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

by Julia K. Duncan

  “But your sister!” stammered Betty. “She doesn’t know me. What will she say?”

  “She’ll say you have eyes just like Juliet, the little sister who died when she was about your age,” declared Dan Gowdy gently. “Don’t you fret, Sister, she’ll be glad to have you. Now here’s your ticket, and I’ll talk to Steve as soon as you’re on board the train. That’s her smoke now.”

  Betty was conscious that there was something else on her mind, but it was not until she was seated in the train and had had her ticket punched that she remembered. She had thanked kind Dan Gowdy rather incoherently, though as warmly as she could, and had only half heard his explanation that she was taking the 12:01 train up the line instead of the 12:03 down, and it was no wonder that in the bustle of boarding the train she had forgotten her intention of telegraphing to her Uncle Dick. He had given her his address as the Willard Hotel, and the letter was already six days old.

  “But I really think in the morning will be better,” decided Betty, watching the flying landscape. “He wouldn’t have given me the address if he didn’t expect to be there for some time. Before I take the Washington train I’ll telegraph him and let him know when to meet me.”

  The train made three stops before Halperin was reached, and Betty stepped down to find herself before a pretty, up-to-date station built of cream-colored brick, with a crowd of stylish summer folk mingling on the platform with farmers and townspeople. Several automobiles were backed up waiting for passengers, and there were one or two old-fashioned hacks. A trolley car was rounding the street corner, the motorman sounding his bell noisily.

  “Betty Gordon, isn’t it?” asked a pleasant voice.

  A round-faced man was smiling down at her, a young man, Betty decided, in spite of the white hair. His keen dark eyes were pleasant, and he held out his hand cordially.

  “Dan told me you had cornflowers on your hat,” he said quizzically, “and I, knowing that Dan calls all blue flowers cornflowers, picked you out right away. Only they are forget-me-nots, aren’t they?”

  “They’re supposed to be larkspur,” answered Betty, laughing and feeling at ease at once. “Perhaps the milliner didn’t have a garden.”

  “Well, anyway, they’re blue,” said the brother-in-law comfortably. “Don’t suppose Dan told you my name?”

  He was guiding her around the station toward the trolley tracks as he spoke.

  “He said the baby was named for him, but he didn’t say what your name was,” admitted Betty dimpling.

  “Just like him!” grinned her companion. “Dan’s so all-fired proud of that youngster he never lets a chance slip to tell we named him Daniel Gowdy Brill. Though Dan senior usually forgets to add the Brill.”

  “Does—does Mrs. Brill know I’m coming?” ventured Betty.

  “She sure does! I telephoned her the minute I heard from Dan, and I suspect she and the baby are sitting out on the fence now watching for you to come along. Sorry I can’t go with you, but I’ve just come on duty. You tell the conductor to let you off at Brill’s, and I’ll see you at supper tonight.”

  He helped her on the car, tipped his hat, and ran back to the station, leaving Betty with the comfortable feeling that the Brills were used to company and rather liked it.

  She repeated her instructions to the conductor, who nodded silently, and, after a quarter of an hour’s ride, signaled to her that her destination was reached. They had passed the town limits, and were in the open country. Betty had noticed several farmhouses, of the artistic remodeled type, evidently summer homes of the well-to-do, as the car rattled along.

  She saw one of these as she stepped from the trolley car, and also, under a tree, a young woman holding a beautiful, rosy baby. These two immediately swooped down upon her.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come!” Mrs. Brill kissed her unaffectedly. “Kiss Danny, too! Isn’t he a nice baby? We waited lunch for you, and if you’re half as starved as we are—”

  Still chattering, she led the way into the house. Mrs. Brill was an elder sister of the Hagar’s Corner’s agent and very like him in face, manner, and bright, cheery way of speaking. The house was tastefully furnished, and a white-capped maid could be seen hovering over the table as they went upstairs. Betty learned long afterward that Mr. Brill’s father was wealthy and idolized his son’s wife, who had given the younger man the ambition and spur his career had lacked until he met and married her. It was lovely Rose Gowdy who persuaded Steve Brill to take the job of telegraph operator, forgetting his prematurely white hair, and she who encouraged him to work his way to the top of the railroad business. Rose, and Rose’s son, were given all the credit of that ultimate success by the older Brill.

