CHAPTER VIITREASURE TROVE
Minervaglared at her image in the glass she was polishing with unusual diligence. “A cleanin’ an’ a cleanin’,” she exclaimed rebelliously. “Miss Rebekah don’t hardly ’low me time ter eat. Miss Marjorie didn’t never turn me inter a—a—flyin’ squadron”—Minerva hadn’t the faintest idea of the meaning of “flying squadron,” but she had picked up the words while waiting at table, and they sounded big enough to express her state of mind. “An’ I ain’t gwine ter church termorro’, nohow; las’ time I went, I come home an’ foun’ Miss Rebekah had done took all my china an’ glass off de pantry shelves, an’ I had ter put it back. What kind ob a Christian am she, anyhow? An’ when I’m down on my marrow bones a scrubbin’ de flo’, she flops down an’ keeps me a prayin’ fo’ five minutes. Lan’ sakes! dar’s de bell.” Hastily washing her hands and putting a white apron over her gingham one, she took her leisurely way to the front door.
“Howdy, Marse Tom?” she exclaimed, showing all her ivories in an expansive smile on seeing the young officer standing in the vestibule. “De Madamwill be mighty glad ter see yo’; step right inter de pawlor, I’ll go tell her yo’ am hyar.”
Madame Yvonett found Tom walking restlessly up and down the small room when she entered a few minutes later.
“I am pleased to see thee, Thomas,” she said, kissing him warmly. “Thee finds us rather topsy-turvey; this is cleaning day, but make thyself comfortable, I will sit here,” selecting her customary high back arm-chair, and producing her knitting.
Tom established himself in one end of the rosewood sofa.
“You must miss Marjorie awfully,” he said, inspecting the disarranged room with some wonder.
“I do;” an involuntary sigh escaped Madame Yvonett. “Marjorie is young, but she understands the foibles of the old; she is a good child.”
“I’m afraid Cousin Rebekah Graves is a bit too strenuous for you.”
“Becky’s a trifle breezy, but anything’s better than a dead calm,” responded the Quakeress. “I am pleased that Marjorie is with the Fordyces; from what she says they must be charming people.”
“They are,” declared Tom with such positiveness that a faint gleam of amusement lit his companion’s eyes. “Has Marjorie been in to see you today?”
“No. She usually comes about this time on her return from market. Thee knows Mrs. Fordyce has turned the housekeeping over to her.”
“It strikes me they put a great deal on Marjorie....”
“Tut! Marjorie’s shoulders are young and broad. It would be better if the younger generation carried more responsibilities; too much is done for them by their elders. In my day”—dropping her knitting in her lap as she warmed to her subject—“the development of character went hand-in-hand with education; now, education is founded on indulgence. The modern child must be amused, spoiled, its fits of temper condoned....”
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” quoted Tom, in open amusement.
“A sound doctrine,” affirmed Madame Yvonett with spirit. “And if the American nation is to endure, character in the child must be cultivated.”
“There’s a lot in what you say,” agreed Tom. “I came in this morning hoping to see you alone;” he rose and sat down close by her. “I am anxious to consult you about an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon in my quarters,” and in a few words he described the disappearance of the coin.
Madame Yvonett listened with absorbed attention to the story, and at its conclusion, sat back and gazed unbelievingly at Tom, her busy needles idly suspended in air.
“Does thee mean to say thee can find no trace of the coin?” she asked incredulously.
“It has disappeared absolutely.”
“Is thee certain that thy servant was not in the house at the time the lamp exploded?”
“Positive. Mrs. Sims, wife of the Commandant, told me he was assisting the other servants in theAdministration Building from the commencement of the tea-dance until its close.”
“Then thee infers that one of thy guests stole the coin?”
“What other conclusion can I reach?” hopelessly. “And yet it’s a devilish thought.”
“Has thee suspicions against anyone in particular?” Madame Yvonett paled as she put the question, but she sat with her back to the light and Tom did not perceive her agitation.
“Yes, I have,” reluctantly. “Joe Calhoun-Cooper.”
“Cooper? Ah, yes, I recollect; thee means John C. Cooper’s grandson. What leads thee to suspect him?”
“I know he’s hard up; he’s been trying to borrow money, his father having shut down on his allowance;” Tom paused thoughtfully, then continued. “Joe was with me when I learned the coin’s value. He first spoke of it yesterday—I never should have mentioned the matter—and suggested I show the coin to my guests, evidently depending on chance to give him an opportunity to steal it.”
