The Prodigal Girl (29 page)

“I’ve already done that,” said Chris in a half-offended tone. “The only morning train was the one Dad went for. There isn’t another till two o’clock. The station wasn’t open till eight o’clock, so they don’t know whether any girl took that early train or not. But anyway, if Betts was on that train Dad’ll see her. Dad’ll take care of her. We’ll likely get a telegram from Dad pretty soon saying she’s along with him and for us not to worry.”

Eleanor caught at the idea eagerly, but she did not feel like relaxing their efforts.

“We could send a telegram to that train, Chris!” she said, brightening. “We could let your father know. He’ll understand just what to do.”

“Now, look here, Muth,” exclaimed Chris, raising his voice, “you don’t understand about things. You gotta let me han’l this. Dad’s train musta got away off we don’t know where, an’ what’s the use o’ bothering Dad? He left me in charge an’ I’m gonna handle this. If Dad knew Betts had gone off with that half-baked simp he’d go off his nut. You know how crazy he was with that trouble about me, and Betts means ten thousand times more to him than I ever did—”

“Chris!”

“Yep! She does! She’s a girl! I don’t mind. But she does. And he’d hafta give up that ‘mportant business he was going to tend to and go traipsing off no one knows where. And you know he said he simply had ta be down home tonight! And what could he do anyway? I ask you. Could he do more’n we’re doing? You don’t seem to realize she started from here! She didn’t start from down there! And he’d hafta come back here, and then where would his ‘mportant business be, I ask you. And mebbe, if he knew what Dud had done, leastways what he was gonta do, he go an’
kill
Dud, or hit his dad or something awful! You know how Dad is about Betts! You know he’d be awful angry. No. Muth, the thing for us to do is get busy, and right now I’m gonta get a long distance in for Dud Weston. If he’s home I’ll talk to him kinda like I wanted him to do a favor for Betts or something like that, see? And then I’ll find out where he’s gonta be tonight, an’ then I’ll send the p’lice to arrest him, see? Or something, so if Betts has gone down to Briardale ta meet him we’ll stand her up! See?”

“But Chris, you don’t even know that Dudley is at home. If he’s meeting Betty somewhere, or if he came up here after her—”

“I’ll eat my hat if Dud Weston ever took this long trip after Betts. He’d make her come somewhere. He’s the laziest cuss in Briardale. However, I’ll find out. I gotta buddy at home that’s a regular sleuth fer finding out things. I’ll put him onta this job by phone—”

“But Chris, you mustn’t let people in Briardale know about your sister. Why, it would be simply awful! We must stop it before they ever get married! We
must!
And then there will be nothing for them to gossip about. You mustn’t tell any boy about your sister’s private affairs!”

“There you are again, Muth. It’s evident you don’t trust me.
I
wouldn’t tell anything about my sister! I’d just let that fella know I wanted ta get pointers on Dud Weston. Now, Muth, I gotta get that call in fer Dud. It’s our best bet ta find out first whether he’s at home ‘r not. If he is, we got plenty o’ time ta let Dad know before he gets there, and he can get Betts before she sees him. He can nail Dud before he goes to meet her. See?”

“Oh!” groaned Eleanor, sinking down on the edge of the bed again. “Oh, I’m afraid it will
kill
your father!”

“That’s it, Muth, we gotta get this thing in hand before Dad has to know. And I gotta get busy. Muth, you sit down and write out what Betts had on so’s I can give a description if I hafta have her paged ur anything at a station ur hotel.”

“But how do I know what she had on?” groaned the mother.

“Look in her closet and see what she left behind!” said the practical boy. “Did she wear her new fur coat?”

Given something practical to do Eleanor went to work, taking out the things in Betty’s closet, running up to the attic to see which suitcase she had taken, writing down a probable description.

Jane appeared at the head of the stairs, looking silently in on her mother as she wrote.

“Aren’t we ever going to have lunch?” she asked. “I’m starved. What are you and Chris fighting about?”

“Oh, Jane!” said her mother, her eyes filling with tears again. “You don’t know what a dreadful thing has happened, dear.”

“Sure, I do!” said Jane. “I’m not dumb. Betts is a selfish thing, that’s what she is. She doesn’t care whether we any of us have any Christmas or any good times anymore or anything.” Jane was winking back the tears, and her voice sounded suddenly like a sob at the end of her sentence.

