—as stout as Bess. Then that thin creature, so tall that she suggested a section of sugar cane (could she actually be in one piece), might be Belle. The Psyche knot at the back of her head, and the wreath of wild olive, certainly bespoke Belle.
What had Cora done? Whom had she impersonated? There were many who wished to know this, and there were so many pretty persons that very likely she might have taken a very simple character. Cora disliked too much trouble, where trouble did not seem to count.
That splendid figure of Liberty might be she. Or that indolent Cleopatra on the rustic bench under the white birch tree—she made a pretty picture. But Cora would not pose as this one was doing. The vacant seat beside the girl was too glaring an invitation for Cora to offer. Perhaps she might be that suffragette, who went about demanding "Votes for women!" See! There she is now, holding up Marc Anthony!
A most attractive figure was Night or Luna. The coloring would have suited Cora—the black hair and the silvery trimmings of the robe to represent the moon but it was not like Cora to seek the dark spots of the garden that her moonbeams might be the brighter. The boys had a certain fancy for moonlight—hand made.
"I'll wager you are Bess," whispered a very handsome Adonis in a real Greek costume—all but the pedestal.
"Yes," answered the girl with a titter. "As you please—but, I pray you, fair sir, am I not a good milkmaid?"
"The best ever," replied Adonis. "Pray let us stroll in yonder meadow."
Slipping his hand into the bare arm of the milkmaid, Adonis drew the figure down a pith toward the small lake that was on one edge of the Kimball property.
"Now I have some one to talk to," he declared with evident satisfaction.
"Oh, is that all?" replied the maid in some contempt "I can't see just why I should fill in that way," and she arose from her seat at the water's edge. "Besides," she added, "I hate Greeks. They are so vain!" and with this she hurried after a girl in a nun's costume, who was walking along the path to the pavilion.
"Well!" exclaimed the disappointed youth, "that was hard luck. And just as I was going to say something nice, too. However, it'll keep, I suppose," and he followed the two figures—the nun and the milkmaid—toward the dancing platform.
A veritable Rosebud was bowing on the porch to the row of unmasked patronesses, several ladies of Mrs. Kimball's set, who had volunteered to help her receive.
The Rosebud wore a plaited garb of rose pink, with velvet petals about her waist, and green velvet leaves about her throat. The costume was so beautiful, and the figure so graceful, to say nothing of the natural rose perfume it exhaled, that every one stopped to admire.
The bell for the cotillion sounded, and when the ribbons were cast to the gentlemen it was the Greek Adonis who caught the blue end. He would lead.
For his partner he walked up to the saucy milkmaid, and claiming her by right, proudly marched with her on his arm back to the center of the platform.
A murmur of disapproval was heard. Why had he not chosen Cleopatra?
But Marc Anthony was eagerly waiting, and quickly sprang to the fair charmer's side. Antonio, the silent, strode over to the market woman—the height of incongruity.
A clown somersaulted to the Rosebud.
Night hung back. She seemed particular with whom she danced, and when a very handsomely proportioned courtier stepped up to her she refused him with a toss of her head. A star fell from her black tresses, but the answer seemed final, and the courtier walked away.
Finally the music started, and the dancers with it. How delightful it was to be some one else! And how splendidly Adonis led! At each turn where the waltz varied the figures he effected a wonderful change of partners, and it usually happened just when he was saying something most interesting to the young lady.
But this afforded a splendid chance for coquetry—a very pardonable affectation under a mask.
The little nun was creeping around the platform. She seemed like a dark spirit in the midst of such merrymaking, almost like a warning of a fate to come.
"Now!" the Rosebud heard her partner whisper as the nun passed. And the Rosebud had for a partner—Antonio.
"Who?" Psyche heard the nun ask of the same Antonio. "Who is it to go to?"
Psyche wondered what it meant. With a quick move, at the signal for a change, Antonio was whirling off with the nun, and Psyche was left without a partner.
But a few moments later Antonio came back to her.
"I just wanted to see if I could make the little nun dance," he whispered, "and I did—all the way off the platform, for she's gone."
"She is standing there by the side of Adonis," replied Psyche directly. "And she seems to be in the way."
"Soliciting alms," almost sneered Antonio. "That's her business, I suppose."
Psyche was glad when the waltz ended, and at the next figure she came in contact with Rosebud. It was to be a ladies' bouquet, and Rosebud made the centerpiece, with all the other pretty sprites in a circle about her. Then the boys, in an outer ring, threw their flower-chained hands into the inner circle, thus each capturing a pretty partner.
The milkmaid fell into Antonio's arms. He almost caught her up from the floor.
"Don't!" she objected as she felt his hands on her bare arm. "Your hands are—are too damp. They'll take all the starch out of my sleeves."
"Sign of a warm heart," he answered as he led her away.