“It dove-tails nicely,” acknowledged Madame Yvonett. “In fact, too nicely; beware, Thomas, be not hasty in thy judgment.”
“I’m not,” doggedly. “Joe’s always been tricky, even as a schoolboy.”
“Then how does it happen that thee associates with him now?”
“Well—eh—his family have been very decent to me, and I’ve gone there a good bit.” Madame Yvonett’s shrewd eyes twinkled. “While accepting their hospitality I couldn’t refuse to know Joe. Although I’ve never liked him, I knew no real ground for dropping him, until now,” and Tom’s pleasant face hardened.
“Does thee intend to prosecute him for the theft of the coin?”
“I haven’t quite decided,” admitted Tom. “The loss of such a sum of money means a good deal to me; still, I have only the dealer’s word that the coin was worth between twelve and fifteen hundred dollars. I could have Joe arrested,” doubtfully. “It’s a dirty business. Perhaps it would be better to keep silent, but tell Joe to leave Washington or I’ll expose his rascality.”
“Thee’ll have to secure more proof against him to make that threat effective,” put in Madame Yvonett, sagely.
“I’ve already written to the coin collector in New York, describing my coin, and asking him to notify me if such a coin is offered to him, and by whom. Joe was with me when the dealer here gave me the New Yorker’s address.”
“That is a good move,” Madame Yvonett nodded approvingly.
“I’ve also notified the Washington dealer, and he has agreed to send a letter to other well-known numismatists telling them of the coin, and asking for the name of the person who offers it for sale.Fortunately the coin is very rare, and its appearance will arouse interest——”
“And cupidity,” chimed in Madame Yvonett. “Collectors are said to be not too scrupulous; if they can buy it cheaply from the thief they will not be likely to notify thee, the real owner.”
“Of course, there’s that danger,” admitted Tom, rising. “I’m afraid I must be going, Cousin Yvonett; you’ve been awfully good to listen to me.”
“I am always interested in anything that concerns thee, Thomas, and thy news today is startling. Shall I mention the matter to Marjorie?”
Tom pondered for a moment before answering. “I don’t believe I would; she is thrown a good deal with the Calhoun-Coopers, and knowledge of Joe’s dishonesty might embarrass her in her relations with them.”
“Had thee not better question her about the disappearance of the coin? She may be able to throw some light on the mystery.”
Again Tom shook his head. “If any of the others had seen Joe steal the coin, they would have denounced him then and there, or dropped me a hint later, and Marjorie particularly would have been sure to have done so.”
“That is true, Marjorie has thy interests very much to heart; she has not forgotten how good thee has been to me financially.”
“Don’t you ever speak of that again,” protested Tom warmly. “I’d do everything for you if I could.”
“Thee is like thy father in generosity,” Madame Yvonett patted his shoulder lovingly. “Be cautious in thy actions, Thomas; better lose a coin than wrongfully accuse another. I advise thee to go carefully over the floor of the dining-room and parlor, the coin may have rolled and slipped into a tiny crevice, or down the register.”
Tom frowned in disbelief. “There are no registers, the house is heated by steam; however, I’ll look again over the furniture and floors. I’m not going to the dinner the Calhoun-Coopers are giving next week. I can’t eat their food, believing Joe a thief. Good-bye, I’ll be in again soon.”
After his departure Madame Yvonett remained seated in the little parlor, her knitting in her lap and her usually industrious fingers at rest, while her thoughts centered themselves on Tom’s account of the disappearance of his coin.
“I wish Marjorie had not been present,” she said aloud.
“Did you call me?” inquired Miss Rebekah, as she divested herself of her coat and gloves in the hall. “All alone, Cousin Yvonett? Why, Marjorie told me she was surely coming in to be with you.”
Marjorie had fully intended stopping in to see her aunt that morning, but she had been delayed in reaching Center Market, and afterwards, having an errand to do on F Street, she had decided to walk instead of taking a street car. Turning thecorner at Ninth and F Streets she came face to face with Chichester Barnard.
“What good luck to meet you!” His tone of pleasure was convincing in its heartiness, and Marjorie’s eyes danced. “Which way are you going?”
“To Brentano’s.”
“I have an errand there, too,” falling into step beside her. “I had a telephone a short time ago from Miss Janet asking me to lunch with them.”
