Chance of a Lifetime (7 page)

“Oh, just one or two little things,” said Bob. “It won’t take me long.”

Alan’s mother had ordered breakfast served at once when they came down, honey dew melon, chops, fried potatoes, waffles, and amber coffee. She came smiling in as the boys sat down.

“Why, is this a banquet, Mrs. MacFarland?” said Bob, rising and pulling back her chair. “You oughtn’t to have done it. All this! And I’m sure you don’t have breakfast at this hour every morning.”

“You’re going on a journey,” said the smiling mother. “You’ll need a good breakfast. And besides, we’re so happy this morning, we want to celebrate. Alan, your father is really better, the doctor says. It will be a long time before he pulls back to things, but he has passed the worst, he hopes.”

It was a happy meal, and Bob’s heart warmed with the feeling that he belonged and might help rejoice in the happiness and relief of these new friends. All too quickly, the minutes passed, and the boys started out together. But just as they went out the door, the telephone rang, and Alan was called to answer.

“I’ll start on,” called Bob. “Meet you at the post office. How’s that? Got to leave my address or my brother-in-law will examine any letters that might come.”

But Bob did not go at once to the post office. Instead, he sprinted back down the back street and entered the alley, the scene of the fracas the night before. He walked over the ground pretty thoroughly, examining everything, and then followed the path down among the weeds, into the fields where the fugitive disappeared. Yes, there were hasty tracks in the grass; tall weeds lying flat as if a heavy, hasty foot had crushed them, but they ended in a group of elderberry bushes down near the railroad, no sign of any footsteps beyond the bushes. He stood looking at the vague path thoughtfully a moment and then retraced his steps. He did not notice a frail young girl, with big troubled eyes, watching him from behind the back fence on the other side of the alley, until he was opposite her. And then he saw that it was Lancey Kennedy, the niece of Mrs. Corwin, who kept the millinery store on the other side of the alley and lived in a small apartment over the store. Bob didn’t know Lancey very well. She was shy and retiring, and had been in town only about a year. She had come to Rockland with her aunt after the death of her parents. But she had been in his high school class, and of course, he recognized her. She was one of the best students in the class.

He would have passed her with a brief nod of good morning, but he saw that she was waiting to speak to him. And it suddenly struck him how lovely her eyes were, great deep brown wells. What was the matter with him this morning?

He paused as she spoke.

“I was waiting to speak to you. There’s something I think you ought to know,” she said, in a voice that seemed almost frightened. “Weren’t you here last night? I thought I heard them call you ‘Bob,’ and it seemed like your voice that answered.”

“Sure, I was here,” he answered, stepping a little closer. “Did they wake you up?”

“Why, I hadn’t been asleep,” she said. “I was worried. You see, my room is in the third story back. And just as I turned my light out, I heard a noise out here in the alley and I looked out, and I was sure I saw a man’s feet disappearing into the window of the store.”

“The dickens! You did?” said Bob with a whistle of astonishment.

“But I wasn’t sure at all,” said Lancey. “It is awfully dark in the alley. But I waited, and pretty soon I saw a light in the store. Sometimes I wasn’t sure but it was just the reflection of the streetlight over there on the mirror. I thought it was my imagination. Then I got so excited I didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if I ought to tell somebody, but I couldn’t get down without waking my aunt, and I knew she wouldn’t hear to my calling somebody. She would have said I was a romantic little fool. So I waited, but I guess I ought to have gone anyway. But before I got my courage up, I saw someone else come down the alley, and a man jumped out of the window, and then it all happened. I wanted to scream out but was so frightened I couldn’t make a sound, and when I got control of myself, I saw two people come running, and I heard Mr. Washburn call out, ‘Get him, Bob.’ “ And you answered, and then I knew there was no need. But I saw the man run down in those bushes, and then it was dark beyond; I couldn’t see him any longer. I knew you all were onto him so I needn’t do anything more, and I wasn’t sure but the police had got him, for they were all in a bunch when they came back. But after they had all gone, I sat there awhile, just watching that group of elderberry bushes till it seemed to move and walk up across the grass. And pretty soon I saw it really was a man moving in the darkest places across the end of our back fence. He had come right out of the bushes, or behind the bushes. He must have hid until you all went away. And he kept so close to the fence, I could only see the top of his head sometimes. He would move a few steps and then stop a long time.”

Bob was listening in fascination, watching the girl’s sweet face, thinking with his subconscious mind how strange it was he had never noticed what pretty, delicate features she had, and that lovely oval of her pale cheeks that just now was tinged the least bit with the pink of excitement.

“When I saw he was turning in between our store and the bakery,” went on Lancey, “I slipped out of my room and went down in the store to watch and see if he came out into the street, and just as I got in the store he went by the window. I saw he was limping, and he had no hat on. He went very slowly, watching the street each way, and finally crossed the street and went into Mrs. Brower’s boardinghouse. He had a latchkey, and he seemed a long time getting the door open, and very nervous looking each way, and once he dropped the key. I heard it ring on the door stone.”

“Was there any light at Mrs. Brower’s?” asked Bob quickly.

“No, not for a long time,” answered Lancey. “I watched. But just when I thought there was no use watching anymore, there came a light in the third-story back room. It has a side window that looks down on the road to their garage, and a hand pulled down the shade, quick. I could only see a hand and an arm. And then I wondered what I ought to do. I felt somebody ought to know but wasn’t sure who. So I’ve slipped out here every time I could get away to see if some of them would come back, so I could tell them without being noticed. I knew my aunt would be furious if her name got tangled up in it. And I wasn’t at all sure I ought to let it get known anyway, only to the people to whom it mattered. After the light went out, I was so cold that I went back to my room, but I couldn’t sleep all night. Do you think it is important? Do you think I should tell the police?”