Adonis was with Rosebud. What a charming couple they made! And how perfectly they both danced!
Close beside them fluttered Night. She was with the clown and seemed to enjoy the contrast.
One of the most distinguished masculine figures was Hiawatha, the Indian lad. His face was made up with real skill, and his bow and quiver hung gracefully at his back as he strode about. He had not danced, but he was evidently having a most delightful time with the Moon figure and Buttercup.
At the intermission a general onslaught was made by the young men to penetrate the disguises worn by the ladies.
"Plagued awkward," complained Hiawatha when he had failed to ascertain who Luna was. "I might be making love to my own—"
"Sister!" snapped the girl, laughing at the youth's discomfiture.
"But won't you tell me just this?" he pleaded. "Who on earth is the girl in the black robe—the nun? See, there she goes off toward the lake with Antonio."
"How can I tell?" answered Luna. "But if you really want to know, suppose we follow them?"
"Great idea!" agreed the Indian. "There goes Rosebud and Adonis. My, but they are hitting the trail, if you will pardon the language of an early settler. Suppose we go around this way? Then we can have a full view of both pairs in this mystery."
"As you please," answered Luna with some condescension as they started toward the little lake.
"Shall we sit here?"
It was Adonis speaking to Rosebud. She sank down upon a rustic bench and instantly noticed a couple turn behind the spruce hedge.
They were both in black. It was Antonio and the nun.
Adonis and Rosebud sat for a while at the side of the miniature lake, where the pretty little lights dimpled in the placid waters, and where now a score of merrymakers were clamoring for a ride in the tiny launch which Jack Kimball and his chums, Ed and Walter, had rigged up, in order to add picturesqueness to the fete.
"Don't you want to take a sail?" asked the Greek youth of his fair companion.
"Oh, no, indeed, thank you. I must leave that for the others."
"You must?" and he accented the last word, as if to penetrate her disguise by this act of deference to the "others."
"Oh, well," she answered hesitatingly, "I never did care much for sailing, to tell the truth—especially in a—tub. I prefer a place where there is at least room in which to dip my hands."
"Then let us walk," he suggested. "I am anxious to see all over the grounds. Aren't they splendid? Just see that cave formed by the cedars, back of the lighted path. I declare' this place looks like a real fairyland to-night."
"I am glad you like it," replied the girl. "I—er—" She clapped her dainty hand over her masked mouth. She was near to betraying her identity.
"Like it?" he repeated. "How could I do otherwise? But in all this human garden there is no fairer flower than—Rosebud," and he brought her hand reverently to his lips.
"Oh! You—you mustn't be too—too gay!" she expostulated, but she laughed as she said it. "You know the patronesses have specified—"
"There!" he exclaimed, interrupting her. "It's all right, Rosebud," and he tucked her arm within his own. "I will make love to the trees if it pleases you. But let us walk about the grounds. I am afraid the curtain will be suddenly rung down and leave us again just mortals."
Rosebud felt that it was, pretty—very pretty. She was entirely satisfied with herself and her friends. Then Adonis—wasn't he splendid? And how courteous—almost like the brave knights of old.
They approached a spot gloomy with shadows.
From it they heard voices in a gentle murmur—voices near whatAdonis had called the cedar cave.
Involuntarily, at the sound of one voice, Rosebud pressed her companion's arm. She heard some one say:
"I must go home at once—I am so frightened!"
There came an answering whisper, but it was in tones that indicated a youth pleading.
"I have—I have done it," again came the girl's frightened whisper. "I did what you asked me to, and I don't see why you don't take me home."
There was almost a sob in her voice.
"What? Just when I'm having a fine time?" objected the other. "Why don't you want to stay? No one could have seen you drop it into—-"
"Hush!" cautioned the girl desperately.
"Oh, you're just nervous—that's all."
Rosebud felt that she should not hear any more, but she would either have to cross the path near the cave and allow the hidden ones to see her, or she must wait until they had come out, as, if she and her companion retreated now, they would make a noise on the gravel, and it would be heard. Adonis seemed to understand the situation, and whispered to his companion:
"Stay. They'll be gone in a moment." He drew her farther back into the shadows.
"If you don't take me home," continued the girl in the cedar cave, "I'll ask some one else to. I certainly shall not stay until supper and have to unmask. I dare not."
"Just as you like," was the cool response.
"And I risked it all for you—spoiled my entire evening. I'll know better next time!"
"Well, I'm going to make it up to you," said her companion.
There was a movement of the cedars, and two figures emerged from amid the trees. They crossed the path. They were Antonio and the nun.
Rosebud drew Adonis farther back from the path. The others passed on without seeing them and at once began talking gaily, as if they had been merrymaking with the rest but Rosebud and Adonis detected the false note in their laughter. Adonis pressed the little warm hand on his sleeve.