  “I had a little sister once who looked just like you,” said Mrs. Brill, as she watched Betty smooth her hair at the mirror in the chintz-hung guest room. “Her name was Juliet. Poor old Dan nearly broke his heart when she died.”

  “He said something about her,” replied Betty shyly. “Oh, look at that cunning baby! He thinks he can eat his own foot!”

  “He will, too, if he doesn’t get his bottle soon,” said the baby’s mother, rising. “Come, dear, we’ll go down. Danny has his bottle in his wheeler right in the dining-room.”

  The little maid served them a dainty meal, and the round-eyed baby fell asleep as they ate and talked, lying in blissful content in a white-enameled contrivance that was like a crib on four wheels, and sucking quietly on his bottle.

  “Now if you want to lie down, you may,” said Mrs. Brill when they had finished. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of hours with two of my neighbors who are planning a minstrel show for the country club. They had already planned to come when Steve telephoned. If you’re not tired, perhaps you’ll enjoy looking over our farm. Even if you’ve spent your summer on one, you may find things to interest you.”

  Betty was not tired, and she had been longing to explore the belt of green fields that encircled the old farmhouse. Hatless, but carrying her sweater over her arm, she went happily out.

  There was a small but well-kept poultry yard with some handsome white leghorns lazily sunning themselves; a gentle-eyed Jersey cow stood close to the first pair of bars; and a fat, lazy collie snoozed under a cherry tree but declined to accompany Betty on her explorations, though she petted and flattered and coaxed him with all her powers of persuasion. He wagged his tail cordially and beamed upon her good-naturedly, but as to getting up and walking about so soon after dinner—well, he begged to be excused.

  “You’re a lazy thing!” said the girl indignantly, finally giving up the task as hopeless and climbing the fence into a larger pasture.

  Over in one corner of the field she spied something that quickened her steps with pleasure. A baby colt, long-legged, sleek of head and altogether “adorable” as Betty would have said, ambled more or less ungracefully about enjoying the shade of a clump of trees and sampling the grass at intervals.

  “Oh, I do hope you’re tame!” whispered Betty softly.

  She was fond of animals, and Bramble Farm, with the exception of a few lambs, had had no young life in its pastures and stables. The little calves were always sold as early as possible that there might be more milk for butter, and Betty was fairly aching to pet something.

  She walked cautiously up to the colt, who sniffed at her suspiciously, but stood his ground. He pricked his ears forward and looked at her inquiringly.

  “You dear!” said the girl quietly. “You little beauty! You wouldn’t mind if I patted you, would you?”

  She put out one hand and touched the rough side of the little animal. He stood perfectly still, and she stroked him for a minute or two, speaking gently to him. Presently he nuzzled her playfully.

  “Oh, you darling!” she cried delighted. “Wouldn’t I love to take you with me and have you for a pet! If you wouldn’t grow any larger than you are now, I’d take you everywhere just like a dog.”

  She had both arms around the colt’s neck now, and he seemed to enjoy b
eing petted. All at once Betty thought she heard hoof-beats on the ground, and at the same time the colt raised his head and whinnied.

  Betty looked up and across the field toward the house. She stood back from the colt and stared in dismay and astonishment at what she saw.

  Tearing across the ground, headed directly for her, was a fierce animal with flashing red nostrils, huge mouth open wide and showing two great rows of strong yellow teeth bared to the gums. Sparks seemed to fly from the hoofs and a coarse black tail streamed in the wind.

  “Good gracious!” gasped Betty weakly. “That must be the colt’s mother!”

  The colt whinnied again in welcome and delight, but Betty felt rooted to the earth.

  CHAPTER X

  FELLOW TRAVELERS

  It is sometimes said that in moments of danger one’s whole life passes swiftly in review through the mind, but Betty always declared that she had just a single thought when it seemed that in another moment she would be trampled under the mare’s hoofs; she had not telegraphed to her uncle and he would not know where she had gone.