Eleanor turned and caught Jane in her arms and realized suddenly that it had been a long time since she had held Jane so. Her little girl had somehow grown hard and unloving and had not wanted babying. But now suddenly Jane buried her face on her mother’s shoulder and cried like any little, dear girl whose good times were spoiled and who wanted to be comforted.

“Darling,” said Eleanor, “never mind Christmas. We’ll make all that up afterward if we can only find Betty. My dear, your sister is in great danger!”

“Well, she put herself there, didn’t she? If she hadn’t a wanted to she wouldn’t have, would she? I wouldn’t fuss about her. Let her go. We can have a better time without her. She always wanted the best things anyway, and she’s been cross as two sticks ever since she came. She hated this place, and she wasn’t going to get over it. She told me. And she didn’t like ta work. It wasn’t fair, and then she always got the biggest pieces of pie—I’m glad she’s gone.” And Jane shook the long dark forehead curl out of her eyes and glared up fiercely through her tears.

“My dear, my dear! What a terrible state of things between two sisters. But you must not talk that way. Even if Betty has done wrong and been selfish, now she is in great danger. We must do all we can to find her, and there will never be any happiness in this house till she is found. We love all our children. Now, Jane, dear, stop crying and stop thinking hard thoughts against Betty, and try to help me. Think! Did you ever hear Betty say anything about where she would go if she went away? Did she ever say she wanted to go?”

“I’ll say she did!” said the little girl. “She couldn’t get done talking about it. She told me once she was going ta write ta Dudley Weston and get him to rescue her from this poisonous dump. That’s just what she said. She said Dudley would lie down and let her walk over him if she asked him.”

“Have you any idea how she was planning to go? Did she suggest any way when she talked with you?”

The little girl shook her head:

“No, but you might find something in her drawer, some letter, or in some of her pockets. She had a letter from Dudley one day. I saw his name signed. Just as I came into her room, I was looking over her shoulder, and I saw it. It said, “Yours ta get drunk. Dud” and I was going to read more only she turned around and saw me and was awfully angry at me and said she’d tell you and Daddy if I didn’t keep out of her room. But she hid the letter in her pocket. Why ‘n’t ya look?”

Jane went over to the bureau and began to rummage.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking up the package Betty had left with her name on it. She broke the string and opened the paper.

“Her coral beads!” she said. “Well, she never liked them herself; she needn’t think she’s done anything great! But they always looked better on me than they did on her. I think she’s just too mean for anything, anyway, to spoil all our Christmas, and Daddy gone, too. It’s desperate!” And Jane broke down and cried again.

Eleanor was looking through the things in the closet, and she stopped and gazed at her little girl in dismay. Such deep-rooted hardness between two sisters! How had it come about? So unloving, so selfish, both of them! Why hadn’t she known how things were going? Why hadn’t she seen it before and done something to bring about a sweeter life in the home? Oh, she had been wrong! It had been her own fault! This must be a punishment for her own neglect.

But she had thought she was doing everything for them! They were being educated in the best of schools, with the most expensive teachers, and that class at the women’s club had said that children must not be fussed over and noticed in every little wrong thing they did.

Suddenly she came on a couple of letters in Betty’s old sweater pocket and brought them out to the light. They were only from Betty’s friend Gipsy, but they shed a good deal of light on Betty’s associates and opened Eleanor’s eyes to a number of things, more than any amount of club lectures could have done.

She was sitting in a daze of sorrow looking at them when Chris came back. Word had come back from the Weston home that Dudley was away at a weekend party down at the shore.

“So that’s that!” said Chris, frowning thoughtfully. “Mebbe he’s there, and mebbe he isn’t. If I only knew where that house party was, whose house—Aw, this is the limit, living away off up here! If I knew who was giving it, might be Gwen or Fran or Gyp Magilkey. ‘F I only knew, I might telephone there and ask to speak to Dud. Maybe that’s where Betts was going to meet him.”

“Oh!” said Eleanor, looking up from her daze of trouble. “Why, it must be Gwen’s house party. This letter I found in Betty’s pocket speaks of a house party at Gwen’s and a dance at Shillingsworth’s. Isn’t that the dancing pavilion down at Lancet Beach?”