"Do you know them?" he asked.
"I—suspect them," she replied.
"So do I," he almost gasped, "and with good reason. I have just found something in my pocket."
"In your pocket?"
"Yes, quite a bulky package. I did not notice it until this moment."
"But how—"
"Don't ask me how it got there. It's just—there. I did not even know there was a pocket in this cloak I wore. Whoever put the package there was more clever than I."
"But what is it?"
"I'm going to look—Cora."
"Cora? Then you know me—Ed?"
"As you do me. Of course. Did you think you could deceive me?"
"I—I hoped to. But the package—what does, it contain?"
"We will look—together."
He led her to a dangling electric light, drew, something from the folds of his cloak, and unwrapped the paper. Then he gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Ten thousand dollars of my missing bonds!" he whispered.
"Really, Ed?"
He extended them to her.
"Oh, Ed! I'm so glad!"
"So am I, yet I have been suspecting it."
"Suspecting it?"
"Yes. I may as well admit it, of late I have not worried about my loss. Recently I have been convinced that it would come back. And you see I was right."
"But this is only half of it."
"I know, but the rest will come. It is not so easy to return the cash."
"But who could have slipped it into your pocket?"
"Don't you know? Can't you guess—after what we heard?"
"The—the nun?"
"Exactly."
"And she is—"
"That is a mystery—as yet, but I have my suspicions. She brushed past me in a crowd, and I thought I felt her hand upon my velvet cloak, but as I never suspected the garment contained a pocket, I gave it no further thought. Had I the remotest idea—what had happened there might have been a disturbance. But the talk we heard just now gave me a clue."
"Hush!" exclaimed Cora, and she shivered slightly in her rather thin costume. "Here come Paul and Belle. I have penetrated their disguises. Isn't Paul splendid as Marc Anthony? and Belle makes a perfectly classical Psyche."
"And Walter?" asked Ed with a veiled hint of jealousy in his tones.
"It was horrid of him to play the clown."
"But I like him best in some such humble role," spoke Ed.
"I wish you had not discovered me," went on Cora. "It would be such fun to hear things, and say things, in some other character than ourselves."
"But I could not find, even in the Rosebud, a fairer type than that of Jack's real sister," he replied gallantly.
"There's the supper gong!" exclaimed Cora; "and I must hurry away, as I have my duties to look after. Oh, but I'm so glad about the money. I wish it were all back. Are you going to make this public?"
"I don't know. We'll talk about it again."
"Well, run along now," commanded the girl with a pretty air of superiority. "Why don't you join in with that milkmaid and Pocahontas? They are charming—both of them."
"I think I will just run along with—Rosebud," he answered, and he drew her arm more firmly within his own as they advanced toward the fairy tables set about all over the lawn, where, as the repast was served, masks were suddenly taken off, and the merrymakers were treated to many surprises.
"Oh!" cried the pretty milkmaid to Hiawatha. "How could you—JackKimball?"
"Oh!" answered Jack, who had quite recovered from his little auto accident. "Oh! How could you—Bess? And you know perfectly well you did squeeze my hand—once."
"Oh, you horrid boy, I did not!"
"Well, you may now, if you like," and he extended it, but Bess drew back.
"And to think," cried the beautiful Psyche, who was Belle Robinson, "that I have actually been—"
"Letting a perfectly strange chap make love to you!" added Paul, helping her out, for Paul was Marc Anthony, and had spent considerable time with Belle.
"Oh!" cried the girl, recovering herself quickly. "Was that—making—love?" and she looked archly at him.
"I—er—I rather hoped it was," he replied grimly.
Night—Hazel, you must know—had been flitting around with Hiawatha and the clown, but toward the end the latter had attached himself to her, to the exclusion of the Indian youth, and now Walter Pennington, with a shake of his head which set all the foolish little bells to ringing, told Paul's sister how delighted he was to renew his acquaintance with her.
Adonis and Rosebud had a table directly under the umbrella tree.
"I must run in-doors for a second," Cora whispered to Ed when the ices were being passed. "I want to speak to Jack. I just saw him going in."
"May I come?"
"With me?"
"Yes. You see, those bonds are burning a hole in well, in my lace handkerchief, and I wish Jack would put them in the safe in the house."
"Why, certainly. Come along. But see, there is Antonio—and the nun is not with him."
"Yes," spoke Ed. "I saw her go away with Priscilla."
"Priscilla?"
"Yes; and John Alden never spoke for himself."
"Priscilla," murmured Cora. "Do you know who she was?"
"No. Who?"
"Mary Downs."
"Mary—why, I thought she was out of town."
"She was, but she came back to-day, and I helped her fix up a costume. And so the nun went off with her?"
Cora walked slowly toward the house, Ed following.