THE ALARM
"Have I interrupted a musicale?" asked Berkley jauntily.
"You are just in time to hear Verlinda sing," responded Miss Ri with
ready tact and in order to cover her own confusion.
"Ah, that's good," cried he, though "Oh, Miss Ri," came in protest from
Linda.
"Didn't you promise to sing for me, if I played for you?" queried Miss
Ri.
"Yes,--but--only for you."
"Now, Miss Linda," Berkley expostulated, "haven't I known you as long
as Miss Ri has?"
"Not quite," Linda answered.
"But does the matter of a few months or even years, when you were yet
in a state of infantile bewilderment, make any difference?"
"It makes all the difference," Linda was positive.
"Oh, come, come," spoke up Miss Ri, "that is all nonsense. You don't
make any bones of singing in the church choir, Verlinda."
"Oh, but then I have the support of other voices."
"Well, you can have the support of Berk's voice; I am sure it is big
enough."
"Oh, but I don't sing anything but college songs," the young man
declared.
"Such a very modest pair," laughed Miss Ri.
"Well, who was blushing like a sixteen-older when I came in? Tell
me that," said Berkley triumphantly. And Miss Ri was perforce to
acknowledge that she was as bad as the rest, but the controversy was
finally ended by Linda's consenting to sing one song if Berkley would
do the same. She chose a quaint old English ballad as being in keeping
with the clinking piano, and then Berkley sang a rollicking college
song to a monotonous accompaniment which, however, was nearly drowned
by his big baritone.
By the time this was ended the ice was broken and they warmed up to
the occasion. They dragged forth some of Miss Ri's old music-books to
find such sentimental songs of a former day as pleased their fancy.
Over some of these they made merry; over others they paused. "My mother
used to sing that," Berkley would say. "So did my mother," Linda would
answer, and then would follow: "She Wore a Wreath of Roses," "Flow
Gently, Sweet Afton," "Cast That Shadow from Thy Brow," or some other
forgotten ballad.
"Oh, here is 'The Knight of the Raven Black Plume,'" cried Linda, as
she turned the discolored pages of one of the old books. "How I used
to love that; it is so romantic. Listen," and she began, "A lady looked
forth from her lattice."
So they went from one thing to another till Berkley, looking at his
watch exclaimed, "I'm keeping you all up, and Miss Ri, we haven't seen
to those papers. That music is a treasure-trove, Miss Linda. We must
get at the other books sometime, but we'll take some Friday night when
you can sleep late the next morning."
Linda's face shadowed. "Why remind me of such things? I had nearly
forgotten that there were matters like school-rooms and abandoned
little wretches of boys."
"Don't be so hard on the little chaps. I was one once, as I reminded
you, and I have some sympathy with them caged up in a school-room. Just
get the point of contact and you will be all right."
"Ah, but there's the rub," returned Linda ruefully. "I am not used to
boys, and any sort of contact, pointed or otherwise, doesn't appeal to
me."
"You must just bully them into good behavior," put in Miss Ri. "Here,
Berk, you be the little boy and I'll be the school-marm. Verlinda needs
an object lesson." Then followed a scene so funny that Linda laughed
till she cried.
"Where are those papers?" inquired Miss Ri suddenly putting an end to
the nonsense. "Bring them into the sitting-room, Berk, and we will get
them done with. I'm going up to town to-morrow, and we may as well
finish up this business before I go."
"One of your mysterious errands, Miss Ri?" said Berkley smiling.
"Never mind what it is; that is none of your concern. You don't suppose
because you collect my rents, and look after my leases that you must
know every time I buy a paper of hairpins."
"You don't have to go up to the city for those, you see. It is my
private opinion, Miss Linda, that she makes a semi-annual visit to
a fortune-teller or some one of that ilk. I notice she is more than
ordinarily keen when she gets back after one of these trips."
"Come along, come along," interrupted Miss Ri. "You'll stand here
talking all night. I declare you are as bad as Becky Hill."
"Oh, yes, I'm coming, Miss Ri. Do you know Mrs. Hill, Miss Linda? and
did you ever hear what her sister, Mrs. Phil Reed says of her?"
"I know Mrs. Hill, yes, indeed, but I never heard the speech. What was
it?"
"You know what a talker Mrs. Becky is. Mrs. Reed refers to it in this
way. 'Becky, dear child, is so sympathetic, so interested in others
that she exhausts herself by giving out so much to her friends.'"
"I should say it was the friends who were exhausted," returned Linda.
But here Miss Ri suddenly turned out the lights leaving them to grope
their way to the sitting-room where the papers were signed and then
Berkley was, as Miss Ri termed it, driven out.
The steamboat which left at six o'clock every evening bore Miss Ri away
on its next trip. It was an all night journey down the river and up the
bay, and therefore, Miss Ri would not return till the morning of the
second day when the boat arrived on its voyage from the city.
