CHAPTER XI
MARY LOUISE MEETS IRENE
As Mary Louise approached the home of the Conants, which was a prettylittle house set far back in a garden filled with trees and shrubs, shewas surprised to hear a joyous ragtime tune being drummed upon thepiano--an instrument she remembered Mrs. Conant kept in the houseexclusively as an ornament, being unable to play it. Then, as the girlreached the porch, the melody suddenly stopped, a merry laugh rang outand a fresh, sweet voice was heard through the open window talkingrapidly and with eager inflection.
"I wonder who that can be?" thought Mary Louise. Everyone had to speakloudly to poor Mrs. Conant, who might be entertaining a visitor. Sherang the bell and soon her old friend appeared in the doorway.
"My dear, dear child!" cried the good lady, recognizing the girlinstantly and embracing her after a welcoming kiss. "Where on earthhave you come from?"
"From Beverly," said Mary Louise with a smile, for in her depressedstate of mind this warm greeting cheered her wonderfully.
"Come right in," said Mrs. Conant, seizing the suit case. "Have you hadbreakfast?"
"Yes, indeed; hours ago. And I've seen Mr. Conant at his office. He--hewanted me to talk to you."
She spoke loudly, as she had been accustomed to do, but now Mrs. Conantwore on her ear an instrument similar in appearance to a smalltelephone receiver, and she seemed to hear quite distinctly through itsmechanism. Indeed, she pointed to it with an air of pride and said: "Ican hear a whisper, my dear!"
As Mary Louise was ushered into the cosy sitting room she looked forthe piano-player and the owner of the merry laugh and cheery voice.Near the center of the room was a wheeled chair in which sat a younggirl of about her own age--a rather pretty girl in spite of her thinframe and pallid countenance. She was neatly dressed in figured dimity,with a bright ribbon at her throat. A pair of expressive brown eyesregarded Mary Louise with questioning earnestness. Over her lap lay acoverlet; her slender white fingers rested upon the broad arms of herchair.
"This," said Mrs. Conant, "is my niece, Irene Macfarlane, who is livingwith us just now and is the life and joy of our formerly dullhousehold. You'll have to love her, Mary Louise, because no one canhelp doing so."
Mary Louise advanced to the chair and took one of the wan hands in herown. A thrill of pity flooded her heart for the unfortunate girl, whoinstantly noted her expression and met it with a charmingly spontaneoussmile.
"Don't you dare think of me as a cripple!" she said warningly. "I amnot at all helpless and my really-truly friends quickly forget thisugly wheeled chair. We're to be friends, are we not? And you're goingto stay, because I see your baggage. Also I know all about you, MaryLouise Burrows, for Aunt Hannah never tires of singing your praises."
This was said so naturally and with such absence of affectation thatMary Louise could not fail to respond to the words and smile.
"I'm glad to find you here, Irene," she said, "and I don't know yetwhether I'm to stay or not. That will depend on Mrs. Conant's decision."
"Then you're to stay," promptly decided the hospitable lady, who byturning her mechanical ear toward the speaker seemed able to hear herwords clearly.
"But you don't know all the complications yet," confessed the girl."I've run away from school and--and there are other things you mustknow before you decide. Mr. Conant wasn't at all enthusiastic over mycoming here, I assure you, so I must tell you frankly the whole storyof my adventures."
"Very good," returned Mrs. Conant. "I think I can guess at most of thestory, but you shall tell it in your own way. Presently Irene is goingout to inspect the roses; she does that every morning; so when she isout of the way we'll have a nice talk together."
"I'm going now," said Irene, with a bright laugh at her dismissal."Mary Louise won't be happy till everything is properly settled; norwill I, for I'm anxious to get acquainted with my new friend. So here Igo and when you've had your talk out just whistle for me, Mary Louise."
She could propel the chair by means of rims attached to the wheels and,even as she spoke, began to roll herself out of the room. Mary Louisesprang to assist her, but the girl waved her away with a little laugh.
"I'm an expert traveler," she said, "and everyone lets me go and comeas I please. Indeed, I'm very independent, Mary Louise, as you willpresently discover."
Away she went, through the hall, out at the front door and along thebroad porch, and when she had gone Mary Louise whispered softly intoMrs. Conant's mechanical eardrum:
"What is wrong with her?"
"A good many things," was the reply, "although the brave child makeslight of them all. One leg is badly withered and the foot of the otheris twisted out of shape. She can stand on that foot to dressherself--which she insists on doing unaided--but she cannot walk astep. Irene has suffered a great deal, I think, and she's a fraillittle body; but she has the sweetest temperament in the world andseems happy and content from morn till night."
