Mary Louise

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER V

  OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION

  "And you say they are gone?" cried Mary Louise in surprise, as she camedown to breakfast the next morning and found the table laid for one andold Eben waiting to serve her.

  "In de night, chile. I don' know 'zac'ly wha' der time, by de clock,but de Kun'l an' Missy Burrows did'n' sleep heah a-tall."

  "There is no night train," said the girl, seating herself thoughtfullyat the table. "How could they go, Uncle?"

  "Jus' took deh auto'bile, chile, an' de Kun'l done druv it heself--bagan' baggage. But--see heah, Ma'y 'Ouise--we-all ain' s'pose to knownuth'n' bout dat git-away. Ef some imper'nent puss'n' ask us, we ain'gwine t' know how dey go, nohow. De Kun'l say tell Ma'y 'Ouise she ain'gwine know noth'n' a-tall, 'bout nuth'n', 'cause 'tain't nobody'sbusiness."

  "I understand, Uncle Eben."

  She reflected upon this seemingly unnecessary secrecy as she ate herbreakfast. After a time she asked:

  "What are you and Aunt Polly going to do, Uncle?"

  "Fus' thing," replied the old negro, "Polly gwine git yo' traps allpack up an' I gwine take 'em ovah to Missy Stearne's place in dewheel-barrer. Den I gwine red up de house an' take de keys to Mass'Gimble, de agent. Den Polly an' me we go back to our own li'l' house inde lane yondeh. De Kun'l done 'range ev'thing propeh, an' we gwine dojus' like he say."

  Mary Louise felt lonely and uncomfortable in the big house, now thather mother and grandfather had gone away. Since the move wasinevitable, she would be glad to go to Miss Stearne as soon aspossible. She helped Aunt Polly pack her trunk and suit case,afterwards gathering into a bundle the things she had forgotten oroverlooked, all of which personal belongings Uncle Eben wheeled over tothe school. Then she bade the faithful servitors good-bye, promising tocall upon them at their humble home, and walked slowly over thewell-known path to Miss Stearne's establishment, where she presentedherself to the principal.

  It being Saturday, Miss Stearne was seated at a desk in her own privateroom, where she received Mary Louise and bade her sit down.

  Miss Stearne was a woman fifty years of age, tall and lean, with adeeply lined face and a tendency to nervousness that was increasingwith her years. She was a very clever teacher and a very incompetentbusiness woman, so that her small school, of excellent standing andrepute, proved difficult to finance. In character Miss Stearne wastemperamental enough to have been a genius. She was kindly natured,fond of young girls and cared for her pupils with motherly instinctsseldom possessed by those in similar positions. She was lax in manyrespects, severely strict in others. Not always were her rules andregulations dictated by good judgment. Therefore her girls usuallyfound as much fault as other boarding school girls are prone to do, andwith somewhat more reason. On the other hand, no one could question theprincipal's erudition or her skill in imparting her knowledge to others.

  "Sit down, Mary Louise," she said to the girl. "This is an astonishingchange in your life, is it not? Colonel Weatherby came to me lastevening and said he had been suddenly called away on important mattersthat would brook no delay, and that your mother was to accompany him onthe journey. He begged me to take you in as a regular boarder and ofcourse I consented. You have been one of my most tractable andconscientious pupils and I have been proud of your progress. But theschool is quite full, as you know; so at first I was uncertain that Icould accommodate you here; but Miss Dandler, my assistant, has givenup her room to you and I shall put a bed for her in my own sleepingchamber, so that difficulty is now happily arranged. I suppose yourfamily left Beverly this morning, by the early train?"

  "They have gone," replied Mary Louise, non-committally.

  "You will be lonely for a time, of course, but presently you will feelquite at home in the school because you know all of my girls so well.It is not like a strange girl coming into a new school. And remember,Mary Louise, that you are to come to me for any advice and assistanceyou need, for I promised your grandfather that I would fill yourmother's place as far as I am able to do so."

  Mary Louise reflected, with a little shock of pain, that her mother hadnever been very near to her and that Miss Stearne might well performsuch perfunctory duties as the girl had been accustomed to expect. Butno one could ever take the place of Gran'pa Jim.

  "Thank you, Miss Stearne," she said. "I am sure I shall be quitecontented here. Is my room ready?"

  "Yes; and your trunk has already been placed in it. Let me know, mydear, if there is anything you need."

  Mary Louise went to her room and was promptly pounced upon by DorothyKnerr and Sue Finley, who roomed just across the hall from her and weredelighted to find she was to become a regular boarder. They askednumerous questions as they helped her to unpack and settle her room,but accepted her conservative answers without comment.

  At the noon luncheon Mary Louise was accorded a warm reception by theassembled boarders and this cordial welcome by her school-mates didmuch to restore the girl to her normal condition of cheerfulness. Sheeven joined a group in a game of tennis after luncheon and it was whileshe was playing that little Miss Dandler came with, a message that MaryLouise was wanted in Miss Stearne's room at once.

  "Take my racquet," she said to Jennie Allen; "I'll be back in a minute."

  When she entered Miss Stearne's room she was surprised to find herselfconfronted by the same man whom she and her grandfather had encounteredin front of Cooper's Hotel the previous afternoon--the man whom shesecretly held responsible for this abrupt change in her life. Theprincipal sat crouched over her desk as if overawed by her visitor, whostopped his nervous pacing up and down the room as the girl appeared.

  "This is Mary Louise Burrows," said Miss Stearne, in a weak voice.

  "Huh!" He glared at her with a scowl for a moment and then demanded:"Where's Hathaway?"

  Mary Louise reddened.

  "I do not know to whom you refer," she answered quietly.

