PROFESSOR
Dorothy, upon finishing the article on Winnite, laid the original and
first carbon copy of the typewritten sheets on Mrs. Lawson’s desk. The
almost transparent sheets of the second carbon copy she folded carefully
as though she meant to place them in an envelope. But instead of this,
her right foot slipped out of its walking pump, the sheer silk stocking
followed it. Then she put on the stocking again, but now the soft papers
rested between the stocking and the sole of her foot. The pump fitted
more snugly than before, although not uncomfortably so. Content with her
morning’s work, she had closed the typewriter and was studying the
effect of a new shade of powder in her compact mirror when Mrs. Lawson
came into the room.
“I take it you’ve finished the work?”
“The original and copy are beside the longhand manuscript on your desk,”
said Dorothy, toning down her efforts with the puff. “I’ve read it over
and I don’t think you’ll find any mistakes.”
Mrs. Lawson ran her eyes over the typewritten sheets. “They are without
a fault,” she declared, placing them in a drawer. “If you take dictation
as accurately as you type, Janet, you’ll be the perfect secretary.”
“Thank you,” said Dorothy demurely and slipped the compact into the
pocket of her frock. “It is very nice of you to say that.”
“Then we’ll go in to luncheon, shall we? That is, if you’re ready?”
Dorothy stood up. “Quite ready, Mrs. Lawson, and good and hungry, too.”
“Splendid!” enthused her hostess, as they walked down the corridor
toward the entrance hall. “Doctor Winn declares this Connecticut Ridge
country is the most healthful section of the United States. And even if
some people have other ideas on the subject, I can testify that it is a
great appetite builder.”
Dorothy smiled, but said nothing. She was wondering how healthful she
was going to find this particular spot in the Ridge country after what
she had to do tonight.
“Doctor Winn always lunches in his study,” continued Mrs. Lawson. “That
is the room just beyond my office. My husband has been called to New
York on business. He won’t be back until after dinner tonight, so we
will be alone at luncheon.”
For some reason of her own, Laura Lawson had become affability itself.
And for this Dorothy gave thanks. That she disliked this truly beautiful
creature was only natural. But it is much more pleasant to lunch with a
person who puts herself out to be charming and affable, no matter what
your private opinion of the other’s character may be.
The dining room proved to be a low-ceiled apartment paneled in white
pine; heavy beams of the satin-finished wood overhead, and on the walls
several colorful landscapes in oils, evidently the works of artists who
knew and loved this Ridge country. A cheerful log fire burned brightly
on the open hearth beneath a high mantelpiece. Outside, the heavy snow
continued to drive past frosted window-panes, but within all was warmth
and coziness.
Dorothy enjoyed the meal thoroughly. Like most girls, she revelled in
luxury when it came her way. Not only was her hostess an interesting and
entertaining conversationalist, the delicious food served by Tunbridge
and a second man in plum-colored knee breeches, added materially to her
pleasure. She was really sorry when the butler lighted his mistress’
cigarette and Mrs. Lawson rose from the table.
“I have no work for you this afternoon, Janet,” said the lady, as they
strolled into the spacious hall with its suits of polished armor and
trophies of war and the chase decorating the walls. “I have some work to
complete with Doctor Winn, so I won’t be free to entertain you. There
are periodicals and novels in the library. If it weren’t such a beastly
day, I would suggest a walk.”
“Oh, I don’t mind a snowstorm!” Dorothy smiled at her. “I’d love to be
out in it for a while.”
“But I’m afraid you might get lost. The blizzard is driving out of the
northeast—and that means something in this country. You’ll find it more
disagreeable than you think.”
“I’m not afraid to walk in a blizzard,” Dorothy argued, “we used to do
it a lot at school—I love it.”
“Oh, very well, then,” went on Mrs. Lawson. “I used to enjoy that sort
of thing myself. Somebody had better go with you, though. Let me see—”
She hesitated. “Oh, yes—Gretchen will be just the person. She’s a nice
little thing—a native of Ridgefield, you know. Gretchen can show you
round the place, and there’ll be no chance of your getting lost.”
