The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake
"I know. That's right. Still I thought----Hello!" she interrupted
herself to speak into the transmitter. "Yes, this is Miss Pursell. Oh,
it's you, Mr. Montray. Oh, yes, I----"
The door swung shut, closing Sylvia away from her chums, and they only
heard the murmur of her voice as she talked. Rose arose and paced
nervously to and from a certain window. She wondered if the message
concerned her.
Presently Sylvia rejoined her friends. There was a glow on her face, a
happy glint in her eyes, and something in her whole bearing that told
them it was good news, and not bad, even before she spoke. Gaily she
cried:
"Roy is much better!"
"Oh, I'm _so_ glad!" breathed Rose, and her complexion vied with her
name.
"Were you talking to him?" asked Alice, as she turned an emerald ring
on her finger--an emerald that caused much wonder among strangers as
to where she had obtained it, for it was a most beautiful stone. But,
perhaps unromantically enough, a maternal aunt had bequeathed it to
Alice.
"No, I wasn't talking to Roy, but to his friend, Harry Montray,"
replied Sylvia. "He said he knew we would be anxious after the telegram
of yesterday, so, as he happened to be near a long-distance telephone,
he called up, instead of telegraphing. He wanted to explain certain
things."
"About Roy?" asked Hazel.
"Of course, Baby! What else?" Sylvia's eyes opened wide.
"Oh, I didn't know," and she tried to seem indifferent.
"But tell us the news!" begged Rose.
"That's so. Don't keep her in suspense," suggested Alice, as she held
the cool emerald against her cheek, as Nero is said to have held one
against his eye, perhaps better to see, or, perhaps, to make him more
dissatisfied with life by imparting a green tint to the complexions of
his flatterers.
"Yes, Roy is much better," went on his sister. "That little depression
of the day before seemed to be but a passing nervous spell."
"But is he better--all well?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, no, indeed, and he won't be for some time. But he is in no
immediate danger. Had he been, either mamma or papa would have gone up
at once. What he needs is complete rest and change, and he is getting
both. It is only that he cannot make his mind do what he wants it to,
and bring back the memory of that forgotten chemical combination. That
is what is worrying him, for there is a comparatively large fortune in
it, both for himself and for his firm.
"It is too bad he lost all memory of it, but it may come back to him.
Until it does, though, he will worry and fret, and that will retard his
recovery, Harry says. But he is growing stronger physically, and in
another month or so there may be a big change."
"That's good," murmured Alice, with a sympathetic glance at Rose.
"Perhaps when we go to see him that will at least cheer him up," said
Hazel.
"I am hoping so," Sylvia agreed. "Poor Roy! he isn't having a very good
time. He just loves the woods, to hunt and fish and camp, but I imagine
he can't do many of those things now. Taking a rest cure is so----"
"Unrestful," put in Alice, as she caught Hazel by the shoulders and
whirled her about, forcing her over toward the piano. "Come!" she
cried. "Away with gloomy thoughts, since Sylvia has had good news!
Let's try that new whirl in the onestep. Don't you remember--the step
backward, then forward, a halt and a whirl--this way!"
Humming to herself she glided gracefully about the room.
"Oh, if you want to dance," said Sylvia, "let's go out to the library
and take up the rugs. We can start the 'canned music,' as Roy calls the
phonograph, and have some good practice. But really, though I hate to
begin, I ought to be packing!" and she sighed.
"And I ought to be shopping!" added Hazel. "But we've time enough. I am
easy to fit, and not fussy. On with the dance. Come, Rose, I'll lead
you."
But Rose rather hung back, and there was a far-off look in her eyes.
"Are you worried, dear?" asked Sylvia, in a whisper, as Alice and Hazel
led the way to the library for dance practice.
"A little--yes."
Sylvia pressed her chum's hand.
"Don't be," she said. "I'm sure he will be all right."
"I hope so. But----"
The music of a catchy onestep floated in to them, and soon the girls
were gliding about the unrugged floor.
"Do the aëroplane," suggested Sylvia. "You know, the one with four
steps on one side, four on the other, then the walk-about and----"
"Oh, yes, I just love that. It's so restful!" cried Hazel.
The merry impromptu dance went on, and then Sylvia bethought herself
that she had not given to her mother the good news that had come by
telephone. When she came back, after having done this, the girls were
waltzing, Alice with a large vase as a partner, while Hazel had taken
Rose.
"I want to get that 'marcel wave' down more smoothly," explained Alice.
"I'm sure they'll be doing that at all the hotels this summer."
They shopped that afternoon and the next and for several successive
days. Rush orders were given dressmakers. The town car was in constant
demand for visits to shops, and the apartment looked like "a May
morning cyclone," as Sylvia expressed it, for there were gowns and hats
on every chair and in every corner.
"I thought you girls were going to do this thing simply, and rough
it in the mountains," said Mr. Pursell, as he "waded through" the
filled-up hall one evening.
"We are, Daddy mine!" laughingly answered Sylvia.
"This doesn't look like it."
"Oh, but you know nowadays, Daddy, it's awfully hard to be simple."
"Like being good, I suppose," he chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you're
going--I mean I'm sorry to lose the jolly company of you young ladies,"
he hastened to add, "but I'm glad you're going up to see Roy. He needs
it. I'd go myself only I can't possibly leave. What was the report
to-day, Sylvia?"
