JOSIE GETS HER BEARINGS
Josie's luck in finding the partially destroyed letters left by the
careless Cousin Dink, alias Margery Dubois, alias Hester Broughton,
sometimes D. Dingus, made it possible for her to pass up the doubtful
privilege of sleeping in the clean sheets provided for her by Betty.
That afternoon she went back to her employer, received all necessary
instructions concerning the campaign she was to wage in Atlanta in the
line of household novelties and jeweled specialties and, after paying
Mrs. Pete for the room she had decided not to occupy, she took the
night train for the South.
Before she left Dorfield Josie had time to run in on the
Higgledy-Piggledies for a few moments, long enough to say "howdy" to
her partners and to leave directions for having her mail forwarded.
She found Mary Louise having a chat with Elizabeth Wright.
"You are the very one I wanted to see, dear," she cried. "I want to ask
you to keep an eye on little Polly and Peter. Make friends with them
even more than you have and if they let drop anything else about their
past please wire it to me. Now I'm going to pack up some of my own
especial duds. I may have to redisguise myself as my real self before I
get through with this adventure. In that case I must have my own
clothes with which to do it."
"Before you go, you comet you, please tell us what has happened so
far," begged Mary Louise.
Josie smiled, her ever-cheery smile.
"Nothing much except I landed my job and will get all my expenses. I
mean to do good work for my boss. If I get pushed for time I'll get an
assistant and pay her well to do his work--all that I can't accomplish
myself. I am supposed to hire canvassers when I get to Atlanta and open
up a kind of office for the time being. The letter I wrote myself
puffing Miss Sally Blossom as a person little short of perfect got the
boss going. Now I'll have to make good. I am almost sorry I boosted
myself up so in his estimation. It's an awful strain sometimes to make
good."
"But you can do it I feel sure, you funny old Josie," cried Mary
Louise. "Now be sure to write us what you do and what you find out. If
I didn't think Danny would miss me too much I'd go with you just for
the experience."
"Heavens! You with your countenance so ingenuous that you'd give the
whole thing away the first dash out of the box. You are too honest to
engage in such a frame-up as this, Mary Louise."
"I'm no more honest than you are."
"Well, perhaps our fundamentals are about the same, but I have to
pretend to be a lot of things I am not, to work out my principles and I
am sure you couldn't pretend to be anything but just dear, sweet Mary
Louise Dexter if your life, or even your dear Danny's life, depended on
it. Could you paint your face and be a vulgar minx as I am being just
now?"
"I--I--don't know."
"I bet you could," put in Elizabeth. "You have never yet failed to do
what it was up to you to do and I believe you could even do that."
Mary Louise laughed. "I could but try if my doing it would help
anybody. Good luck to you, Josie dear!"
And the next moment Josie was gone on her great adventure.
Atlanta had on its smiling, spring face when Josie arrived. The air was
soft and balmy and everything smelt of violets. They were growing
everywhere, on the poor streets as well as the more pretentious ones. A
house was lowly indeed that did not boast a bit of yard with borders of
violets by fence and walk. Old colored women sat on the corners with
huge bunches of violets for sale. Pretty girls walked on the streets
with corsage bouquets of the fragrant flowers.
"Poor little Polly and Peter! No wonder they are homesick for Atlanta,"
was Josie's first thought.
She found lodgings in a quaint little old hotel called the Elberta Inn.
Everything in Atlanta seemed to Josie to have something to do with
peaches--Peachtree Street, West Peachtree Street, Peachtree Terrace,
Peachtree Gardens. Then hotels and inns bore the name where they could
and others named themselves after famous brands of peaches, such as
Elberta.
"What's in a name?" sighed Josie when, at her very first dinner in her
new quarters, dried apple pies were shamelessly served.
The landlady of the Elberta Inn was as thin as the landlady at 126 East
Centre was fat. Her name was Miss Oleander Denton. She was quick to let
each prospective guest know that she had seen better days.
"My grandfather would turn over in his grave if he knew that one of his
female descendants was at work and all," she whispered to Josie. "We
owned thousands of acres and hundreds of slaves and all."
Sometimes Miss Oleander was known to reverse this statement, having her
grandfather own hundreds of acres and thousands of slaves. Whatever it
was, poor Oleander was certainly hard at work now. Perhaps her proud
grandfather was saved from turning over in his grave by the fact that
his male descendants were not inclined to work. Old Mr. Denton--Major
he was called by the boarders--had never been known to do a day's work
in his life and Miss Oleander had a brother, Braxton, who was occupied
only during the races.
"I should think your grandfather would be proud that you are so
capable," suggested Josie.
"Oh, not at all," sighed Miss Oleander. "Efficient women were not
considered ladylike in my grandfather's time--that is not efficient
enough to make a living. They could be good housekeepers and all." Miss
Denton always ended every sentence with "and all." It could mean
anything and nothing.
