The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake
plate of cream and some cakes.
"If you will excuse me," he murmured, "I will claim the next dance; if
I may?"
"Are you going to----"
"See some of my friends," he finished for her, not giving her a chance
to intimate that he was going to change his costume again. "I see yours
approaching," he added, and Sylvia looked up to note the approach of
Alice, Hazel and Rose, each with an escort.
"Oh, you have been provided for," murmured Alice, as she saw Sylvia
nibbling a macaroon under her mask, which came only to her lips.
"Yes, I had Mephistopheles."
"We saw you," whispered Rose.
"A lovely dancer," added Hazel.
"Who is he?" Alice wanted to know.
Sylvia shook her head, as the three young men, variously disguised,
came back with refreshments for the other girls.
"I had a queer Dutchman for the first half of this dance, and then he
excused himself and brought up a Spaniard," said Hazel.
"You--you did!" gasped Sylvia. She was more puzzled than ever, for she
had seen neither of her two former partners on the floor.
"Both dandy dancers," Hazel went on.
There was a little wait and then another strain of music proclaimed the
beginning of another hesitation. The three young men who had brought
the girls to the refreshment room, escorted them back to the dance
floor, and with murmured pleas that they must seek other partners, left
them.
Almost at once, however, there bore down on Alice, Hazel and Rose,
respectively a Spaniard, a Dutchman and Mephistopheles.
Sylvia gasped her surprise, but a moment later it was added to, for a
thirteenth-century cavalier, with glossy black curls flowing over his
lace collar, approached, and with a low bow, said:
"The Knight of the Overturned Canoe craves a dance with thee, O Night!"
Sylvia wondered where it would all end, and, almost as if in a dream,
she accepted his arm and went out on the floor.
CHAPTER XXII
BAD NEWS
The music was entrancing--a dreamy waltz was being played. There was
the odour of flowers. All about were presumably pretty women and
girls--presumably, for their masks still hid their faces. Outside the
moon shone, still bewitchingly. From behind the bank of palms, which
stirred gently in the night air that swept in through the open windows,
came the wailing of the oboe, the shriller crying of the violin, the
tinkle of the piano, the bird-like notes of the flute, the mellow call
of the French horn--all blending together in a strain that, without
conscious effort, seemed to move one into the mazy whirl of the waltz.
Almost before she knew it Sylvia found herself moving about in company
with the cavalier, and it was a delightful motion, for, like the other
three mysterious Knights of the Canoe, he was an excellent dancer.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity, O Night," he whispered in
Sylvia's little ear that was half hidden by her hair.
"Yes?" she replied, non-committaly. "Do you mean you, or some of your
friends?"
"I don't know what you mean," he answered, feigning ignorance.
"Oh, yes, you do," she said, as she put out her hand to ward off an
unskilful couple who were going around the wrong way of the room.
"Upon my honour----"
"Swear not at all, especially in this moonlight!" she mocked.
"It is glorious; isn't it?"
"Perfect."
"Would you rather dance, or go out where we can see----"
"Dance," she said, shortly. She was going to take no chances of any
practical, or impractical, jokes being played in the shimmering and
inconstant moonlight.
"The moon will last--the music not," he said, softly, and they swept on
around the room in a slow, graceful glide.
Sylvia, as she confessed afterward, was just "dying" to ask her
cavalier what it all meant--the four claimants to the title of Knight
of the Overturned Canoe, each of whom had appeared in a different
costume. But she refrained. She felt that the mystery would reveal
itself in due season.
Were there four young men? Was it not the same one all the while, who
had changed disguises with his friends, and so managed to claim Sylvia
in a different garb each time? She could not be sure.
Yet there was an indefinable something different in the dancing of
each of her four partners. She was almost sure they could not be the
same.
"Are you staying at the Antlers much longer?" the cavalier asked, as
the music came to an end, and the dancers vigorously begged for an
encore.
"I am not sure," she answered. "Why?"
"Oh, I just wanted to know. There is another dance next week."
"A masquerade?"
"No. I wish it were."
"So that you could hide your identity further?"
"Don't you know who I am?" he teased.
"Of course. You are Harry Blair," and she purposely named at random a
certain young man stopping at the hotel.
"Right--not!" he laughed. "You don't believe I saved your canoe?"
"There are too many claimants to the----"
"Honour," he hastily interposed. "Don't hesitate to say it."
"Oh, it wasn't that, so much as it was----"
The music cut in on their talk with a blare of drum and trumpet, and
once more they were off in the dance.
"What were you going to say?" he persisted, when there came a lull.
"Nothing of any consequence."
And so the small talk went on. There came more numbers, and the
cavalier, the Dutchman, Mephistopheles and the Spaniard danced in turn
with Sylvia, Rose, Hazel and Alice. The other three girls were as
puzzled as Sylvia had been.
"Who can they be?" asked Hazel, when they were in the dressing-room,
just before the signal for unmasking was to be given.
"Haven't the least idea," Sylvia replied.
"Do you really think they can be one and the same young fellow who
helped us with the canoes?" Rose demanded. "Or is there more than one?"
"What do you mean?" asked Alice.
"Well, they might have changed clothes, and certainly one could tell
the other enough details so that all would know just what happened that
day," Rose insisted.