"Just about the same. He is fretting a little."
"Well, perhaps that's a good sign. They say when a sick person frets
he's getting better. Now, Sylvia, how about your trip? Have you it all
planned out? When does Aunt Theodora-and-all-the-rest-of-it arrive?"
"Don't let her hear you say that!" cautioned his daughter, raising an
admonishing finger. "She is very dignified at times, but jolly enough
when she wants to be. She'll be with us to-morrow, and we will start
two days after that. She may want to do a little shopping in New York,
since she won't get to Paris this year."
"Have you the train schedule?" asked Mr. Pursell.
"All complete," replied Sylvia, tapping a bundle of time-tables and
railroad folders. "We leave the Grand Central Terminal at 12:25, and we
can reach Fulton Chain at 11:05 the next day; that is if we don't stop
off anywhere."
"Were you thinking of that?" asked Mr. Pursell.
"I wanted them to stop off at Syracuse," put in Rose.
"And we may," half-promised Sylvia.
"Do you know any of the University fellows?" Hazel wanted to know.
"Of course she does--scores of them," declared Sylvia.
"Then we stop off," decided Alice. "That settles it!" and the others
laughed at her vehemence.
Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley arrived, and was made welcome by Mr. and
Mrs. Pursell. They made the gentle, dignified Southern lady feel at
home at once, and when Mrs. Brownley discovered, wholly by accident,
that there was living in the same apartment a member of an old and
distinguished family of Fairfax County, Virginia, the little reserve
she had shown melted at once.
"I can be quite reconciled to New York, and even to these
semi-barbarous apartment houses, if a Randolph can be comfortable
here," said Mrs. Brownley. "It is much nicer than I thought."
Then began a busy time, with the town car working veritably night
and day, taking the girls here and there, to fill engagements with
dressmakers and milliners, to shop, attend teas and what-not. But
slowly the pile of pretty things in the various rooms was reduced.
Trunks began to fill, and finally came the day when the Nowadays Club
held a last informal meeting in the home of Sylvia.
"We leave to-morrow," was the announcement of the president _pro tem_.
"Now don't any of you forget anything."
"Have you the tickets, Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"Indeed we have, Aunt Theodora."
"And you have definitely decided to stop off at Syracuse?"
"Yes, Rose wants us to, and we may not get another chance soon to meet
her people."
"Very well then, my dear, I shall take my afternoon nap, something I
deprive myself of when school is in session."
Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley had a very comfortable habit of indulging
in a siesta when acting as chaperon. Perhaps she emulated those
paragons of chaperons, the Spanish _duennas_.
After a light and rather "flighty" lunch next day, the girls motored
to the Grand Central Terminal, and even in that vast extent of station
with its marble, its tiles, its hurrying, bustling throngs, its
red-capped porters, and its general air of caring for nothing and no
one, the girls created no little stir, as they marched in, two by two,
with Aunt Theodora in the lead and several porters bringing up the rear
with handbags.
"We certainly are doing it in style!" murmured Hazel, to whom attention
was as the breath of life.
"Of course! Why not?" demanded Alice. "After all, there is no place
just like New York for cutting a dash!"
"Well, don't cut up too much," advised Hazel.
Their train was being announced as they entered, and they passed out
through the iron-grilled gates to the parlour car, which glowed with
many electric lights, for it was dark out on that labyrinth of tracks.
The porters were tipped most graciously by Aunt Theodora, who received
the homage of doffed caps as only a Southern woman can, and then the
girls settled themselves comfortably for a long ride.
"Well, we are starting," said Sylvia, with a little sigh, as a gentle
motion was imparted to the long, heavy train. "We are off to the
Adirondacks, girls."
"And I wonder what we shall find there?" murmured Alice.
"Find? What do you mean?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, I don't know--exactly."
"I hope we find Roy better," voiced Sylvia.
"So do I," echoed Rose. But she smiled, for the early morning telegram,
in the form of a night-letter this time, had brought good news ere they
had left for the station.
But though Rose smiled, somehow, and in a manner for which she could
not account, she had a feeling of vague apprehension. And that this
apprehension had to do with Roy need not be doubted. It was a feeling
as though "something were going to happen," as we often tell ourselves.
That was as much of it as Rose could define.
But she managed to shake off a little of the feeling as the train came
out of the gloomy line of tunnel-walls and, beyond One Hundred and
Twenty-fifth Street, emerged into the open. True there was not much to
see, but it was better than nothing, or the stone walls.
Hazel went to the end of the swaying car for a drink of water--a thirst
having been engendered by an indulgence in candy--and on her way back
a sudden swaying of the coach threw her off her balance.
"Watch your step!" called out a young man, near whose chair she was
struggling. Hazel tried to, but could not, and the next moment she was
neatly deposited on the arm of--not the young man, but the arm of the
chair in which he sat. He put up his hand to Hazel's back to prevent
her toppling completely over, murmuring again:
"Watch your step!"
CHAPTER V
IN SYRACUSE
"Beg your pardon! Hope you're not hurt?"
It was the young man standing before Hazel, and bowing as he assisted
her in getting to her feet from her seat on the arm of his chair.