The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  “You go right out in the sun and dry your hair, Betty,” said Mrs. Watterby, when the meal was over. “No, I don’t need any help with the dishes. Grandma and me, we’re going over to town in the car this afternoon and I don’t care whether I do the dishes till I come back or not.”

  This, for Mrs. Watterby, was a great step forward. Before the purchase of the automobile, bought with a legacy inherited by Grandma Watterby, dishes and housework had been the sum total of Mrs. Will Watterby’s existence. Now that she could drive the car and get away from her kitchen sink at will, she seemed another woman.

  Betty voiced something of this to Bob as she unfastened the towel and let her heavy dark hair fall over her shoulders. She was sitting on the back porch where the afternoon sun shone unobstructed.

  “Yes, I guess automobiles are a good thing,” admitted Bob absently. “I want Aunt Faith to get one. A runabout would be handy for them—one like Doctor Guerin’s. Remember, Betty?”

  “My goodness, I haven’t read Norma’s letter!” said Betty hastily. “I left it in my other blouse. Wait a minute, and I’ll get it.”

  She dashed into the house and was back again in a moment, the letter Bob had handed her just before the shower of oil, in her hand.

  Bob, in his favorite attitude of lying on his back and staring at the sky, was startled by an exclamation before Betty had finished the first page of the closely written missive.

  “What’s the matter?” he demanded, sitting up. “Anybody sick?”

  “Oh, Bob, such fun!” Betty’s eyes danced with pleasure. “What do you think! Norma and Alice Guerin are going to Shadyside!”

  “Well, I’m willing to jump with joy, but could you tell me what Shadyside is, and where?” said Bob humbly. “Why do the Guerin girls want to go there?”

  “I forgot you didn’t know,” apologized Betty. “Shadyside is the boarding school, Bob. That’s the name of the station, too. It’s five hours’ ride from Washington. Let’s see, there’s Bobby and Louise Littell and Libbie, and now Norma and Alice—five girls I know already! I guess I won’t be homesick or lonely.”

  But as she said it she glanced uncertainly at Bob.

  That young man snickered, turned it into a cough, and that failing, essayed to whistle.

  “Bob, you act too funny for anything!” This time Betty’s glance was not one of approval. “What does ail you?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all, Betsey,” Bob assured her. “I’m my usual charming self. Are Norma and Alice going to Washington first?”

  “No. I wish they were,” answered Betty, taking up the letter again. “Bob, I’m afraid they’re having a hard time with money matters. You know Dr. Guerin is so easy-going he never collects one-third of the bills he sends out, and any one can get his services free if they tell him a hard luck story. Norma writes that she and Alice have always wanted to go to Shadyside because their mother graduated from there when it was only a day school. Mrs. Guerin’s people lived around there somewhere. And last year, you know, Norma went to an awfully ordinary school—good enough, I suppose, but not very thorough. She couldn’t prepare for college there.”

  “Well, couldn’t we fix it some way for them?” asked Bob interestedly. “I’d do anything in the world for Doctor Guerin. Didn’t he row me that time he found us out in the fields at two o’clock in the morning? You think up some way to make him accept some money, Betty.”

  Doctor Hal Guerin and his wife and daughters had been good friends to Bob and Betty in the Bramble Farm days. The doctor, with a large country practice that brought him more affection and esteem than ready cash, had managed to look after the boy and girl more or less effectively, and Norma, his daughter, had supplied Bob with orders from her school friends for little carved pendants that he made with no better tools than an old knife. This money had been the first Bob had ever earned and had given him his first taste of independence.

  “I don’t think you could make Doctor Guerin take money, even as a loan,” said Betty slowly, in answer to Bob’s proposal. “Norma wouldn’t like it if she thought her letter had suggested such a thing. What makes it hard for them, I think, is that Mrs. Guerin expected to have quite a fortune some day. Her mother was really wealthy, and she was an only child. I don’t know where the money went, but I do know the Guerins never had any of it.”

  Bob jumped to his feet as she finished the sentence.