“It sure is,” said Chris excitedly. “Let me see that letter!”

He glanced through Gipsy’s effusive epistle, flung it back into his mother’s lap with a contemptuous “Say, isn’t that just like
a fool
girl!,” and went off downstairs again. Eleanor felt a thrill of hope. Perhaps, after all, Betty was only going down to that house party and didn’t really mean to get married. Perhaps she only said that to throw them off the track and worry them so they wouldn’t make a fuss about the party afterward.

But in half an hour Chris came back with a really anxious look on his face.

“I had Gwen on the line all righty,” he said, slumping into a chair near his mother. “But she didn’t know a thing about Dud; said he promised to be there last evening to help put up laurel, but he hadn’t turned up and hadn’t sent any word. I asked who else was there, letting on I was a friend of Dud’s and might wantta speak to ‘em. They named over all Betts’ class, but they didn’t say a word about Betts so they can’t be expecting ‘em back there. So that’s that! I’m up a tree! Where’s Jane?”

“I sent her out with the children. She’s so forlorn I thought it would do her good to get a little air. Don’t you think we ought to try finding out about your father’s train? Couldn’t we wire him now? He ought to be getting into the city in an hour or so, and I wouldn’t know where to reach him after he gets off the train. The office will be closed, you know, and he didn’t have time to tell me where he would be—”

“I been keepin’ the wires hot,” said Chris efficiently. “I got the list of towns that early train stops at, and I’ve phoned three or four, but none of ‘em have seen a girl of Betty’s description. I was thinking of trying Springfield next, only that’s not far enough away. Dud would never have come way up there for Betts. He wouldn’t have gas enough. He never has any gas left in his car. Always hasta borrow ta get anywhere. Bah! But I gotta wire in now for that conductor of the early train. He’ll know if a girl got on that early and where she was going to.”

“Why yes,” said Eleanor. “Why didn’t we think of that before? Of course he’d know.”

Jane appeared in the doorway with the twins behind her.

“I went down to the log cabin,” said Jane solemnly, “and asked ‘em if they had heard a strange sound in the night like anyone going down the lane or anything, or maybe early this morning, but they said no, they didn’t hear a thing, that it mighta been a rabbit I heard, and the sick man said it couldn’ta been anything ‘cause he’s most always awake nights, and he’d a heard it if it hadaben. But I found some tracks!”

“Tracks!” said Chris eagerly. “What kinda tracks?”

“Tracks in the snow, ‘bout the size of Betty’s galoshes, where she musta broken through the crust of the snow.”

“Where?” Chris was out following her like a real detective.

The tracks left the beaten path and went in a detour across the fields, giving wide berth to the log cabin and ending abruptly in a stretch of crust that was thicker than the rest because it was in a sheltered nook where the sun could not reach it and was strong enough to bear the weight of a light person. Chris tested it and then walked all around it searching till he came to the tracks again, fifty feet ahead on the southern slope of the hill, and followed them down till they ended in the highway. But they unmistakably turned toward the village. That was plain. He felt sure they were Betty’s.

Chris hurried back to the house to tell his mother, and just as he entered the door he heard the telephone ringing.

It was an answer to his telegram to the morning train conductor. Yes, a young girl of Betty’s description had boarded the train at the village station that morning. She was all alone and had paid her way as far as Springfield.

“Well, we got something at last!” said Chris as he hung up the receiver. “Gee! I never thought she’d be so near as that. I wish I’d telephoned there first! Good night! She’s had time to make a great getaway. What time is it, five o’clock? Well, I can find out where she bought a ticket to from there, anyway, or if she didn’t buy one I’ll have her paged! I can find out if she was alone when she bought her ticket, too. Well, we’re getting on!”

Chapter 21

W
hen Betty got out of her train at Springfield and disappeared into the station she found that it was half past ten o’clock. That was three-quarters of an hour later than the timetable had said it would be, and she sighed contentedly. Three-quarters of an hour less to wait for Dudley.

She looked around eagerly. Perhaps he was even here already. Unconsciously she straightened her hat and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes, for she had just woke up from one of the soundest sleeps she ever had and might have been carried on beyond this station if it had not been for the kindness of the conductor who woke her and helped her out.