Josie felt she had found exactly the right place. She was sure that
Miss Oleander could tell her about the Wallers and Chester Hunt, and
what she didn't know Major Denton would. Josie had modified her
appearance somewhat, lengthened her skirts, discarded the strings of
beads, left off the paint and powder except for a becoming dash and put
away her lip-stick until she might have use for it. She still clung to
the bobbed henna wig with its permanent wave. That in itself completely
changed the appearance of the usually demure Josie.
"First I must get my bearings," she mused, as she settled herself in
the shabby hall bedroom, that had the one advantage of overlooking the
great and only Peachtree Street.
On a shelf in her room she found an old telephone book. Stephen
Waller's name and address were given. The house proved to be only three
doors from the Elberta Inn, which had been a private residence in
former years. By the telephone in the hall near Josie's door hung a
new, down-to-date book. She looked for Stephen Waller's name in it. It
was not there. She then looked for Chester Hunt's name. It was given
and the address was the same as Stephen Waller's had been.
"So he is living in the old home!" A picture of the children arose in
Josie's mind, their forlorn condition, ragged, worn clothes and hungry
eyes. Then she thought of the room at Mrs. Pete's where they had lived
before they had gone to the Children's Home and her mouth tightened.
"I'll show him a thing or two before I get through," she muttered.
Before dinner that evening she went out for a walk. She turned to the
left from Elberta Inn and sauntered along as though she had no object
in life, and from the vacant expression on her face one might think she
had no more intelligence than object. Josie had the faculty of
appearing dull and stupid. A fishy look would come in her clever eyes
and she could assume the expression of a moron. She was apt to take on
this facial disguise whenever she was deeply interested in a case.
There was the Waller house on the corner, a handsome structure of pure
colonial architecture. The grounds around it were spacious for a city,
with box bushes whose size were indicative of their great age. The
walls of the house were almost covered with thick English ivy, but the
weathered pink of the old brick asserted itself in spots. The yard,
front and sides, had flower beds bordered with violets and the formal
walks were also indicated by rows of the fragrant flower. Magnolia
trees with glossy leaves and great white waxen blossoms shaded the
house and over the brick wall, that extended down the side street,
leaned fig trees.
Peachtree Street runs along the top of a ridge and the side streets
slope from it. This means that the houses must be built with basements
in the rear. Usually the kitchen and servants' quarters are in this
basement. Josie's walk led her down the side street. In the wall near
the end of the lot was a green door, no doubt the servants' and
tradesmen's entrance. Facing on the alley was a large garage, the door
of which was open. There was little sign of life about the place. Josie
noticed some belated clothes hanging on a line in the back yard. By
tiptoeing she could see over the wall. The wash was that of a man,
rather sporty striped shirts and socks of many colors.
"Mighty late to be having the wash still hanging out," said Josie to
herself. "Having trouble with servants, I wager. Hope so, anyhow."
As she started to cross the alley the honk of a horn warned her of the
approach of an automobile. She stepped back and a big touring car
turned into the alley. Josie looked up. A very handsome man of about
forty was alone in the car, which he drove with great skill. He
directed his car into the garage with noiseless shifting of gears.
Josie eyed him dully, which meant that not one detail of his
countenance or clothing escaped her. She even noted the make of the
car. The man glanced casually at Josie but she was nothing more than a
pedestrian crossing the alley to him, and a stupid-looking pedestrian
at that, who did not cross the alley even when she had a chance. Josie
stood for a moment after the car had passed the crossing.
"Could that be Chester Hunt?" she mused. "If so, he is not my idea of a
villian in appearance. He is too pleasant looking and his countenance
is entirely too open and engaging. Too good looking, in fact! I was
looking for a black-browed villain with selfishness and deviltry
written all over his face. If that is he then woe be to poor Dink and
Mrs. Waller! When evil has so much the appearance of good it is
difficult to combat."
She crossed the alley and continued her walk, not returning to the
Elberta Inn by way of the Waller house. She did not want the inmates of
that house, whoever they might be, by any chance to become familiar
with her face and form, disguised or natural.
It was too late in the evening to see about an office and the business
of making good as a saleswoman for household necessities and jeweled
novelties, but it was not too late to get a pretty good idea of the
city and a general notion of the kind of persons who made Atlanta their
home. Josie walked for an hour, noting and remembering the names of the
streets, the lines of trolleys, the principal hotels and clubs and many
other things that an ordinary tourist would have passed by or forgotten
in a moment. She stopped at a drug store and bought a map of the city.
Then when she got home she traced on the map the streets she had
traversed or followed in her walk.
"Now I am beginning to get my bearings," she declared as she freshened
up a bit for dinner. "I mustn't let myself slump into too great
respectability," she grinned at herself in the mirror.