"If you are afraid to sleep in the house with no one but Phebe, get
some one to come and stay with you," charged Miss Ri. "Bertie Bryan
will come, I am sure."
"I shall not be in the least afraid," declared Linda. "Phebe and I have
often stayed in the house alone at Talbot's Angles."
"Nevertheless, I would rather you did have someone. I'll send Phebe
over to the Bryans with a note." This she did in spite of Linda's
protest that it was not necessary, and after Linda had returned from
seeing Miss Ri on her way, Bertie arrived. She was a nice wholesome
girl who had been a schoolmate of Linda's and had spent many a day with
her at Talbot's Angles. She was not exactly a beauty, but a lovely
complexion and sweet innocent eyes helped out the charm of frank good
nature and unaffected geniality.
"It certainly is good to see you in town, Linda," she said as she
greeted her friend. "Why didn't you send me word you were here? I would
have been over long ago."
"I wanted to gather my wits together first. I am experimenting, you
see, and I didn't know how my experiment might turn out. I was afraid I
might have to slink off again ignominiously after the first week."
"But, as this is the second week and you are not slinking, I surmise it
is all right."
"Not exactly all right, but I manage to keep from having hysterics, and
am getting my youngsters in hand better."
"I heard Miss Adams say this morning that you were getting on very well
for one who had never had any experience."
"That is the most encouraging thing I have heard yet. I have been
wondering what my principal really did think, and to have that much
praise is worth a great deal," said Linda gratefully. "Now don't let us
talk shop. Tell me what is going on in town."
"Don't you hear every bit of town news from Miss Ri? What she can't
tell you Miss Parthy can."
"I haven't seen much of Miss Parthy. The hobnobbing between those two
generally goes on while I am at school. Have you met the mysterious
stranger, Bertie?"
"Yes, indeed, and he is quite an acquisition, or would be if he could
find his trunk. Have you met him?"
Linda smiled. "No, Miss Ri is afraid I shall fall in love with him, I
think, and has stipulated that he is only to call at such hours as I am
at school."
"What nonsense. Is she making a recluse of you?"
"Oh, no. Berk Matthews is allowed, or rather he comes without being
allowed, being a favorite and liable to take his own way. Tell me more
of the man without a trunk."
"Sounds rather ghastly, doesn't it? Well, he is like almost any other
nice young man, has good manners, speaks correctly, makes himself
agreeable when the opportunity is afforded. It is rumored that his
affairs are in better shape, and that money orders and checks and
things have come in, so he is no longer a mere travelling photographer."
"I wonder he stays here now that he has the means to get away."
"Oh, but he came prepared to stay. At least his object was to look up
this property. He has been up to the city once or twice and is still
hoping to recover the trunk which he thinks must be in Baltimore
still. In the meantime he is very reticent about his case, won't talk
of it to anyone, so nobody seems to know exactly what he does claim."
"The name is very familiar," remarked Linda thoughtfully. "I can't
think where I have heard it."
"There is some sort of romantic tale about him, Miss Parthy says. She
seems to know more than anyone."
"He can't be a duke or a prince in disguise," said Linda.
"He might be, for he was educated abroad, I have heard."
"Wyatt Jeffreys--Jeffreys--I can't get the name located. I suppose it
will come to me sometime."
The girls had a quiet chatty evening alone, and started upstairs
betimes. To Bertie was given a room opening out of Linda's, and with
many a good-night they at last settled down to sleep.
From her first nap Linda, after a while, was awakened by the low murmur
of voices beneath her window. She listened with beating heart. No,
there was no mistake. Should she arouse Bertie? She listened for a few
moments and then heard a sound as of someone trying a shutter. Next
a door-knob rattled slightly. Though frightened enough Linda was no
coward, and as she sat up in bed listening, her brain worked rapidly.
It would be better to arouse Bertie than to go prowling around alone,
and have her friend doubly alarmed. Together they would go down stairs
and perhaps could scare off the would-be burglars. Slipping on some
clothing she cautiously went to Bertie's door, candle in hand. Flashing
the light before her friend's closed eyes she succeeded in awaking
without alarming her.
"What's the matter, Linda?" asked Bertie sitting up and rubbing her
eyes. "Are you ill? It isn't morning, is it?"
"No, I'm not ill. Don't be scared, Bertie, but get up and put on some
clothes quickly. I am sure I heard someone trying to get into the
house."
"But what can we do?" asked Bertie in a shaking voice. "We mustn't go
down, Linda; we mustn't. Let's lock the doors and let them take what
they want."
"I don't believe they have really broken in yet, and I am going to try
to scare them away. I wish I had a pistol; I left mine in the country,
not supposing I should need it here."
"I'm sure we left everything safely locked and barred; you know we
tried every door and window."
"Yes, I know. It wouldn't be any sneak thief, of course. I have a plan.
Come into my room and let's peep out the window." They extinguished
the candle and crept to Linda's window, already raised. There was no
one in sight.
