THE MAN WHO PLAYED THE HARP
In the first volume of this series, entitled, "Ruth Fielding of the Red
Mill; Or, Jasper Parloe's Secret," is related how Ruth and Helen and
Tom came to be such close friends. The Camerons had been with Ruth
when the lost cash-box belonging to Uncle Jabez Potter was found, and
out of which incident Ruth's presence in the Camerons' automobile on
this beautiful September morning, and the fact that she was
accompanying Helen to school, arose.
Mr. Macy Cameron, a wealthy dry-goods merchant, and a widower, had
selected the best school for his daughter to attend of which he could
learn. Briarwood Hall, of which the preceptress was Mrs. Grace
Tellingham, was a large school (there being more than two hundred
scholars in attendance for the coming term), but it remained "select"
in the truest sense of the word. It was not an institution
particularly for the daughters of wealthy people, nor a school to which
disheartened parents could send either unruly girls, or dunces.
Without Mrs. Murchiston's recommendation Helen Cameron could not have
gained entrance to Briarwood; without the attested examination papers
of Miss Cramp, teacher of the district school, who had prepared Ruth
for entering Cheslow High School before it was supposed that she could
go to Briarwood, the girl from the Red Mill would not have been
starting on this journey.
"My goodness me!" exclaimed Helen, when Ruth had sat down and Cheslow
was coming into view before them. "I'm just as excited as I can be.
Aren't you afraid of meeting Mrs. Tellingham? She's got an A. B. after
her name. And her husband is a doctor of almost everything you can
think!"
Mrs. Murchiston smiled, but said with some sternness; "I really hope,
Helen, that Briarwood will quell your too exuberant spirits to a
degree. But you need not be afraid of Dr. Tellingham. He is the
mildest old gentleman one ever saw. He is doubtless engaged upon a
history of the Mound Builders of Peoria County, Illinois; or upon a
pamphlet suggested by the finding of a fossilized man in the caves of
Arizona."
"Is he a great writer, Mrs. Murchiston?" asked Ruth, wonderingly.
"He has written a great many histories--if that constitutes being a
great writer," replied the governess, with a quiet smile. "But if it
was not for Mrs. Tellingham I fear that Briarwood Hall could not exist.
However, the doctor is a perfectly harmless person."
From this Ruth drew the conclusion (for she was a thoughtful
girl--thoughtful beyond her years, as well as imaginative) that Mrs.
Grace Tellingham was a rather strong-minded lady and that the doctor
would prove to be both mild and "hen-pecked."
The car sped along the beautifully shaded road leading into Cheslow;
but there was still ample time for the travelers to catch the train.
On the right hand, as they advanced, appeared a gloomy-looking house
with huge pillars upholding the portico roof, which was set some
distance back from the road. On two posts, one either side of the
arched gateway, were set green lanterns. A tall, stoop-shouldered old
gentleman, with a sweeping mustache and hair that touched his coat
collar, and a pair of keen, dark eyes, came striding down the walk to
the street as the motor-car drew near.
"Doctor Davison!" cried Helen and Ruth together.
The chauffeur slowed down and stopped as the doctor waved his hand.
"I must bid you girls good-bye here," he said, coming to the automobile
to shake hands. "I have a call and cannot be at the station. And I
expect all of you to do your best in your studies. But look out for
your health, too. Take plenty of gym work, girls. Tom, you rascal! I
want to hear of you standing just as well in athletics as you do in
your books. Ah! if Mercy was going with you, I'd think the party quite
complete."
"What do you hear from her, Doctor?" questioned Ruth, eagerly.
"My little Goody Two-sticks is hopping around pretty lively. She will
come home in a few days. Too bad she cannot see you before you go.
But then--perhaps you'll see her, after all."
"What do you mean?" demanded Helen, looking sharply at the physician.
"You're hiding something. I can see it! You've got something up your
sleeve, Doctor!"
"Quite so--my wrist!" declared the physician, and now, having shaken
hands all around, he hurried away, looking vastly mysterious.