  The horse continued to cover the ground rapidly, and then, when it had almost reached the terrified girl, fear lent sudden wings to Betty’s leaden feet. She turned and ran.

  Speeding over the field toward the fence at the other end, she could hear the steady pounding of the mare’s hoofs, though she did not dare to glance over her shoulder. Her thoughts worked busily, trying to figure out a way to climb over or under the fence, and she had a lively fear of those terrible teeth nipping her as she tried to climb. As the fence seemed to her strained vision to rise suddenly from the ground and come to meet her, a way to safety opened.

  Before she began to run she had unconsciously stooped to gather her sweater from the ground where she had dropped it, and now she turned and waved the garment frantically in the furious animal’s face. Bewildered and confused, the mare stopped, and, as Betty continued to flap the sweater, she turned and dashed back to her colt. Weakly the girl tumbled over the fence and the adventure was over.

  “She thought you were going to hurt Pinto,” said Mrs. Brill, when she heard the story. “Goodness, I certainly am glad you had the presence of mind to shake your sweater at old Phyllis. Wouldn’t it have been dreadful if she had bitten you!”

  The next morning, Betty said good-by to the hospitable family who had been so wonderfully kind to her, and, much refreshed after a luxurious hot bath and a night’s sleep in the pretty guest room, took the trolley car into town with Mr. Brill, who at the station door bade her farewell in his capacity of host and two minutes later as telegraph operator sent her message to Uncle Dick in Washington.

  The 7:45 was on time to the minute, and as the long train pulled in and the porter helped her on, Betty drew a long breath of relief. Surely there could be no more delays and in a comparatively few hours she might hope to be with her uncle and know the comfort of telling him her experiences instead of trusting their recital to letters.

  The train had been made up late the night before and many of the passengers were still sleepy-eyed after restless hours in their berths. A good many of them were at breakfast in the dining car, and as there was no parlor car Betty had to take half a section already occupied by a rather frowsy young woman with two small children.

  “We take on a parlor car at Willowvale,” the porter assured Betty, only too sympathetically, for he had been waiting on the woman and her children since the afternoon before. “I’ll see that you get a chair then, Miss.”

  Betty settled herself as comfortably as she could and opened her magazine.

  “Read to me?” suggested a little voice, and a sticky hand caressed her skirt timidly.

  “Now don’t bother the lady,” said the mother, trying to pull the child away. “My land, if I ever live to get you children to your grandmother’s I’ll be thankful! Lottie, stop making scratches on that window sill!”

  Lottie pursed her pretty mouth in a pout and drummed her small heels discontentedly against the green plush of the seat.

  Betty smiled into the rebellious blue eyes and was rewarded by a sudden, radiant smile. She closed her magazine and found the mother gazing at her with a look almost as childlike in its friendly curiosity as her little daughter’s.

  “You’ve got a way with children, haven’t you?” said the woman wistfully. “I guess everybody on this train will be glad when we get off. The children have been perfect torments, and Lottie cried half the night. We’re none of us used to traveling, and they’re so mussed up and dirty I could cry. At home I keep ’em looking as neat as wax. We’re going to see my husband’s mother, and I know she’ll think I started with ’em looking like this.”

  Betty was far older than many girls her age in some things. She was self-reliant and used to observing for herself, and she had a rich fund of warm and ready sympathy that was essentially practical. She saw that the mother of these lively, untidy children was very young, hardly more than a girl, and worn-out and nervous as a result of taking a long journey with no help and little traveling experience. She was probably, and naturally, anxious that her children should impress their father’s mother favorably, and it took little imagination to understand that in her home the young mother had been used to praise for her excellent management. Betty, added to her qualities of leadership and sound judgment, had a decided “knack” with children. In Pineville she had been a general favorite with the little ones, and many a mother had secretly marveled at the girl’s ability to control the most headstrong youngster. Now she seized the opportunity presented to help a fellow-passenger.