Dorothy was amused by this pretended concern for her safety. She knew
that Mrs. Lawson feared she might take it into her head to walk to the
railroad station and board the first train back to town. Gretchen as
guide and chaperone would be able to forestall anything like that. Mrs.
Lawson was not yet sure of the new secretary!
Dorothy’s features betrayed no sign of her thoughts. “That will be ever
so much pleasanter than going alone,” she agreed. “Gretchen seems to be
a sweet girl. I saw her this morning when she brought my breakfast and
unpacked my clothes. I’m sorry, though, that you can’t come too.”
Deception, she found, was becoming a habit when treating with her
hostess.
“Thank you, my dear—I’m sorry, too.” Mrs. Lawson went toward the
tasselled bell rope that hung beside the fireplace. “Run upstairs now
and get into warm things. I’ll ring for Gretchen and have her meet you
down here in quarter of an hour.”
Fifteen minutes afterward, warmly dressed in whipcord jodhpurs, a heavy
sweater and knee-length leather coat of dark green, Dorothy came out of
her room onto the gallery, pulling a white wool skating cap well down
over her ears. With a white wool scarf twisted about her throat, the
long ends thrown back over her shoulders, she looked ready for any
winter sport as she ran lightly down the stairs, the rubber soles of her
high arctics making no sound on the broad oaken steps.
Gretchen, well bundled up in sweater and heavy tweed skirt was waiting
for her.
“You certainly do look like a picture on a Christmas magazine cover,
Miss Jordan,” the girl exclaimed, while they walked to the front door.
“I’m glad you’ve got warm gauntlets. It’s mighty cold out—you’ll need
them.”
Dorothy laughed gaily and swung open the door. “Nothing could be more
becoming than your own costume, Gretchen. That light blue skating set is
just the color of your eyes.”
“That,” chuckled Gretchen, “is the real reason I bought it.”
They were outside now and standing under the wide porte-cochere of glass
and wrought iron.
“It’s glorious out here, and not too cold, either.” Dorothy sniffed the
sharp air enthusiastically. “I hate staying indoors on a wild day like
this. Look at those big flakes spinning down and sideslipping into the
drifts. It makes one glad to be alive.”
“You said it, Miss Jordan. I love it myself—though I never thought of
snowflakes being like airplanes before. Which way do you want to go?”
“You’re the leader, Gretchen. Anywhere you say suits me.”
“Then let’s tramp over to the pond, Miss Jordan. The ice ought to be
holding. We’ll stop at the garage and fetch a broom along. There’s too
much snow for skating, but we might make a slide.”
“That will be fun,” agreed Dorothy, as they came down the steps and
swung along the white expanse of driveway. “I haven’t done anything like
that since I was a kid. How far’s the pond from here?”
“About half a mile. Doctor Winn owns several hundred acres. It’s down
yonder in a hollow. This time of year when the trees are bare, you can
see it plainly from the house. Today there’s too much snow.”
“There certainly is plenty of it!” Dorothy was ploughing through the
fluffy white mass nearly up to her knees. “A good eighteen inches must
have fallen already and it’s drifting fast. If it doesn’t stop by
tonight, Winncote will be snowed in for a while. What’s that building
over there, Gretchen—gray stone, isn’t it?”
“That’s the laboratory, miss. It’s really a wing of the house. The
stables are just beyond, but this storm’s so thick, it blots them out.
Well, here we are at the garage. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll step
inside and get a broom.”
“Get two if you can,” suggested Dorothy. “Then we’ll both get some
exercise, and they’ll come in handy while we’re getting through the
drifts.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Gretchen. She disappeared through a door in the
side of the building.
Dorothy looked about her. Rolling clouds of windswept snowflakes made it
impossible to see objects more than a few yards away with any
distinctness. The dark shadow of low clouds painted the white of her
landscape a cold, dull gray. But she noticed, as she waited, that the
storm was driving in gusts, that occasionally there would be a short
lull when the sun, tinging the sky with rose and yellow, seemed fighting
to break its way through to this white-blanketed world. Then Gretchen, a
broom in each hand, joined her.