"Now, what do you suppose he meant by that?" demanded Helen. "I'm
suspicious of him. He's always bringing unexpected things about. And
poor Mercy Curtis----"
"If she could only go to Briarwood with us," sighed Ruth.
"She would make you and Helen hustle in your work, all right," declared
Tom, looking over the back of his seat. "She's the smartest little
thing that I ever saw."
"That's what Dr. Davison says," Ruth observed. "If the surgeons have
enabled her to walk again, and dispense with the wheel chair, why
couldn't she come to Briarwood?"
"I don't think Sam Curtis is any too well fixed," said Tom, shaking his
head. "And Mercy's long illness has been a great expense to them.
Hello! here we are at the station, with plenty of time to spare."
Mrs. Murchiston was not going with them; the trio of young folk were to
travel alone, so Tom took the tickets, got the trunk checks, and
otherwise played escort to the two girls. There were several friends
at the station to bid the Camerons good-bye; but there was nobody but
the stationmaster to say a word to Ruth Fielding. It was his lame
daughter whom they had been discussing with Dr. Davison--an unfortunate
girl who had taken a strong liking for Ruth, and for whom the girl from
the Red Mill, with her cheerful spirit and pleasant face, had done a
world of good.
The train was made up and they got aboard. Just below Cheslow was the
Y where this train branched off the main line, and took its way by a
single-track, winding branch, through the hills to the shore of Lake
Osago. But the young folks did not have to trouble about their baggage
after leaving Cheslow, for that was checked through--Tom's grip and box
to Seven Oaks, and the girls' over another road, after crossing Lake
Osago, to Lumberton, on Triton Lake.
Lake Osago was a beautiful body of water, some thirty miles long, and
wide in proportion; island-dotted and bordered by a rolling country.
There were several large towns upon its shores, and, in one place, a
great summer camp of an educational society. Steamboats plied the
lake, and up and down the rivers which either emptied into the Osago,
or flowed out of it, as far as the dams.
The trio of school-bound young folk left the train very demurely and
walked down the long wharf to the puffy little steamboat that was to
take them the length of the lake to Portageton. Tom had been adjured
by his father to take good care of his sister and Ruth, and he felt the
burden of this responsibility. Helen declared, in a whisper to Ruth,
that she had never known her twin brother to be so overpoweringly
polite and thoughtful.
Nevertheless, the fact that they were for the very first time traveling
alone (at least, the Camerons had never traveled alone before) did not
spoil their enjoyment of the journey. The trip down the lake on the
little side-wheel steamer was very interesting to all three. First the
Camerons and Ruth Fielding went about to see if they could find any
other girl or boy who appeared to be bound to school like themselves.
But Tom said he was alone in that intention among the few boys aboard;
and there were no girls upon the _Lanawaxa_, as the little steamboat
was named, save Ruth and Helen.
Tom did not neglect the comfort of the girls, but he really could not
keep away from the engine-room of the _Lanawaxa_. Tom was mightily
interested in all things mechanical, and in engines especially. So the
girls were left to themselves for a while upon the upper deck of the
steamboat. They were very comfortable under the awning, and had books,
and their luncheon, and a box of candy that Tom had bought and given to
Ruth, and altogether they enjoyed the trip quite as much as anybody.
The breeze was quite fresh and there were not many passengers on the
forward deck where the girls were seated. But one lady sitting near
attracted their attention almost at first. She was such a little,
doll-like lady; so very plainly and neatly dressed, yet with a style
about her that carried the plain frock she wore, and the little hat, as
though they were both of the richest materials. She was dark, had
brilliant eyes, and her figure was youthful. Yet, when she chanced to
raise her veil, Ruth noted that her face was marred by innumerable fine
wrinkles--just like cracks in the face of a wax doll that had been
exposed to frost.
"Isn't she a cunning little thing?" whispered Helen, seeing how much
Ruth was attracted by the little lady.
"She's not a dwarf. There's nothing wrong with her," said Ruth.
"She's just a lady in miniature; isn't she? Why, Helen, she's no
taller than you are."
