Chance of a Lifetime

by Grace Livingston Hill

  Chapter 5

  Quietly, 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.

  “Lincoln! Lincoln! Link! Link! Lincoln!

  Lincoln! Lincoln! Robert of Lincoln!

  Bob O’Link! Bob O’Link!

  Spinck! Spank! Spinck!”

  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.”

  “Wake up, good Rockland citizens,

  Wake up from your long nap!

  Bob Lincoln’s sailing Egypt way

  To put us on the map!

  To put us on the map, my friends,

  Put Rockland on the map!

  Bob Lincoln’s sailing Egypt way

  To put us on the map!”

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

  “Look out King Tut, your poor old mutt!

  Warn all your mummy friends!

  Bob Lincoln’s sailing down their way!

  All secrecy now ends—”

  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.

  “Lincoln! Lincoln! Rah! Rah, rah!

  Bob Lincoln! Bob Lincoln!

  Egypt! Egypt! Egypt!”

  Looking around to find his own confidence, he saw Lancey Kennedy standing shyly just behind him, with shining eyes and a glow on her face that reminded him of the pink hollyhock near which she had stood an hour ago. He stepped quickly back and stood beside her, stooping to speak to her in a low tone.

  “I told Mac,” he said guardedly. “He’s awfully glad to know about it. He says it makes things a lot plainer. They won’t bring your name in. He seemed terribly grateful to you.”

  Lancey’s heart warmed with joy, and her smile gave all the answer that was needed, even without the murmured “I’m glad” that she managed to voice.

  Then suddenly there was a stir among the crowd. The train was coming. Far down the track, it showed a speck of unfolding black with a plume of gray.

  Riggs Rathbone jumped upon the baggage truck again and began to sing, and as everyone around took up the words, Robert Lincoln stooped over with a sudden impulse and whispered into Lancey’s ear, “Would you mind if I wrote to you sometimes?”

  “Oh! That would be wonderful,” murmured Lancey softly.

  “Thanks awfully!” said Robert. “That’ll mean a lot to me, to have a girl back home!” He caught her hand in a quick, warm clasp, and dropped it again before anyone could notice. Then the tide of song swept around them and Lancey, with starry eyes, joined her voice, singing from her heart,

  “God be with you till we meet again—”

  The train was coming faster now. It had just stopped at Millville Junction, for a second, to take on a passenger at the signal, and now it was approaching all too fast.

  “When life’s perils thick confound you,

  Put His arms unfailing round you!”

  sang Lancey and then looked up at Robert with her heart in her eyes.

  Then the train was upon them, and everybody tried to say a last good-bye at once, and Robert was standing on the platform, a Rockland pennant in his hand that someone had given him; Alan on the top step below, and everybody yelling messages in perfect babel.

  The train began to move, and Alan swung off with a quick handclasp. Robert, waving his pennant, gave them all a swift, inclusive smile, and then put his eyes upon little Lancey, standing back against the brick station, waving a bit of a pink-bordered handkerchief and smiling through unmistakable tears. Her little pink frock was the last thing he could identify as the train swept him out of sight of the hometown that had never before meant so much to him but had suddenly become wondrously dear.

  “I think that was the greatest thing you ever did!” said Sherrill with shining eyes, as Alan put her into his car and drove her back to the Washburn house. “You may do some things greater in your life, but I shall always feel this was
the greatest.”

  “Great?” said Alan. “Nothing great about it at all. I was having the time of my life. Sherry, he’s a prince! What a fool I was. I wonder who else I’m misunderstanding and underrating. I’m going to get out the list of people I don’t like, and the people I consider my enemies, and see if I can’t clean them off the slate. I shouldn’t wonder if I find out I’m a pretty mean kind of cuss, and didn’t know enough to know it.”

  “Alan! Stop it! I say! Oh, it was great. And you did it all. Did you see how happy he looked when they cheered, and how surprised? And Alan, he told me he was going to study the Bible with us. He told me how you had been talking to him.”