"It's wonderful!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "What caused her affliction?"
"It is the result of an illness she had when a baby. Irene is sixteenand has never known what it is to be well and strong, yet she neverresents her fate, but says she is grateful for the blessings sheenjoys. Her father died long ago and her mother about a year since; so,the child being an orphan, Peter and I have taken her to live with us."
"That is very kind of you," asserted Mary Louise with conviction.
"No; I fear it is pure selfishness," returned the good woman, "foruntil she came to us the old home had been dreadfully dull--the result,my dear, of your going away. And now tell me your story, and all aboutyourself, for I'm anxious to hear what brought you to Dorfield."
Mary Louise drew a chair close to that of Aunt Hannah Conant andconfided to her all the worries and tribulations that had induced herto quit Miss Stearne's school and seek shelter with her old friends theConants. Also, she related the episode of Detective O'Gorman and howshe had first learned through him that her grandfather and her motherwere not living in Dorfield.
"I'm dreadfully worried over Gran'pa Jim," said she, "for thoseterrible agents of the Secret Service seem bent on catching him. And hedoesn't wish to be caught. If they arrested him, do you think theywould put him in jail, Aunt Hannah?"
"I fear so," was the reply.
"What do they imagine he has done that is wrong?"
"I do not know," said Mrs. Conant. "Peter never tells me anything aboutthe private affairs of his clients, and I never ask him. But of onething I am sure, my dear, and that is that Peter Conant would not actas Colonel Weatherby's lawyer, and try to shield him, unless hebelieved him innocent of any crime. Peter is a little odd, in someways, but he's honest to the backbone."
"I know it," declared Mary Louise. "Also I know that Gran'pa Jim is agood man. Cannot the law make a mistake, Aunt Hannah?"
"It surely can, or there would be no use for lawyers. But do not worryover your grandfather, my child, for he seems quite able to take careof himself. It is nine or ten years since he became a fugitive--alsomaking a fugitive of your poor mother, who would not desert him--and tothis day the officers of the law have been unable to apprehend him. Bepatient, dear girl, and accept the situation as you find it. You shalllive with us until your people again send for you. We have excellentschools in Dorfield, where you will not be taunted with yourgrandfather's misfortunes because no one here knows anything aboutthem."
"Doesn't Irene know?" asked Mary Louise.
"She only knows that your people are great travelers and frequentlyleave you behind them as they flit from place to place. She knows thatyou lived with us for three years and that we love you."
The girl became thoughtful for a time. "I can't understand," shefinally said, "why Gran'pa Jim acts the way he does. Often he has toldme, when I deserved censure, to 'face the music' and have it over with.Once he said that those who sin must suffer the penalty, because it isthe law of both God and man, and he who seeks to escape a just penaltyis a coward. Gran'pa knows he is innocent, but the
government thinks heis guilty; so why doesn't he face the music and prove his innocence,instead of running away as a coward might do and so allow his good nameto suffer reproach?"
Mrs. Conant shook her head as if perplexed.
"That very question has often puzzled me, as it has you," sheconfessed. "Once I asked Peter about it and he scowled and said itmight be just as well to allow Colonel Weatherby to mind his ownbusiness. The Colonel seems to have a good deal of money, and perhapshe fears that if he surrendered to the law it would be taken away fromhim, leaving you and your mother destitute."
"We wouldn't mind that," said the girl, "if Gran'pa's name could becleared."
"After all," continued Mrs. Conant reflectively, "I don't believe theColonel is accused of stealing money, for Peter says his family is oneof the oldest and richest in New York. Your grandfather inherited avast fortune and added largely to it. Peter says he was an importantman of affairs before this misfortune--whatever it was--overtook him."
"I can just remember our home in New York," said Mary Louise, alsomusingly, "for I was very young at the time. It was a beautiful bigplace, with a good many servants. I wonder what drove us from it?"
"Do you remember your father?" asked Mrs. Conant.
"Not at all."
"Peter once told me he was a foreigner who fell desperately in lovewith your mother and married her without your grandfather's fullapproval. I believe Mr. Burrows was a man of much political influence,for he served in the Department of State and had a good many admirers.Peter never knew why your grandfather opposed the marriage, forafterward he took Mr. and Mrs. Burrows to live with him and they wereall good friends up to the day of your father's death. But this isancient history and speculation on subjects we do not understand issure to prove unsatisfactory. I wouldn't worry over your grandfather'stroubles, my dear. Try to forget them."
"Grandfather's real name isn't Weatherby," said the girl. "It isHathaway."