"She's dainty," repeated her chum. "But she looks odd."
Below, on the other deck, the music of a little orchestra had been
tinkling pleasantly. Now a man with the harp, another with a violin,
and a third with a huge guitar, came up the companionway and grouped
themselves to play upon the upper deck. The three musicians were all
foreigners--French or Italian. The man who played the harp was a huge,
fleshy man, with a red waistcoat and long, black mustache. The
waistcoat and mustache were the two most noticeable things about him.
He sat on a little campstool while he played.
The musicians struck into some rollicking ditty that pleased the ear.
The two girls enjoyed the music, and Helen searched her purse for a
coin to give whichever of the musicians came around for the collection
at the end of the concert. There was but one person on the forward
deck who did not seem to care for the music. The little lady, whose
back was to the orchestra, did not even look around.
All the time he was playing the huge man who thrummed the harp seemed
to have his eyes fixed upon the little lady. This both Ruth and Helen
noted. He was so big and she was so fairy-like, that the girls could
not help becoming interested in the fact that the harpist was so deeply
"smitten."
"Isn't he funny?" whispered Helen to Ruth. "He's so big and she's so
little. And he pays more attention to her than he does to playing the
tune."
Just then the orchestra of three pieces finished its third tune. That
was all it ever jingled forth before making a collection. The man who
played the guitar slipped the broad strap over his shoulders and stood
up as though to pass his cap. But instantly the huge harpist arose and
muttered something to him in a guttural tone. The other sat down and
the big man seized the cap and began to move about the deck to make
such collection as the audience was disposed to give for the music.
Although he had stared so at the unconscious lady's back, the big man
did not go in her direction at first, as the two girls quite expected
him to do. He went around to the other side of the deck after taking
Helen's toll, and so manoeuvred as to come to the end of the lady's
bench and suddenly face her.
"See him watch her, Ruth?" whispered Helen again. "I believe he knows
her."
There was such a sly smile on the fat man's face that he seemed to be
having a joke all to himself; yet his eyebrows were drawn down over his
nose in a scowl. It was not a pleasant expression that he carried on
his countenance to the little lady, before whom he appeared with a
suddenness that would have startled almost anybody. He wheeled around
the end of the settee on which she sat and hissed some word or phrase
in her ear, leaning over to do so.
The little woman sprang up with a smothered shriek. The girls heard
her chatter something, in which the word "_merci_" was plain. She
shrank from the big man; but he was only bowing very low before her,
with the cap held out for a contribution, and his grinning face aside.
"She is French," whispered Helen, excitedly, in Ruth's ear. "And he
spoke in the same language. How frightened she is!"
Indeed, the little lady fumbled in her handbag for something which she
dropped into the insistent cap of the harpist. Then, almost running
along the deck, she whisked into the cabin. She had pulled the veil
over her face again, but as she passed the girls they felt quite sure
that she was sobbing.
The big harpist, with the same unpleasant leer upon his face, rolled
down the deck in her wake, carelessly humming a fragment of the tune he
had just been playing. He had collected all the contributions in his
big hand--a pitiful little collection of nickels and dimes--and he
tossed them into the air and caught them expertly as he joined the
other players. Then all three went aft to repeat their concert.
An hour later the _Lanawaxa_ docked at Portageton. When our young
friends went ashore and walked up the freight-littered wharf, Ruth
suddenly pulled Helen's sleeve.
"Look there! There--behind the bales of rags going to the paper-mill.
Do you see them?" whispered Ruth.
"I declare!" returned her chum. "Isn't that mysterious? It's the
little foreign lady and the big man who played the harp--and how
earnestly they are talking."
"You see, she knew him after all," said Ruth. "But what a
wicked-looking man he is! And she _was_ frightened when he spoke to
her."
"He looks villainous enough to be a brigand," returned her chum,
laughing. "Yet, whoever heard of a _fat_ brigand? That would take the
romance all out of the profession; wouldn't it?"
"And fat villains are not so common; are they?" returned Ruth, echoing
the laugh.