“She said she intended to invite you;” some of the sparkle had disappeared from Marjorie’s eyes. “Can you come?”
“Yes, fortunately this is not a very busy day with me,” he raised his hat to Mrs. Walbridge who passed them in her automobile. “Are you and Miss Janet going to Mrs. Walbridge’s Christmas Eve dance?”
“I think so; here we are,” and she led the way inside the book-store. It did not take her long to complete her errand, and she found Barnard waiting for her at the entrance, a magazine tucked under his arm.
“All ready?” he inquired, holding open the door for her. “Are you going to do any more shopping?”
“No.”
“Then take a walk with me?” eagerly. “We don’t have to be at the Fordyce’s until one o’clock.”
“I told Aunt Yvonett I would run in for a few minutes on my way uptown....”
“You can go there after lunch,” broke in Barnard.“Besides, there’s a business matter I must talk over with you.”
A premonition of bad news sent a faint shiver down Marjorie’s spine, and she glanced almost pleadingly at her companion.
“What——?” she began, then stopped. “Where shall we go?”
“Suppose we walk around the White Lot,” he suggested, after a moment’s thought. “We’re not likely to be interrupted there,” turning to bow to some friends.
“Very well,” agreed Marjorie briefly, quickening her pace, and talking of indifferent subjects they made their way up busy F Street, across Fifteenth, back of the Treasury, and round to the Ellipse. Barnard pointed to one of the empty benches which stood on the outer edge of the huge circle of well-kept turf, and Marjorie followed him to it.
“Well, what is your news?” she demanded, after waiting for him to speak.
“You are so literal, Madge,” he said, with a half sigh. “Give a poor beggar a chance to look at you; I’m reveling in having you to myself again.”
But Marjorie drew away from him. “Your news, please; I know it’s bad, or you would not hesitate to tell me.”
“Have it your own way,” Barnard thumped the turf nervously with his cane. “Do you know your aunt, Madame Yvonett, has a chattel mortgage with the Wellington Loan Company?”
“Yes; she took it out during mother’s last illness. How did you come to hear of it, Chichester?”
“The Wellington Company has turned the mortgage over to me to collect for them. I do their legal work, you know.”
“No, I wasn’t aware of it.” Marjorie drew in her breath sharply. “The interest is not due until next week.”
“But, my dearest girl, they want more than their interest—they require the principal.”
“The company agreed to permit Aunt Yvonett to pay that off gradually.”
“Has your aunt a written agreement to that effect?”
“I don’t know positively, but Mr. Saunders always attends to that for her.”
“Unfortunately Saunders is no longer president of the company, and the new head is a very different type of man. He insists on calling in all loans which have run for a considerable period.”
“It’s hateful of him!” Marjorie stamped with sudden fury. “Aunt Yvonett is trying so hard to pay off her debts, and she took this mortgage so that mother could have some comforts and proper care before she died. Oh, I can’t let him foreclose!”
Unconscious of Barnard’s intent gaze, she stared at the distant White House, picturesque in its setting; then with tired, restless eyes turned to look at the still more distant Washington Monument, whose tapering shaft seemed lost in fleecy clouds. Sheknew that hundreds of migrating birds nightly beat themselves to death against the towering marble shaft, a shaft as immovable as that Fate which was shaping her destiny.
“How much money does Aunt Yvonett owe the company?” she asked abruptly.
Barnard consulted his note book. “The total sum is eleven hundred and forty-three dollars and seventeen cents.”
Marjorie swallowed hard; the amount loomed even larger than the Washington Monument. Her first month’s salary at the Fordyces’ had gone to meet current expenses, and to buy Madame Yvonett a much needed gown. Where could she turn?
“I took over this business,” continued Barnard, “because I feared another lawyer might give you trouble. Why not let me advance you the money, Madge?”
“No, never!” Barnard winced at the abrupt refusal, and observing his hurt expression, she added hastily, “Your offer was kindly meant, Chichester, and I thank you; but accepting your assistance is quite out of the question.”
“I don’t see why,” quickly. “I worship the ground you walk on—Madge, darling, why must I give all, and you give nothing?”
“Nothing?” asked the girl drearily, and she closed her eyes to keep back the blinding tears. “Worship is not all a woman requires; there is honor and faith....”
“You doubt my sincerity?” he demanded hotly.
“Can you blame me?” She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “Have I not daily evidence of your attentions to Janet Fordyce?”