Mrs. Conant gave a start of surprise.
"How did you learn that?" she asked sharply.
The girl took out her watch, pried open the back ease with a penknifeand allowed Mrs. Conant to read the inscription. Also she curiouslywatched the woman's face and noted its quick flush and its uneasyexpression. Did the lawyer's wife know more than she had admitted?
If so, why was everyone trying to keep her in the dark?
"I cannot see that this helps to solve the mystery," said Mrs. Conantin a brisk tone as she recovered from her surprise. "Let us put thewhole thing out of mind, Mary Louise, or it will keep us all stirred upand in a muddle of doubt. I shall tell Peter you are to live with us,and your old little room at the back of the hall is all ready for you.Irene has the next room, so you will be quite neighborly. Go and putaway your things and then we'll whistle for Irene."
Mary Louise went to the well-remembered room and slowly andthoughtfully unpacked her suit case. She was glad to find a home againamong congenial people, but she was growing more and more perplexedover the astonishing case of Gran'pa Jim. It worried her to find thatan occasional doubt would cross her mind in spite of her intenseloyalty to her dearly loved grandparent. She would promptly drive outthe doubt, but it would insist on intruding again.
"Something is wrong somewhere," she sighed. "There must be some snarlthat even Gran'pa Jim can't untangle; and, if he can't, I'm sure no oneelse can. I wish I could find him and that he would tell me all aboutit. I suppose he thinks I'm too young to confide in, but I'm almostsixteen now and surely that's old enough to understand things. Therewere girls at school twenty years old that I'm sure couldn't reason aswell as I can."
After a while she went down stairs and joined Irene in the garden,where the chair-girl was trimming rose bushes with a pair of stoutscissors. She greeted Mary Louise with her bright smile, saying:
"I suppose everything is fixed up, now, and we can begin to getacquainted."
"Why, we ARE acquainted," declared Mary Louise. "Until to-day I hadnever heard of you, yet it seems as if I had known you always."
"Thank you," laughed Irene; "that is a very pretty compliment, I wellrealize. You have decided to stay, then?"
"Aunt Hannah has decided so, but Mr. Conant may object."
"He won't do that," was the quick reply. "Uncle Peter may be anautocrat in his office, but I've noticed that Aunt Hannah is the rulerof this household."
Mr. Conant may have noticed that, also, for he seemed not at allsurprised when his wife said she had decided to keep Mary Louise withthem. But after the girls had gone to bed that night the lawyer had along talk with his better half, and thereafter Mary Louise's presencewas accepted as a matter of course. But Mr. Conant said to her the nextmorning:
"I have notified your grandfather, at his six different addresses, ofyour coming to us, so I ought to receive his instructions within thenext few days. Also, to-day I will write Miss Stearne that you are hereand why you came away from the school."
"Will you ask her to send my trunk?"
"Not now. We will first await advices from Colonel Weatherby."
These "advices" were received three days later in the form of a brieftelegram from a Los Angeles attorney. The message read: "ColonelWeatherby requests you to keep M. L. in Dorfield until furtherinstructions. Money forwarded. Hot. Caution." It was signed "O. L." andwhen Mr. Conant showed Mary Louise the message she exclaimed:
"Then Mr. O'Gorman was right!"
"In what way?" questioned the lawyer.
"In the note he left for me at the hotel he said I might find mygrandfather by writing to Oscar Lawler at Los Angeles, California. Thistelegram is from Los Angeles and it is signed 'O. L.' which must mean'Oscar Lawler.'"
"How clever!" said Mr. Conant sarcastically.
"That proves, of course, that Gran'pa Jim and mother are in California,But how did the detective know that?" she asked wonderingly.
"He didn't know it," answered Peter Conant. "On the contrary, thismessage proves to me that they are not there at all."
"But the telegram says--"
"Otherwise," continued the lawyer, "the telegram would not have comefrom that far-away point on the Pacific coast. There now remain fiveother places where Colonel Weatherby might be located. The chances are,however, that he is not in any of them."
Mary Louise was puzzled. It was altogether too bewildering for hercomprehension.
"Here are two strange words," said she, eyeing the telegram she stillheld. "What does 'hot' mean, Mr. Conant?"
"It means," he replied, "that the government spies are again seekingColonel Weatherby. The word 'caution' means that we must all take carenot to let any information escape us that might lead to his arrest.Don't talk to strangers, Mary Louise; don't talk to anyone outside ourfamily of your grandfather's affairs, or even of your own affairs. Thesafety of Colonel Weatherby depends, to a great extent, on our allbeing silent and discreet."
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