  While they were talking it over, Lancey, in her little faded pink frock, with her heart all happy and sorry, and her face all shining and kind of teary around the lashes, was walking demurely back to the millinery store with her bundle, utterly forgetful of the scolding she would probably receive because she was a minute late from having watched the express out of sight. But, for once, Lancey didn’t care.

  When Alan left Sherrill at her home and drove back to the hardware store, his heart grew suddenly heavy. The affairs of his father’s business settled down upon his shoulders like so much lead. There were all the papers of the safe to be checked over, to make sure nothing was gone. How was he to know anyway? Was there a list somewhere? He must find out somehow.

  Then there was that Rawlins coming to see him at eleven o’clock, and somehow he felt less prepared to meet him than ever. If he could only take him out and thrash him, as he had done on the intruder the night before. Perhaps he had already! If the tale Lancey Kennedy had told to Bob meant anything at all, it might mean that. In which case, would the man come at all? And would he be able to recognize his opponent of the midnight fray? There was that to investigate of course, and perhaps he should do it at once. He might have to out the police on the matter. He must see Lancey. How the dickens was he to do that, and keep his promise to Bob not to let her aunt see him talking to Lancey? Well, it must be done somehow.

  And then there was the mortgage. The real great trouble of all! What should he do next? Oh, if Judge Whiteley would only come home.

  Lancey relieved him of one trouble as soon as he arrived at the store by running in for a paper of tacks, and although she seemed in a great hurry, she answered all his questions quite clearly, so that when she left he felt fairly sure that Rawlins was his burglar, for Rawlins was boarding at Mrs. Brower’s. But what could he want from the safe? And—did he get it or not? If only his father was able to be asked a few questions. But the doctor’s orders were very strict. He must not be disturbed for several days yet.

  Alan spent an hour going over all the papers he could find, carefully, and only grew more and more perplexed. He tried to think of some friend of his father’s that he could ask to come and help him, but he was sure that his reticent father would not have been willing to confide his troubles to anyone but Judge Whiteley. And Judge Whiteley seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. He groaned inwardly at the responsibility thrust upon his young shoulders.

  At half past ten there came a telegram from the city.

  WAS IN BAD AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT YESTERDAY. AM IN HOSPITAL. MY REPRESENTATIVE WILL CALL ON YOU THIS AFTERNOON AT FIVE, FULLY EMPOWERED TO ACT. THIS WILL BE YOUR LAST CHANCE. RAWLINS

  After Alan had read this twice he put on his hat, went over to the Brower boardinghouse, and asked if he might see a man named Rawlins who was boarding there.

  Mrs. Brower seated him in her dismal little parlor and toiled up to the third story back. It was some minutes before she returned bearing an open note in her hand.

  “Why, he isn’t here. He was called to the city on the early train this morning,” she said, glancing down at the paper in her hand as if to verify her statement.

  “When will he be back?” asked Alan, trying to get a glimpse of the handwriting on the note.

  “Well, I can’t say fer sure,” said the woman. “I guess fer supper. He generally turns up fer meals. He ‘lowed he had business here for another week yet.”

  Alan thanked her and departed, feeling reasonably sure that he knew his man, yet still uncertain what he ought to do next. If only Judge Whiteley were at home.

  The day wore on, the store full most of the time. The story of the burglar was beginning to seep out in spite of Alan’s efforts to have it kept quiet. Many people came in to ask questions, which made it none the easier, and the hour of five o’clock was drawing on. Rawlins’s representative would soon be there. Perhaps he ought to have told the police. He could have confided in Bill Atley. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. But Bill was chief and was on night duty this week. He would be asleep yet. And already it was five minutes after four. In despair he put his head down on the desk and began to pray. Joe had taken a customer down cellar to look over some different sizes of chicken wire, and there was no one else around for the moment. In panic and humiliation he prayed, “Oh God! I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this alone. There’s no one else but You to ask. Won’t You help me somehow quick? For Dad’s sake, won’t You help? For goodness’ sake— I’ve got to the limit.”

  There were hot tears stinging his eyes and he felt an overwhelming wave, like a sob, welling up uncontrollably from somewhere, just as if he had been a little kid. He must snap out of this somehow. He was a man.