  “Here’s Uncle Dick!” he cried. “Did you see the new well come in, sir?”

  CHAPTER III

  SURPRISING BOB

  Betty shook back her hair and rose to kiss the gray-haired gentleman who put an arm affectionately about her.

  “I heard about that blast,” he said, and smiled good-humoredly. “Lee Chang was much worried when I went in to dinner. His one consolation was that you had eaten the tart before the oil began to fall.”

  “We were all right, only of course it rather daubed us up,” said Bob. “Betty had to wash her hair.”

  “My hair’s nothing,” declared Betty scornfully. “But my brand-new blouse that I worked on for two days—you ought to see it, Uncle Dick! Grandma Watterby thinks maybe she can get the oil out, but she says the color may come out, too.”

  Mr. Gordon sat down on the step and took off his hat.

  “You’ve a clear claim for damages, Betty,” he assured his niece gravely. “To save time, I’m willing to make good; what does a new blouse cost?”

  “This wasn’t exactly new,” explained Betty fairly. “Aunt Faith had the material in her trunk for years. But it was the first thing I ever made, and I was so proud of it.”

  “Well, we’ll see that you have something to take its place,” promised her uncle, drawing her down beside him. “I have some news for you, Betsey. When you go East next week, I’m going, too. That is, as far as Chicago. From there I take a little run up into Canada.”

  “But you said you’d spend Christmas with us!” argued Betty.

  “Oh, Christmas is months off,” returned Mr. Gordon comfortably. “I expect to be back in the States long before the holidays. And Bob’s aunts have finally made up their minds where they want to spend the winter. Aunt Faith has commissioned me to buy two tickets for southern California.”

  “But there’s Bob!” Betty gazed anxiously at her uncle. “What’s Bob going to do without any one at all, Uncle Dick?”

  Mr. Gordon looked at Bob, and an unwilling grin turned the corners of the boy’s mouth.

  “That’s the way he’s been acting all day,” scolded Betty. “What ails him? I think it’s silly to sit there and smile when there’s nothing to smile about.”

  “I suspect Bob doesn’t take kindly to secrets,” returned her uncle. “Suppose you ‘fess up, Bob, and when the atmosphere is clear we can have a little talk.”

  “All right,” said Bob, with manifest relief. “I kept quiet only because I wanted to be sure I was going, sir. Betty, Mr. Littell wrote me about a military academy in the East and put me in, touch with several boys who attend it. Uncle Dick thinks it is just the school for me, and I’m going. Timothy Derby is one of the boys. He’s a son of the man I worked for in Washington.”

  “How splendid!” With characteristic enthusiasm Betty forgot her momentary displeasure at Bob’s method of keeping a secret. “When are you going, Bob? Where is the school?”

  “That’s the best part,” said Bob boyishly. “It’s the Salsette Military Academy, Betty, and it’s right across the lake from the Shadyside school. All five of the boys Mr. Littell told me of are friends of the Littell girls, so you see it is going to be great fun all around.”

  “I never knew of anything so nice!” declared Betty. “Never! So you knew when I told you about Shadyside that you were going to be so near!”

  Bob nodded.

  “Have to keep an eye on you,” he said with mock seriousness, at which Betty made a little face.

  “You haven’t much time to get ready,” Mr. Gordon warned them. “The aunts will leave Wednesday and our train pul
ls out at ten twenty-six on Friday morning. Of course you will do your shopping in Washington and be guided by the advice of Mr. and Mrs. Littell. I wish I could go to Washington with you, but that is impossible now. You must write me faithfully, both of you, though I suppose we’ll have to expect the same delay between letters that we’ve experienced before. Most of my time will be spent on a farm thirty miles from a railroad. If you get into any difficulties, go to the Littells, and for little troubles, help each other.”

  Mr. Gordon went on to say that while Bob and Betty were independent to a greater degree than most boys and girls of their age, the same force of circumstances that made this possible also gave them a heavier responsibility. He explained that each was to have an allowance and asked that each keep a cash account to be submitted to him on his return from Canada, not, he said, to serve as a check upon extravagant or foolish expenditures, but that he might be better able to advise them and to point out avoidable mistakes.