Barnard threw back his head and laughed long and heartily. “Madge, are you quite blind?” he asked. “I am attentive to Janet, yes, because then I can be near you. Do you really suppose I care for that bread-and-butter miss?”
“Bread and butter’s very good for a steady diet,” Marjorie passed a nervous hand over her forehead. “Particularly when it’s spread with gold dust.”
“Steady, Madge, steady; there are some insults a man can’t take from even a woman.” Barnard’s eyes were flashing ominously, and every bit of color had deserted his face. “Have you no spark of feeling about you? Are you all adamantine? Have you no recollection of the night we plighted our troth?” his voice quivered with pent-up passion, and she moved uneasily.
“I am not the one who forgot, Chichester,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. “When I found—changed conditions, I gave you back your freedom.”
“Because I had not been to see you for a couple of days. What a reason!” he laughed mirthlessly. “You accuse me of lack of faith; come, where wasyourfaith?”
“It’s the pot calling the kettle black;” Marjorie, intent on controlling her impulse to cry, failed to observe Barnard’s altered demeanor. He had been intently studying the varying emotions which flitted across her face, and, keen student of human naturethat he was, instantly put his knowledge of her character to the test.
“Come,” he sprang to his feet. “We will go to Madame Yvonett....”
“What for?” in alarm, the recollection of the chattel mortgage returning to her.
“To ask her consent to our marriage.”
Marjorie sat back in her seat. “Would you wed me, the beggar maid?”
“Within the hour, if you wish.” He leaned nearer her, and his hot passionate words soothed her troubled heart, and finally dispelled her last lingering doubt. She gazed at him half shyly, never had he appeared to greater advantage, her chevalier “sans peur et sans reproche.” A piercing automobile siren brought her back from her day-dream.
“What time is it?” she asked in some alarm.
Barnard looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes of one.”
“Then we can just do it,” and snatching up her chain bag, she led the way to Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Are we going to Madame Yvonett’s?” he asked tenderly.
“Not now.” Her eyes smiled wistfully back into his.
“Madge, won’t you marry me?” stopping directly in front of her.
“Not just yet.” Marjorie only saw the bitter disappointment in the fine eyes regarding her so wistfully; she never caught the significance of his long-drawn sigh of relief. “I have some pride,Chichester. Let me first get clear of my debts, and then we’ll talk of marriage.”
“Won’t you let me help you with that chattel mortgage?” pleaded Barnard.
“No,” gently. “I shall write to some friends in New York—here comes our car, Chichester, do hurry.”
So intent were they on catching the car that neither noticed a well-dressed young woman watching them from a bench in Lafayette Square. Nurse Allen grew white to the lips and her pretty eyes glittered with a more powerful emotion than tears as she observed Barnard’s tender solicitude for Marjorie as he escorted her across the street.
“Still playing the old game,” she muttered, tossing a handful of peanuts to three park squirrels, and gathering up her bag and muff she turned her footsteps toward Admiral Lawrence’s house.
On their arrival at the Fordyce residence Barnard was ushered into the sunny library by the footman, while Marjorie hastily sought her room. Barnard found Janet and her brother waiting for him.
“I hope I’m not late,” he said, selecting a seat near Janet, who resumed work on the necktie she was crocheting.
“You are just on time,” remarked Duncan. “Mother is the tardy member of the household—and Miss Langdon.”
“Marjorie is usually prompt,” Janet gave a tug at her spool of silk; the work-basket overturned, and its contents scattered in all directions. “Oh, don’ttrouble,” as the two men stooped to gather up the different articles.
“What’s this, Janet?” asked Duncan, picking up a heavy gold object which had rolled toward him. Barnard’s eyes dilated, and he shot a swift look at Janet.
“A ring,” she replied. “A gold signet ring.”
“So it seems.” Duncan examined it with care. “A man’s ring?” raising gravely questioning eyes to his sister’s.
“And made to fit a girl’s finger.” Janet took it from him, and slipped it on, “but too large for me.”
“Take it off,” commanded Barnard in her ear as the library door opened, but she shook her head violently and turned to the newcomer.
“Look, Marjorie,” she called audaciously, displaying the ring on her finger. “Treasure trove.”
Recognizing the familiar ring, Marjorie’s heart lost a beat, then raced onward, as she said clearly:
“To have and to hold, Janet,” and Barnard’s eyes shifted before the scorn in hers.