"Now we'll go to Miss Ri's room," whispered Linda. Tiptoeing across
the hall they went into this room at the front of the house and gently
raised a window here.
"I believe I hear someone on the porch," whispered Linda, drawing in
her head. "Someone is at the front door. Come on down. They are not
inside yet; that is a comfort."
"Oh, but do you think we ought to go?" asked Bertie in trepidation.
"Suppose they should get in and shoot us."
"No, they are still outside, I am sure."
The rooms below were dark and silent, windows and shutters tightly
closed. The girls listened at the front door. Yes, surely there was a
very low murmur of voices. Linda crept into the dining-room, Bertie
holding tightly to her sleeve.
"What are you going to do?" asked Bertie fearfully.
"I'll show you. Don't be scared, and don't hold on to me."
"But what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to blow up some paper bags. You take this one and blow into
it while I open the window. As soon as it is up burst your bag, and
I'll get mine ready. Say when you are ready."
[Illustration: "DON'T SHOOT!"]
"Ready!" whispered Bertie and up went the window, back shot the
bolt and upon the silence of the night sounded a loud report quickly
followed by a second.
"Hallo!" cried a surprised voice. "Here, Miss Linda, don't shoot."
The girls who had drawn back from the window clutched one another, but
felt an immense relief.
There were footsteps on the porch and presently two figures appeared
before the open window. "Hallo, in there," called someone. "It's only
I, Berk Matthews, Miss Linda."
The two girls approached the window. "What in the world are you doing
prowling around here at this time of night, trying our bolts and bars?"
asked Linda, indignantly. "You scared us nearly to death."
"And don't you reckon you gave us a good scare. It is lucky you don't
see one of us weltering in gore, Linda Talbot. Just like a girl to be
reckless with fire-arms."
Bertie stifled a giggle and pinched Linda's arm.
"It would serve you right to welter," Linda replied severely. "What
right had you to try to frighten us, I demand?"
"We didn't intend to, but I promised Miss Ri faithfully that I would
make a point of coming around here after you had gone to bed to see if
by any chance some door or window had been left insecure."
"Well, you might have told us what you were going to do," returned
Linda somewhat mollified.
"I couldn't," returned Berkley meekly, "for I haven't seen you since,
and--Do you happen to know Mr. Jeffreys? Here, Jeffreys, I want to
present you to Miss Talbot and--who is with you, Linda?"
"Bertie Bryan."
"And Miss Bryan. It is rather dark to tell which from t'other, but I
would like especially to warn you against Miss Talbot. She carries a
pistol and in her hot rage against us may still yearn for prey."
"It was Bertie who fired the first shot," declared Linda with a gravity
which brought a giggle from Bertie. "Don't tell what it was," whispered
Linda to her.
"Oh," said Mr. Jeffreys, "I have met Miss Bryan, so it will not be
difficult to identify her when she is brought up with intent to kill."
"Well, whatever happens to-morrow, we mustn't keep these ladies from
their slumbers now," said Berkley. "I'm awfully sorry, girls, really I
am, that we frightened you. We tried not to make any noise. Let's be
friends. We will forgive you for the shooting if you will forgive us
for the scare."
"But," said Linda, "the laugh is entirely on our side, for--it wasn't
a pistol. Please shut in the shutters, Berk, and I'll fasten them
inside."
"It wasn't a pistol? Then what in the world was it?" Berkley paused in
the act of closing the shutters.
"Paper bags!" returned Linda pulling the shutters together with a bang
and closing the window, while upon the quiet of the night rang out a
hearty peal of laughter from the two outside.
"It's lucky I didn't use a bottle of ammonia to throw in their faces,"
remarked Linda as the girls climbed the stairs. "That was my first
thought, but the bags were handy in my washstand drawer."
"It was an awfully good joke," replied Bertie, "and I wouldn't have
missed it, scared as I was at first. I was dreadfully afraid of
burglars getting in and chloroforming us."
"Did you ever hear of the girl who slept with her head at the foot of
her bed and who was roused by feeling something cold on her toes? A
burglar was chloroforming them, and she let him do it, then when he was
out of the room she jumped up, locked her door and gave the alarm."
Bertie laughed. "There is no fear of burglars now, I think, when we
have two self-appointed watchmen."
"It does give us a safer feeling," acknowledged Linda.
"So we can rest in peace," returned Bertie going to her room.
There was no disturbing of slumbers the next night, for the young men
made noise enough to arouse the girls, who, in fact, had not gone to
bed when stentorian voices called to them, "Here we are. Get out your
ammunition. We're ready to stand fire."
The girls looked down from above. "Anyone who is scared at a bag of
wind would be sure to run from a flash in the pan," called Bertie. "We
won't test your courage to-night, Berk."
"Did you find everything all right?" asked Linda.
"All's well," answered Berkley.
"Thank you, watchmen," returned Linda, and then the window was closed
and the young men tramped off softly singing: "Good-night, ladies."