  After supper that night he drew the boy aside for further discussion.

  “I’m really leaving Betty in your charge,” he said, and Bob stood fully two inches taller. “Not that I think she will get into any serious trouble, but there’s no telling what a bevy of high-spirited girls will think up. And you know what Betty is when once started, she can not be stopped. I rely on you to keep her confidence and hold her back if she seems inclined to act rashly. The Littells are splendid people, but they will be five hours’ distance away, while you will be across the lake. I put my trust in you, Bob.”

  Bob silently resolved to be worthy. Betty had been his first friend, and to her he gave all the pent-up loyalty and starved affection of a lonely boy nature. When Mr. Gordon came into his life, and especially when he was made his legal guardian, Bob experienced the novel sensation of having some one interested in his future. Though the various older men he had met were more than willing to help him, Mr. Gordon was the only one to succeed in winning over Bob’s almost fanatical pride and the lad who admired, respected, and loved him, would have done anything in the world for him.

  The next few days were extremely busy ones for Bob, the aunts, and Betty. Miss Hope and Miss Charity were so excited at the prospect of a journey that they completely lost their faculty for planning, and most of the work fell on Bob and Betty. Luckily there was little packing to be done, for the few bits of old furniture were to be sold for what they would bring, and the keepsakes that neither Miss Hope nor her sister could bring themselves to part with were stored in several old trunks to be housed in the Watterby attic.

  “Betty, child,” her uncle’s voice broke in upon Betty’s orderly packing one afternoon, “I know you’re going to be disappointed, but we mustn’t cry over what can’t be helped. I’ve had a wire and must leave for Chicago Wednesday morning. You and Bob will have to make the Washington trip alone.”

  “I knew it was too good to be true,” mourned Betty, a tear dropping on the yellowed silk shawl she was neatly folding. “Oh, dear, Uncle Dick, I did want you to go with us part of the way!”

  “Better luck next time,” replied Mr. Gordon. “There’s no use grumbling over what you can’t change.”

  This was his philosophy, and he followed it consistently. Bob and Betty, though keenly disappointed they were not to have his companionship, tried to accept the situation as cheerfully as he did.

  The packing was hastened, and soon the old farmhouse was stripped and dismantled, the trunks stored in the Watterby attic, the furniture carried off to the homes of those who bought it, and the key delivered to Dave Thorne, the section foreman, who would deliver it to the superintendent.

  The hospitable Watterbys had insisted that the travelers should all stay with them until the time for their several departures, and Bob and Betty had a last glorious ride on Clover and the ungainly white horse while the aunts rested and put the final touches to their preparations for their journey.

  The next morning all was bustle and hurry, for the aunts were to start on their trip and Mr. Gordon must be off to Chicago. Miss Hope insisted on being taken to the station an hour before their train was due, and when a puff of steam up the track announced the actual approach of the train the two old ladies trembled with nervousness and excitement. Mr. Gordon guided them up the steps of the car, after a tearful farewell to Bob and Betty, and saw that they were settled in the right sections. He spoke to the conductor on the way out, and tipped the porter and maid liberally to look after the travelers’ comfort.

  CHAPTER IV

  MORE GOOD-BYES

  “They’ll feel better presently,” he remarked, rejoining Bob and Betty on the platform. “I know the boarding house they’ve chosen is fine in every way and they’re going to have a delightful winter.”

  The train started slowly, and the black silk gloves of the aunts waved dolorously from the window. They were embarked on their adventure.

  “Don’t look so solemn, Betty,” teased her uncle. “If I’m not mistaken that’s the smoke from my train. I don’t want any one to weep over my departure.”

  “I could, but I won’t,” Betty assured him bravely. “You won’t get sick or anything, will you, Uncle Dick? And you’ll write to me every week?”

  “Like a clock,” he promised her. “There goes the agent with my bags—this is the local, all right. Good-bye, Bob. Remember what I’ve asked of you.”

  Mr. Gordon wrung Bob’s hand and smiled down into the blue eyes lifted so fervently to his.

