THE MOTOR TRIP
Mary Louise flung back the wide hall door and danced into the room,
tossing her hat on a nearby chair. She had had such a happy birthday,
and she so loved Happiness! The tingling of the telephone in the study
caused her to turn into the room and pick up the desk telephone.
“Hello,” she said, her joyousness still singing through her tones. Then
in breathless amazement, “Why, Josie O’Gorman, didn’t you take the
train?”
“No,” answered Josie, “just as I was boarding the train a dispatch came
saying that O’Hara had been spotted on the westbound Santa Fe Limited.
Crocker had wired the authorities to get him at Albuquerque.”
“Oh,” stammered Mary Louise, feeling quite lost and dizzy at the
thought of this misfortune to the man who had raised Danny and cared
for him. “Isn’t there any hope--I mean danger, of his escaping?”
“Not a bit,” came Josie’s voice. “We’re playing in the very best of
luck. Probably right now they are arresting him.”
Mary Louise choked back a great sob that rose persistently in her
throat. “It’ll be just fine to have you come back, Josie,” she said,
remembering her loving hospitality even in her distress. “I’ll send the
car for you,” she added, as she hung up the receiver.
Then Mary Louise tumbled into a little crumpled heap on the floor by
the couch and buried her curly black head in its great pillows. “Oh,
it isn’t fair; it isn’t fair,” she wailed. “Danny would have paid back
the money. Danny’s uncle never meant to steal! If his oil well was only
out of Mexican hands, everything would have been all right anyway.” And
Mary Louise’s small fists beat the pillows to give vent to her emotions.
Suddenly the telephone peeled out again, quite briskly this time.
“Yes,” said Mary Louise, feeling with her free hand for a handkerchief
as she balanced the receiver with the other. The voice that answered
her was Josie’s, and as Mary Louise heard her she let the tears dry
upon her checks, for Josie was both angry and excited--an unusual
thing for the clever, active girl.
“Mary Louise,” she cried, “it’s the very deuce! Just as the train
slowed up for Albuquerque, that man O’Hara leaped from the car window
and has completely disappeared! It’s an outrage!” she raved on. “But
we’ll get him yet. Crocker and I are both taking this west bound train
that comes in a few minutes, so I won’t be back after all. Don’t worry,
Mary Louise, we’ll get him yet,” Josie consoled. “We’ve got our dander
up now and we’re on the job ourselves, and we’re going to finish it.”
Then Josie hung up the receiver and dashed to the ticket window.
Mary Louise, left alone, felt a great throb of gratitude. At least
O’Hara was safe for the time being. Now she must run instantly and tell
the news to Danny. However, the “instantly” extended into a moment or
two, while she made sure that her brown eyes were not tear-stained, and
that her little nose was powdered and quite presentable. Then she ran
out into the garden to hunt for her adopted soldier.
She had not far to seek for he was visible through the open window of
the garage, busily polishing the car which was in dire need of his
ministrations.
“Come here, Danny,” she directed, perching herself upon the bench just
outside the building.
Nothing loth, Danny threw down the chamois and rolling down his
sleeves, came toward her.
“Danny,” continued the girl, “I’ve something rather hard to tell you.”
The lad suddenly went white.
“Tell me. Have they caught Uncle Jim?” he demanded, gripping her arm as
though to drag the information from her quickly.
“No, no,” Mary Louise reassured him. “But they know he was on the
train, and as it slowed down at Albuquerque he jumped off and
disappeared. Josie and Crocker have both gone after him. I’m so sorry,”
she added, her hand touching his, which still gripped her arm with
unconscious force.
Danny’s fingers relaxed and he returned the warm handclasp of
understanding and sympathy. “I know you are sorry, and it helps a lot.”
Then he jumped to his feet and squared his shoulders. “But now I must
do something. I must help him.”
“Sit down again,” commanded Mary Louise.
“Don’t you see, Danny, we can’t do anything till we first think out our
plans.”
“You’re right, of course,” reluctantly admitted Danny, as he sank down
on the rustic bench. Even in his confusion, that comforting little “we”
penetrated his tired thought.
“Now, first,” continued Mary Louise, “where is your uncle likely to go
on foot?”