“You poor kid!” said Bob, his voice full of tenderness. “Don’t worry anymore about it. Sure I think it’s important, but you needn’t do anything about it. I’ll tell MacFarland, and then if he wants to know more he can ask you. I’ll tell him to keep your name out of it, see? He’ll understand. He’s a prince.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Lancey with a sigh of relief. “I was afraid my aunt would have to know about it, and she isn’t—well—it’s not easy to make her understand. She would have thought I ought not to have been watching. She would have thought I was to blame somehow.”

“You poor kid!” said Bob again, his voice bringing the rosy color into her cheeks. “Leave it to me. I’ll try to get another chance to speak to you about it without calling the attention of the town. Could I call you up?”

“Oh no,” said Lancey, shrinking. “My aunt would be sure to answer, or question, and be most unpleasant.”

“All right. You just trust me. I’ll get word to you somehow. Write you a note or something. Don’t you worry. If anybody questions you, I’ll see they do it most discreetly. Thanks for giving me the dope. You sure are some detective, kid. There comes Mac’s car. See you later, if I can. So long!”

He was going up the alley and appeared quite casually beside the car as Alan drew up at the drugstore. And the girl stood in the back garden among the hollyhocks; her bright hair blowing in little rings around her sweet face, watching the boy depart, and hearing over again his comforting voice, “Leave it to me, kid.”

Then suddenly, into the sunshine, burst a sharp voice. “Lancey Kennedy. What on earth are you doing mooning out there in the garden at this hour? The coffeepot has boiled over and the toast has burned to a crisp. I declare! The Kennedy comes out stronger every day. Whatever do you think you’re worth in life, anyway?”

“You sure are some detective, kid,”
Bob Lincoln’s voice rang softly in her heart as she turned in dismay to go into the house.

“And he thought it would be important, too,” she told herself as she entered the kitchen and came under the dark purple frown of her relative.

Q
uietly, Lancey stood under the drenching downpour of words that followed, until there came a piercing question at the end: “Who was that young man that went out of the alley? Didn’t I see you talking to him? If you’re going to turn out to be
that
kind of girl, you can go! Do you hear? You can go! I’ll harbor no hussies in my home, running after every man that comes along!”

Lancey’s cheeks burned crimson and then drained white as a sheet, and her eyes blazed as she faced her angry aunt.

“He was just one of the boys from high school, Aunt Theresa. I scarcely know him at all, but there was nothing unusual in his stopping to say good morning, was there? We have been in the same classes every day all last winter.”

“My experience is that when that once begins, it never stops at good mornings. But I just wanted you to understand that you’re not to have hangers-on. I won’t stand it.”

Lancey’s cheeks were very red, but she kept her voice steady and her chin up as she answered. “Well, you won’t be troubled with
him,
Aunt Theresa. I understand he’s leaving today for Egypt.”

“Thank goodness!” said the unloving aunt. “And now, eat your breakfast in a hurry. You’ll have to take what you can find since you’ve burned up the toast, for you can’t take time to make any more now. You’ve got to finish putting up that package that has to be returned to New York and hurry it to the station in time for the train. I’ve told them in the letter that it starts on this same train with the letter, so be quick about it. And while you are there, you might as well wait for the local train to come out and bring back those things I ordered sent by baggage master’s stamp last night. Can’t do a thing till I get that velvet, and Mrs. Treadwell wants her hat this afternoon. Now, for mercy’s sake, don’t get to mooning anymore. I’m sure I don’t know what you’ll eat. The bread hasn’t come yet, and those were the last two slices you burned up.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lancey cheerfully, a great light of joy coming into her eyes, which she could ill restrain. “I’ll just take a cracker and hurry. I think this clock is a little slow.”

The thing that Lancey desired above all others just now was to go to the station and see Robert Lincoln off to Egypt. Sherrill Washburn had come in yesterday, while Aunt Theresa was out for a few minutes, and told her all about it. But she had not entertained the possibility of getting off so early in morning, and she would sooner have bitten her tongue out than explain and ask permission to go. But now the way was free. There would be fifteen whole minutes between those trains, and the express would pass the other way, just after the local on which her package was due. Nobody knew how much she wanted to be on that platform among the farewell party to see her classmate off and help in the farewell song. And now the way was most miraculously opened.

She fairly flew up the stairs to get her hat. She tied that package firmly and addressed it carefully, with hands that trembled with their eagerness and haste, and was soon on her way to the station. The morning seemed to have suddenly become golden.

The bunch was all there on the platform, chattering like so many blackbirds when Alan and Bob arrived at the station, and Lancey Kennedy shyly among the rest. No sooner had they sighted Bob when they sent up a cheer, led by Phil Mattison.

Then Riggs Rathbone, the lad who owned what the others were pleased to call a “whiskey tenor,” sprang upon the baggage truck and, signing for attention, broke into a ballad to the tune of “Old Grimes Is Dead.”

Amid laughter and cheers, he began another verse in stentorian tones, and everybody hushed to listen, all on a broad grin.

There were eleven verses, each funnier than the last, dealing with phrases such as “buried cities,” and “a thousand pities,” and ending with “he’ll broadcast every one.”

Each one was in a gale of laughter when the song was done, and then a quiet seemed to fall upon them and they gathered in small groups and began to talk. Several came up to Bob and said nice things to him, wished him well, congratulated him on the honor he had won to be going on such a notable expedition and in such distinguished company.

Robert Lincoln’s face was white with astonishment and humble surprise. He was almost embarrassed by everybody’s friendliness. It needed only a distant glimpse of his disagreeable brother-in-law driving by on the street, just as the crowd set up another cheer, to be fairly overwhelming. He turned his face in embarrassment as the brother looked on in amazement.