  “You’re my boy, too,” he said clearly. “Don’t forget, lad, if you need me.”

  Then he swept Betty into his arms.

  “Be a good girl, Sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing her.

  They watched him climb up the steps of the snorting, smoky local, saw his bags tossed into the baggage car, and then, with a shrill grinding of wheels, the training resumed its way. As long as they could see, the tall figure in the gray suit stood on the platform and waved a white handkerchief to them.

  “Oh, Bob, don’t let me cry,” begged Betty, in a sudden panic. “Everybody’s watching us. Let’s go somewhere, quick.”

  “All right, we will,” promised Bob. “We’ll take the car to Doctor Morrison. Hop in, Betsey, and dry your eyes. You’re going traveling yourself day after to-morrow.”

  “I wasn’t really crying,” explained Betty as she settled herself in the shabby car that had belonged to her uncle; he had sold it to the town physician. “But doesn’t it give you a lonesome feeling to be the one that’s left? I hate to say good-bye, anyway.”

  Bob’s experience with motors was rather limited, and what slight knowledge he possessed had been gained in a few lessons taken while riding with Mr. Gordon. However, the boy was sure that he could drive the car the brief distance to the doctor’s house, and Betty shared his confidence. From the Morrison house it was only a short walk to the Watterby farm, where they were to stay until they left for the East.

  Betty forgot to cry as Bob started the car so suddenly that it shot forward like a live thing. He jammed on the brake and brought it to a standstill so abruptly that Betty came very near to pitching through the windshield.

  “Couldn’t you do it—er—more gently?” she hinted delicately.

  “Hold fast and I’ll try,” grinned Bob. “As a chauffeur I’d be a good iceman.”

  The second time he managed better, and the battered little car moved off with less disturbing results.

  In a very few minutes they had reached Doctor Morrison’s garage.

  The doctor urged Bob and Betty strongly to stay to supper with him and promised beaten biscuit and honey, but although they knew the skill of his old Southern cook very well, they had promised Grandma Watterby to be there for supper and such a promise could not be disregarded.

  “Well, anyway,” said Betty soothingly, as they walked on toward the Watterby farm, “when we ride Clover and Reuben up to the fields we won’t have to worry about how to make them go.”

  “No, that’s so,” agreed Bob. “But, Betty, I ha
te to think of giving up Reuben. He isn’t much to look at, but he has been a mighty good horse.”

  “I’d feel worse,” declared Betty, “if we had to sell them to strangers. We wouldn’t know how they would be treated then. Now we are sure they will be cared for and petted and they won’t miss us.”

  Reuben and Clover, Mr. Gordon had said, were to be disposed of as Betty and Bob chose. The horses were theirs to give away or sell as they preferred. Bob had instantly decided to give his mount to Dave Thorne, the section foreman, who had shown him many kindnesses and who was delighted to get a trained saddle horse. Horses were very scarce in that section of the country, and Mr. Gordon had gone to considerable trouble to get these.

  Betty had elected to give Clover to the new superintendent’s daughter, the girl who was to move with her parents into the old Saunders farmhouse. Betty had never seen her, but knew she was about fourteen or fifteen and eager to learn to ride.

  The day before they were to start for Washington, Bob and Betty rode the horses up to the oil fields and gave them into the charge of Dave Thorne. The superintendent was already on the ground but his family and furniture were not due for a week.

  Clover and Reuben bore the parting better than their young mistress and master, and Betty was glad when all the good-byes had been said and they stepped into the Watterby car which Mrs. Watterby had driven up for them. The fields were about eight miles from her house.

  “You’ll be happier when once you’re on the train, Betty,” said good Mrs. Watterby, glancing swiftly at Betty’s clouded face, “This going around saying good-bye to people and things is enough to break anybody up. Now to-morrow me and mother won’t weep a tear over you—you’ll see. We’re glad you’re going to school to have a good time with all those young folks. Now what’s that Chinaman want?”

  Lee Chang came running from the bunk house, waving something tied in white paper.