“Well,” replied Danny, thinking out his ideas as he said them, “I
imagine he’d strike out for the border. You see, he’s lived down there
a lot. He made his money in the oil wells there, and if the Huns in
Mexico hadn’t tried to stop England’s oil supply, he’d have had the
money to make good his deficit and all this would never have happened.”
“How could he live and cross the desert alone!” inquired Mary Louise.
“That’s what’s driving me distracted,” cried Danny, pacing up and down
the garden path. “If he once got near his old stamping ground, he could
find friends to shelter him. He’s done favors for every man within
a hundred miles of his place. If I could only be around the country
there, I know he’d find it out and would get word to me! But how to get
there when I’ve told your grandfather I’d help him through the summer.”
Utterly distressed and undecided, Danny leaned against the door and
gazed off at the far horizon. All in a breath an inspiration came to
Mary Louise. Her eyes glowed like stars and her little hands stretched
out to Danny in joyous appeal as she ran towards him.
“Listen,” she cried, “for months we’ve so wanted to take a trip, but
of course the war has cut us off from Europe, and I couldn’t drive the
car so very far. Now, Danny, we have you to take us and you’re going to
drive us touring through the West.”
A quick flush of hope and delight spread over Danny Dexter’s expressive
face. Mary Louise noticed it and rejoiced.
“Yes, yes,” she cried, her plans growing and expanding with each
moment. “Grandfather will be more than glad to get away, and we’ll take
Irene McFarlane with us. Think what it would mean to her!”
“But,” argued Danny, “we might have to spend some time in the desert,
if Uncle Jim should need us. It would be disagreeable for you, wouldn’t
it?”
“No, no, I just love the desert,” contradicted Mary Louise; “I love the
glow of the sand and the mystery of the distance. Why, Danny, I _hope_
we stay in the desert! Is it a bargain?”
Mary Louise turned a sparkling face up to him and Danny Dexter could
resist no longer. “If your grandfather agrees, it’s a go,” he admitted,
and then and there they joyously shook hands on it.
Colonel Hathaway, turning a corner in the garden path, was greeted by a
call from his lovely granddaughter as she came flying toward him.
“Grandpa,” said Mary Louise, tucking her arm cozily in his, and
starting slowly to pace the walks with him. “Do you know, Grandpa Jim,
I very, very much want to take a trip. We haven’t gone away together
for so long!”
“I myself am ready for a journey, dear child, but have not felt it
right to use our busy railroads for unnecessary travel,” replied the
Colonel.
“But, dearest grandfather,” coaxed Mary Louise, “we don’t have to
travel by rail or by boat either. With Danny to drive us we can go
wherever we want. Had you thought of that? Please let’s take a
wonderful trip in our motor car!”
Colonel Hathaway paused in front of a huge bed of purple pansies and
gazed down fixedly at them. Perhaps he was gaining inspiration from
their thoughtful little faces. More then anything in life he loved to
please his charming granddaughter, and as for himself, the monotony of
this quiet life had begun to pall on him. He rather liked the idea of a
bracing motor trip.
“Where would you suggest our going?” he asked Mary Louise.
“Oh, Grandpa Jim, out West by all means,” she answered.
Her grandfather hesitated only a few minutes longer and then said, “I
think a western trip would be enjoyable, and if we’re going to start, I
think the sooner done the better.”
“So do I, dearest,” cried Mary Louise, “and don’t you think it would do
Irene just worlds of good if we would take her with us?”
“We might walk over and discuss the matter with the Conants,” said the
Colonel. “The whole plan pleases me mightily. It will do us all good, I
firmly believe.”
By this time Colonel Hathaway was “firmly believing” the plan to be
entirely his own, and in his case, to decide was to act. So it happened
that within two days a very happy and expectant little party was
gathered about Mary Louise’s car. The car itself looked eager and ready
for the trip, and proud to carry the trunks and tires securely strapped
upon it. The Conants had been most grateful and delighted to have Irene
go, and she was now comfortably settled on the back seat surrounded by
pillows, with her crutches tucked out of sight beside her.
It was very early in the morning; the faint glow of the sunrise was
spreading over the sky, as the car quietly slipped out of the yard
and started on its adventures. Mary Louise, seated in front beside
Danny Dexter, turned to smile at the Colonel and Irene and to wave a
last good-bye to Uncle Eben and Aunt Sally. Then turning their faces
straight to the west she and Danny started trustingly and determinedly
on their errand of mercy.