The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake

AT SARANAC Sylvia walked toward the hotel office, where the telephone booths were located. "I am so sorry!" murmured the cavalier. "If there is anything I can do--or my chums--don't fail to let us know. We'd be only too glad to help." "Thank you," Sylvia said. "I shall be glad to let you know. But I think it will mean that I shall have to go to my brother. He is up at Saranac." "I shall be sorry to see you leave," he said, simply. "And I hope you and your friends will return." "It is impossible to say, at least for a time," was her answer. "I will say good-night now." He understood, and parted from her. "Was it anything definite?" asked Sylvia of Aunt Theodora. They were approaching the telephone booths, and Sylvia was a bit nervous. "I did not wait for all the details," said the chaperon. "I thought it better to let you talk. Central said the line would be available if you called up within a few minutes, as they are not very busy now." "With whom were you speaking?" "With that young man who went up with your brother." "Harry Montray?" "Yes. He said there was nothing to be alarmed about, but he thought Roy had gotten to the point where it would be better to see some one from home. Probably the poor fellow is suffering from an attack of good, old-fashioned home-sickness--or, rather, bad home-sickness, for it _is_ a dreadful feeling. I have had it abroad, when I felt as though I would give anything just to see an old tin peddler from my home town." "I know," murmured Sylvia. In a few minutes she was in conversation with her brother's friend. She was much reassured to know that, though Roy was not so well as could be hoped for, he was in no sense in danger. It was just that his companion felt, in Roy's present mental state, that it would be better to have some one of his family near him. His physical health was good, but he had not been able to bring to his mind the lost chemical formula. And this preyed on him. "I will come up at once," Sylvia said. "We will start in the morning." "I will help you make all preparations," Mrs. Brownley remarked. "Will you take the other girls with you?" "Of course; if they want to go." "As if we didn't want to go!" exclaimed Alice, when the matter was mentioned to her and her chums. "Besides, that's what we came up here for. This lingering in pleasant places was no part of our original programme, nice as it is. You want to go; don't you, Hazel?" "Certainly." "And there's no need to ask Rose," said Alice, but it was not in the least done jokingly. Rose's face precluded anything like that. And so the masquerade came to an end rather sadly, and yet Sylvia tried not to let it affect her too much, for she regarded herself in the light of a hostess to her three chums. Before the girls retired, a message came to them from the four young men with whom they had danced so much that evening. It was to the effect that the campers expected to remain some time longer at, or near, Raquette Lake, and would be very glad to entertain the young ladies if they returned. Sylvia sent back word, expressing the appreciation of herself and her chums, but said their plans were not settled, and it was hardly possible that they would come back to Raquette that summer. They were to take a morning train, and there was not much of the night left in which to get rest. Sylvia herself had very little sleep, and was up, almost at dawn, packing her trunks. They were to go to Saranac Inn, located on Upper Saranac Lake, as Roy's place of sojourn, Loneberg Camp, was located near there. The journey of the girls was to be by rail, though they had hoped to make the trip by canoes and other boats--steamers and motor craft. "But we really haven't time," decided Sylvia. "Perhaps we can come back that way, but it will be better to go by train, I think." "Yes," assented Rose. "It's quicker." It was rather a surprise to Sylvia and her chums to find, that morning, the four young men who had danced with them waiting on the broad veranda when they came down to go to the station. "Why!" exclaimed Sylvia, blushing rosy-red. "How did you get over from your camp so early?" "We haven't been to camp," replied Felton Ware--he who had been disguised as the cavalier. "Did you stay at the Antlers all night?" asked Hazel. "Yes, we couldn't very well get back to camp," said James Pendleton, who had been the Dutchman. "And we thought we might be of some service to you," went on Felton. "Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?" "Thank you, no," Sylvia murmured. "We are used to travelling, you know, and one of our club mottoes is 'Do it yourself.'" "What club is that?" he asked, interested at once. "The Nowadays Club," answered Alice. "It's real jolly." "I can well believe that," agreed Felton. The young men insisted on accompanying the girls to the station, carrying their satchels. The trunks had been sent on ahead by an earlier train. There were rather prolonged good-byes at the depot, and Sylvia was quite sure she heard Alice and Hazel agreeing to send, from Saranac, at least souvenir postals to their friends. But she was not absolutely sure, and her mind was too fully occupied with thoughts of her ailing brother to allow her to dwell long on what others did and said. "Well, here comes the train," said Felton, finally. "And I'm glad of it!" murmured Sylvia, with something like a sigh. "What!" he cried, with simulated surprise. "Oh, you know what I mean," she went on. "I hope you have no more canoe accidents," said Felton. "Well, if I do, I hope I find as nice a knight as you were," she answered, rather daringly. "That's awfully nice!" he exclaimed, with real pleasure in his voice. Then the train came in, and there was the