"We'll soon know," Sylvia said. "There they are, all four together, and
they're looking this way as if they expected us to come out. They're
going to give the signal to unmask!"
It was on the stroke of twelve, and the trumpeter had come to the edge
of the music platform to sound the call that would mean the revealing
of identities hitherto hidden.
"Let's not go out," suggested Rose.
"The idea!" Alice cried. "When they're such good dancers? Much better
than any of the fellows at the hotel. I wonder who they can be? It's
such fun!"
Sylvia gazed out of a window into the moonlight, and wondered also. She
rather liked the title, "Knight of the Overturned Canoe," but she felt
sure that only one was entitled to it--and that one, somehow or other,
she felt was the last partner she had danced with--the cavalier. He had
rather a masterful way with him.
The trumpet blared out. There was a moment of silence, then came the
taking off of masks, and gasps of astonishment vied with peals of
merriment, for there were many surprises.
Sylvia kept her eyes fixed on the group of four young men, the
Dutchman, the Spaniard, Mephistopheles and the cavalier. They unmasked
together, and, in a straight line, like the advance of some guard of
soldiers, came toward the Nowadays Girls.
"Oh, I feel like--running away!" murmured Rose, her cheeks hot with
blushes.
"Don't you dare!" said Alice. "They all look like nice fellows."
Sylvia gave a quick glance at the cavalier. Yes, she was right. He was
the Knight of the Overturned Canoe, the same bronze-faced youth with
crisp, curling hair. He smiled at her, showing two rows of white, even
teeth.
Sylvia smiled in welcome.
The other three were evidently his chums, for there existed, it seemed,
a jolly and excellent understanding among them. In a solid phalanx they
advanced toward the girls.
"Shall we dance with them?" inquired Alice.
"Better wait until they ask us," suggested Hazel.
"Oh, they'll _ask_ us all right," Sylvia said. "Anyhow, this is a Paul
Jones, and we'll naturally have to dance with a lot of strangers. It is
perfectly all right, I think."
"So do I," declared Rose, with a new conviction.
"She likes that Spaniard," laughed Hazel.
"He dances beautifully," Rose confessed, blushing more vividly than
ever.
"May I have the honour?" asked the cavalier, advancing to Sylvia.
She nodded and smiled.
"So there was but one real, true knight?" she murmured, when they were
dancing.
"Only one, O Night, and you will find him very true," he whispered,
rather earnestly.
Sylvia laughed, and it seemed to vie with the mellow notes of the flute.
"What's the joke?" she asked. "I mean, how did you four manage it?"
"I'll tell you, out in the moonlight, after this dance."
She rather regretted it when a new figure in the Paul Jones separated
him from her. And she was a little impatient for the promised
explanation. In due time it came. The dance ended, and the different
couples strolled to various resting-places.
Sylvia noticed that Rose was with the Spaniard, Hazel with the Dutchman
and Alice with Mephistopheles. The three girls followed Sylvia out to
the piazza.
"Well," began the cavalier, "I suppose you girls have been doing all
sorts of wondering. We hope you'll forgive the little joke. You see
there are really four of us. We have a camp over near Shedd Lake, and I
was lucky enough to be on hand that day when your canoe upset," and he
nodded at Sylvia and Rose.
"When I went back and told the boys, guessing that you were stopping at
the Antlers, we decided to come to this masquerade, and see if we could
not mystify you a bit. I gave my chums all the details of the canoe
episode, so they could talk about it as well as I, and we each one, in
turn, decided to pretend he was the only and original Knight of the
Overturned Canoe.
"Which we did, to the best of our ability. We hope we are forgiven. If
you want proper introductions to us----"
He broke off to give the names of himself and his companions. They had
friends stopping at the hotel, and very soon the girls were formally
presented, Aunt Theodora also meeting the youths, and unconsciously
expressing her satisfaction with them.
"There goes the music!" exclaimed Rose, after the refreshments, the
four girls having been escorted thereto by the four camping chums.
"Yes, don't let's miss any of it," said the Spaniard.
Once more they were dancing.
"But what I don't understand," said Sylvia, "is why you came last."
She was speaking to the cavalier--the real Knight.
"It was this way, Princess," he said, laughingly. "I could not reach
here the same time as did the other fellows, so I made them each
promise in turn to dance with you first, and, by an implied engagement,
keep you until I came. I arrived in the nick of time."
"And at one time I thought there was only one of you, and that you
changed your costume after every dance," Sylvia said. "Well, it was an
enjoyable surprise."
"Then you are not angry?"
"Of course not!"
He was very good-looking, and a fine dancer. Sylvia was only human.
The masquerade was almost over. Sylvia was walking out on a moonlit
path with the cavalier, who was finding out more about her than she
imagined she was telling.
"Sylvia, where are you?" called Mrs. Brownley.
"Here, Aunt Theodora. I'm coming right in. I suppose you'll say it is
too damp."
"No, my dear! But a telephone message just came for you. I took it, as
I could not find you. It was from----"
"My brother!" gasped Sylvia, and her grasp tightened on the arm of her
escort.
"Yes, it was about your brother," said Mrs. Brownley, in rather solemn
tones. "He is not so well. You are to call up on long-distance, my
dear."
CHAPTER XXIII