  “Have you had your breakfast?” she asked. “No? I thought not. Well, I had mine before I got on the train. If you are willing to trust the children with me, I’ll amuse them while you go into the diner and have a quiet meal. You’ll feel much better then.”

  “Oh, it’s been a nightmare!” confided the young mother with a sudden rush of feeling. “Nobody ever told me what it would be like to travel with two children. Lottie upset her milk and Baby spilled her supper on the floor. And people just glare at me and never offer to help. It will be heavenly to eat my breakfast without them, but I feel that I’m imposing on you.”

  Betty managed to send her off convinced that everything was as it should be, and to the mother’s surprise the children snuggled down like little mice to listen to the honorable and ancient story of the Three Bears. By the time a rested and radiant mother came back to them, for she had stolen a little time in the dressing room and rearranged her fair hair and adjusted her trim frock, something she had found it impossible to accomplish with two restless children clinging to her skirts, Lottie and Baby were firm friends with Miss Betty.

  “I never knew any one as lovely as you are!” The gratitude of the woman was touching. “I was just about crazy. My husband tipped the porter, and he did try to look after me, but he didn’t know what to do. Usually there is a maid on this train, they told us, but she was taken sick, and there wasn’t time to get any one to fill her place. Now don’t let the children bother you. They had their breakfast early, and I can read to them till we get to Willowvale where their grandmother will meet us.”

  But Betty had not finished. She loved the feel of soft little arms about her neck and there was not much connected with a baby’s welfare she did not know about. Many a Pineville baby she had washed and dressed and fed as correctly as a model baby should be.

  “Let me take them one at a time and tidy them up?” she suggested. “They’ll take to it kindly, because I am new and that will lend to the washing a novelty. If we go in relays, we can’t upset the whole car.”

  So first with Lottie, and then with Baby, who seemed to be without other name, Betty went into the dressing-room and there washed pink and white faces and hands till they shone, and brushed silk locks till they lay straight and shining. Clean frocks were forthcoming, and two spick and span babies emerged to beam upon a transformed world no longer seen through a veil of tears. This new friend could te
ll the most wonderful stories, invent delightful games, and sing dozens of foolish little rhymes in a low sweet voice that disturbed no one and yet allowed every word to be distinctly understood.

  Both children went to sleep during the morning, and then Betty heard that Mrs. Clenning, as the mother introduced herself, lived in the West and that this journey to Willowvale was the first she had taken since the birth of the babies.

  “My husband’s mother is crazy to see them because they are her only grandchildren,” she explained. “I didn’t want to come without Mr. Clenning, but he couldn’t get away for a couple of months. He is to come after us and take us home. If he didn’t, I’m sure I’d live East the rest of my days, or at least till the children are grown up. I’ll never have the courage to try a long train trip with them again.”

  Before Willowvale was reached Betty helped Mrs. Clenning get her wraps and bags together and tied the babies into bewitching white bonnets with long fluted strings. The porter came for the bags, but Betty carried the younger child to the car door and handed her down to the mother, who had gone first with Lottie. She saw a tall, stately, white-haired woman, dressed all in white from her shoes to her hat, gather all three into her arms, and then went back to her seat satisfied that the mother’s troubles were over.

  “Parlor car’s ready, Miss,” announced the porter, coming up to her. “Shall I take you on in?”

  Betty followed him, to be established comfortably on the shady side of the car, with the window adjusted at the most comfortable height. She did not hear the porter’s comment to the conductor when he passed him in the vestibule of the parlor car.

  “That girl in seat fourteen, she’s one perfect little lady,” said the dusky porter earnestly. “You jest observe her when you takes her ticket. ‘Member that lady with the two children what racketed all day and all night? Well, she done fix those two kids up till you wouldn’t know ’em, and cheered their mother up, too. And all jest as pretty and like a lady. That mighty fine lady in the red hat (I give her a seat on the sunny side of the car a-purpose) wouldn’t do nothing yesterday when I axted her to hold a glass of milk while I went to get a extra pillow. Said she wasn’t going to be nursemaid to no stranger’s brats!”