  "Aren't you his granddaughter?"

  "I am the granddaughter of Colonel James Weatherby, sir."

  "It's all the same; Hathaway or Weatherby, the scoundrel can't disguisehis personality. Where is he?"

  She did not reply. Her eyes had narrowed a little, as the Colonel'swere sometimes prone to do, and her lips were pressed firmly together.

  "Answer me!" he shouted, waving his arms threateningly.

  "Miss Stearne," Mary Louise said, turning to the principal, "unless yourequest your guest to be more respectful I shall leave the room."

  "Not yet you won't," said the man in a less boisterous tone. "Don'tannoy me with your airs, for I'm in a hurry. Where is Hathaway--orWeatherby--or whatever he calls himself?"

  "I do not know."

  "You don't, eh? Didn't he leave an address?"

  "No."

  "I don't believe you. Where did he go?"

  "If I knew," said Mary Louise with dignity, "I would not inform you."

  He uttered a growl and then threw back his coat, displaying a badgeattached to his vest.

  "I'm a federal officer," he asserted with egotistic pride, "a member ofthe Government's Secret Service Department. I've been searching forJames J. Hathaway for nine years, and so has every man in the service.Last night I stumbled upon him by accident, and on inquiring found hehas been living quietly in this little jumping-off place. I wired theDepartment for instructions and an hour ago received orders to arresthim, but found my bird had flown. He left you behind, though, and I'mwise to the fact that you're a clew that will lead me straight to him.You're going to do that very thing, and the sooner you make up yourmind to it the better for all of us. No nonsense, girl! The FederalGovernment's not to be trifled with. Tell me where to find yourgrandfather."

  "If you have finished your insolent remarks," she answered with spirit,"I will go away. You have interrupted my game of tennis."

  He gave a bark of anger that made her smile, but as she turned away hesprang forward and seized her arm, swinging her around so that sheagain faced him.

  "Great Caesar, girl! Don't you rea
lize what you're up against?" hedemanded.

  "I do," said she. "I seem to be in the power of a brute. If a lawexists that permits you to insult a girl, there must also be a law topunish you. I shall see a lawyer and try to have you properly punishedfor this absolute insolence."

  He regarded her keenly, still frowning, but when he spoke again he hadmoderated both his tone and words.

  "I do not intend to be insolent, Miss Burrows, but I have been greatlyaggravated by your grandfather's unfortunate escape and in thisemergency every moment is precious if I am to capture him before hegets out of America, as he has done once or twice before. Also, havingwired the Department that I have found Hathaway, I shall be discreditedif I let him slip through my fingers, so I am in a desperate fix. If Ihave seemed a bit gruff and nervous, forgive me. It is your duty, as aloyal subject of the United States, to assist an officer of the law byevery means in your power, especially when he is engaged in runningdown a criminal. Therefore, whether you dislike to or not, you musttell me where to find your grandfather."

  "My grandfather is not a criminal, sir."

  "The jury will decide that when his case comes to trial. At present heis accused of crime and a warrant is out for his arrest. Where is he?"

  "I do not know," she persisted.

  "He--he left by the morning train, which goes west," stammered MissStearne, anxious to placate the officer and fearful of the girl'sstubborn resistance.

  "So the nigger servant told me," sneered the man; "but he didn't. I wasat the station myself--two miles from this forsaken place--to make surethat Hathaway didn't skip while I was waiting for orders. Therefore, heis either hidden somewhere in Beverly or he has sneaked away to anadjoining town. The old serpent is slippery as an eel; but I'm going tocatch him, this time, as sure as fate, and this girl must give me allthe information she can."

  "Oh, that will be quite easy," retorted Mary Louise, somewhattriumphantly, "for I have no information to divulge."

  He began to pace the room again, casting at her shrewd and uncertainglances.

  "He didn't say where he was going?"

  "No."

  "Or leave any address?"

  "No."

  "What DID he say?"

  "That he was going away and would arrange with Miss Stearne for me toboard at the school."

  "Huh! I see. Foxy old guy. Knew I would question you and wouldn't takechances. If he writes you, or you learn what has become of him, willyou tell me?"

  "No."

  "I thought not." He turned toward the principal. "How about this girl'sboard money?" he asked. "When did he say he'd send it?"

  "He paid me in advance, to the end of the present term," answered theagitated Miss Stearne.

  "Foxy old boy! Seemed to think of everything. I'm going, now; but takethis warning--both of you. Don't gabble about what I've said. Keep thesecret. If nothing gets out, Hathaway may think the coast is clear andit's safe for him to come back. In that case I--or someone appointed bythe Department--will get a chance to nab him. That's all. Good day."

  He made his exit from the room without ceremony, leaving Mary Louiseand Miss Stearne staring fearfully at one another.

  "It--it's--dreadful!" stammered the teacher, shrinking back with a moan.

  "It would be, if it were true," said the girl. "But Gran'pa Jim is nocriminal, we all know. He's the best man that ever lived, and the wholetrouble is that this foolish officer has mistaken him for someone else.I heard him, with my own ears, tell the man he was mistaken."

  Miss Stearne reflected.

  "Then why did your grandfather run away?" she asked.

  It was now Mary Louise's turn to reflect, seeking an answer. Presentlyshe realized that a logical explanation of her grandfather's action wasimpossible with her present knowledge.

  "I cannot answer that question, Miss Stearne," she admitted, candidly,"but Gran'pa Jim must have had some good reason."

  There was unbelief in the woman's eyes--unbelief and a horror of thewhole disgraceful affair that somehow included Mary Louise in itsscope. The girl read this look and it confused her. She mumbled anexcuse and fled to her room to indulge in a good cry.