  But suddenly, the telephone rang sharply in his ear.

  He jumped and found his hand trembling as he reached for the receiver. It was probably that snake Rawlins, or his man, and he wasn’t ready for him yet. What should he do?

  “Hello,” he said weakly. His voice was almost too husky to be heard.

  “Hello!” It was Judge Whiteley’s voice that boomed over the wire. “Is that you, Alan? This is Whiteley. They tell me at the house you’ve been trying to get me several times. Is there anything important? Called the house and your mother told me about your father’s accident. Anything I can do? I’m mighty sorry about it. I’m at Socker’s Point. Came up yesterday to try a case and couldn’t get away last night. Thought I’d better call you.”

  “Oh yes!” said Alan eagerly. “Oh, Judge! When can I see you? I’m in an awful hole and I need your advice.”

  “Can’t get back before eleven o’clock, Monday. Case is holding over. Would three o’clock, Monday, suit you all right? I expect I have a lot of business to clean up when I get back to the courthouse.”

  “Oh—” began Alan despairingly.

  “What’s the trouble, kid, anything you can tell me now? What is it, personal or business?”

  “Business!” said Alan choking over the word and wondering what he could tell, what he ought to tell over the phone.

  “Business? What’s the nature of it?” asked the judge.

  “Somebody’s trying to skin Dad out of everything, Judge!”

  “You don’t say!” said the judge in a startled tone. “We can’t have that, of course. What can I do? Who is it? What is it?”

  “It’s quite a story!”

  “I see. Too long to tell over the phone?”

  “Only a mortgage, and a man who wants his money right away and tells to sell Dad out. I’ve tried everything that Dad told me but can’t make any of them work, and Dad’s too sick to ask about it.”

  “What did your dad suggest?”

  “Said to sell some property in the city, if I could, but the only price I can get in a rush sale is a crime, and wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket.”

  “I see! What about a new mortgage?”

  “That’s what Dad thought was a last resort if it could be done, but two companies I went to in town won’t handle it, and I don’t know where else to try.”

  “H’mmm!” the judge said in a reflective voice. “Well, now, that oughn’t to be a hard proposition. How much time have we?”

  “Only till Monday,” the boy’s tired voice said, “and some tough egg is coming around here at five to make sort of a proposition. I don’
t know what.”

  “Well, you must absent yourself, see?” the kindly voice said. “Clear out and don’t have a thing to say. Now you let me handle this. I’ll phone Charlie Ambler right away tonight and arrange things. You take Charlie the papers—have you got the papers?”

  “Oh sure! Somebody broke into the store last night and blew open the safe, but I’d taken the papers all home to check.”

  “You don’t say!” said the judge in a startled tone. “Well, don’t worry. You take the papers around to Charlie at the bank, first thing in the morning, and we’ll have it all fixed up. Do you know how much it is?”

  “Twelve thousand,” said Alan in a worried tone.

  “All right, son,” said the judge. “That’s only a pint cup of trouble. Don’t you worry a minute more. Just get those papers over to Charlie as soon as the bank opens, and we’ll have that tough egg right where he’ll be helpless before he has a chance.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Alan in a choking voice. “I’m all kinds of grateful. I—”

  “There, there, son! That’s nothing!” the judge said in a cheery voice. “Of course I’d look after things. Your father and I were always the best of pals. And by the way, better just put Bill Atley wise to that tough egg that’s coming. It might save trouble, and you can always trust Bill. All right, son! See you Monday. Call me here if you need me before.”

  Alan hung up the receiver in a daze of astonishment. God had answered. The telephone had rung while he was praying. “Before they call, I will answer.” Why, it had been made true for him. And he had never taken it as anything but a sort of a figure of speech before. He hadn’t really expected an answer when he was praying.

  The screen door from the street was suddenly swung open and went shut on its patent hinges with businesslike precision, and Alan remembered it was nearly five o’clock. He looked up with sudden panic, and there stood Bill Atley.

  Was God sending all the answers at once? A humble feeling of joy and relief filled his heart.