usual bustle and hustle getting aboard. Good-byes were said over and over again, and hands, caps and handkerchiefs were waved until the coaches were out of sight around a bend in the line. The four young men walked away, rather downcast, for they had thoroughly enjoyed the company of Sylvia and her chums. "Well, old man," said James Pendleton to Felton Ware. "Not well--ill," he sighed. "What's the matter?" laughed a companion. "Hard hit?" "Not at all. Only they were such real, jolly girls. You don't often meet their class up here. The others are too much on dolling-up and talking society mush. I wonder what some of those dolled-up ones would look like if they were rolled out of a canoe into the rapids; tell me that!" "It's beyond me," was the honest confession. "Never mind. Maybe they'll come back." "Let us hope so," was the decision, in which all agreed. Meanwhile Sylvia and her chums were speeding as fast as the train could take them to Saranac. They had engaged rooms by telegraph at Saranac Inn, and from there they would start for Roy's camp, which was some miles away. "Will you go on to-night?" asked Rose of Sylvia, as they sat together in the train. "It depends on what time we get in. If we arrive early enough I shall, provided we can get back to the Inn at any reasonable hour. I don't want to disturb Roy too late, though." "No, it wouldn't be wise." But if Sylvia hoped to see her brother that night she was doomed to disappointment. There was a slight accident on the railroad, not involving the train of our friends, however, and it was quite late when they arrived at Saranac. "Well, we won't see Roy to-night," Sylvia decided after dinner. "But I'll see if I can get Harry on the 'phone." CHAPTER XXIV WORRIMENT Telephoning in the Adirondacks was not such an easy matter as it is in New York, as Sylvia soon discovered. It developed that when Harry had called her up he had been obliged to go some distance from Loneberg Camp, and Sylvia had neglected to get the number of the station whence he talked to her. In consequence, though she made a number of inquiries, she was unable, from Saranac Inn, to get in communication with her brother that night, and was obliged to give over the attempt. "Never mind," said Mrs. Brownley. "We will go to them the first thing in the morning. You girls need a rest, anyhow, and it may be better if you don't see Roy, or talk to him or Harry and perhaps cause them both a restless night." "Yes, I suppose it is for the best," Sylvia agreed, rather wearily. She was very tired, for she had danced often and late the night before. She had slept but little and the day's long journey had not been conducive to rest. "There's a dance on here to-night," Hazel announced, as she came into Sylvia's room after it had been definitely settled that Roy could not be communicated with that night. "No dancing for me," declared Rose, with decision. "Nor me," agreed Sylvia. "You will all be better off in bed," asserted the chaperon, "and so I officially prescribe that." Not that the girls thought seriously of indulging in gaiety on this night. Their sleep was not altogether dreamless, though it was heavy enough. But Sylvia had an uneasy consciousness, half dreamy, of some impending trouble. She could not shake it off even when she awoke and found her room bright with sunlight. She soon discovered that she was suffering with what was rare for her--a headache. "I'm afraid my Knight of the Canoe had rather a bad effect on me," she confessed. "I want to look and feel my best when I meet Roy. I think I shall have my breakfast in bed this morning. It's a luxury I don't often indulge myself in." Mrs. Brownley was duly surprised when, coming to Sylvia's room a little later, she found her charge partaking of grapefruit, bacon and eggs, and a pot of coffee, comfortably propped up in bed. A deft chambermaid was waiting on Sylvia and serving the meal. "Why, my dear, are you ill?" asked the chaperon. "This doesn't look like it," Sylvia answered, pointing to the emptied plate. "But my head ached and I decided to rest." "Perhaps that was wise," agreed Aunt Theodora. "I must see how my other charges are, though. Do you intend to go see Roy to-day?" "Oh, yes, indeed. But I wanted to be at my very best. We have time enough. It isn't such a great way to Loneberg Camp." Mrs. Brownley sought Rose, and, again, somewhat to the surprise of the chaperon, she found that young lady also breakfasting in bed. "Well, well!" was her startled greeting. "Are you ill, too?" "Why, is some one else doing this, also?" Rose asked. "Sylvia is." "And is she----" "Not ill, no, I'm glad to say. But I suppose you have the same idea in mind--looking your best?" Rose blushed. "We really ought all to have stayed in bed this morning," Mrs. Brownley went on, "and as you dancing girls were cheated out of your beauty sleep there is no reason why you shouldn't make it up now. Rest as long as you like, my dear. We won't start for Roy's camp until after lunch, perhaps." "But he may be anxiously expecting--Sylvia." "Or--you. But it can't be helped. If anything were to arise, any sudden need, his friend would doubtless telephone." Hazel and Alice were rather more vigorous than either Rose or Sylvia, and went down to the last breakfast. Then they came up to see the "invalids," as they called them. "Indeed I'm no more of an invalid than you!" exclaimed Sylvia, with spirit. "I'm just getting up some reserve strength." And, though she did not know it, there was coming a time when she would need all her stored-up energy. Inquiry at the hotel office brought out the fact that Loneberg Camp lay about four miles distant from Saranac Inn, near Lake Clear, and that this point could be reached by driving. This mode of conveyance the