“Whew! that place was stuffy,” she said, handing one of the brooms to
Dorothy, and starting ahead at right angles from the way they had come.
“Hanley made a fuss giving me two—he would! It’s a wonder the cars
don’t melt in there. He keeps the place like an oven. All the help from
the city is like that. They can’t seem to get warm enough, and the way
they hate fresh air is a caution! I roomed with Sadie, the other
chambermaid, when I first came, and you won’t believe it, but that girl
had nailed our window shut so it couldn’t be opened! I spoke to Mr.
Tunbridge next morning, and he gave me a room of my own. I always did
like Mr. Tunbridge. He’s a real gentleman, he is.”
They forged ahead through the drifts to the crossfire of Gretchen’s
light chatter, and Dorothy was given a series of entertaining stories
concerning the habits of the Winncote servants and their life
below-stairs. It was rough going with the storm in their faces, and
Gretchen eventually ceased her gossiping from sheer lack of breath. The
ground began to slope gently downward, and finally they came to a belt
of trees in a hollow. Fifty yards farther on, a broad expanse of white
marked the extent of Winncote Pond beneath its thick, flat quilt of
snow.
“Think the ice will hold?” Dorothy walked to the brink of the little
lake. “I’d hate to go in on a day like this.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I was down here for an hour yesterday afternoon
with my skates before the snow began, and it was much warmer then. The
ice was wonderful—slick as glass and solid as a rock.”
By dint of considerable exercise they cleared two narrow paths that ran
parallel across the ice. Then they commenced a series of sliding
contests, each girl on her own ice track. Starting at a line in the snow
a few yards above the low bank, they would race forward to the brink and
shoot out on the ice, vying with each other to see who could slide the
farthest. There were several tumbles at first, but the deep snow along
the sides of the tracks prevented bad bumps. Soon, however, they both
became adepts at the sport. Dorothy, aided by her extra weight, for she
was at least twenty pounds heavier than little Gretchen, invariably won.
After a half an hour of this rather violent sport, they cleared the snow
from a fallen tree trunk and sat down for a rest. Here in the hollow,
surrounded by trees, the wind lost a great deal of its force. But the
snow continued to fall unabated, and their hot breath clouded like steam
in the cold air. Their cheeks were tingling crimson from the racing, and
both felt in high good spirits.
“I can’t understand why so many rich people go south every winter,”
Gretchen said earnestly. “I wouldn’t miss out on this fun—the snow and
the skating, tobogganing—for anything in the world.”
“People like that,” decreed Dorothy, “just don’t know how to live. You
can have lots of fun in summer, of course. I don’t know which I love the
best. But this sort of thing makes you feel just grand. It certainly put
the pep into—.” She stopped short and sprang to her feet. From
somewhere close by and seemingly below her, had come a low, moaning
sound.
Gretchen jumped up. Her doll-like face with its round, blue eyes took on
a look of startled wonder. “What was that?” she cried. “It sounded as if
I—as if I was sitting on it!”
Again came the low cry in a weird, minor key.
“You were. It’s coming from the inside of this log. An animal of some
kind.”
“Why, I guess you’re right. Whatever it is, the thing gave me the
heebie-jeebies for a minute.”
The snow had drifted over the butt of the half-rotted tree. Dorothy took
her broom and swept it clear.
“The log’s hollow!” she exclaimed and bent down. “Yes, there’s something
in there—I can see its eyes—come here, Gretchen! You can see for
yourself.”
“Not me!” declared that young woman. “I don’t want to get bit—I mean,
bitten, miss.”
“Oh, never mind the grammar.” Dorothy was almost standing on her head,
trying to get a better view. “But do cut out the polite trimmings when
we’re alone. You’re Gretchen and I’m Dorothy—savez?”
“All right—Dorothy. But please be careful. That thing may jump out at
you.”
“I wish it would. Then I’d know what it is. And whatever it is, the
animal in there can’t be much bigger than a rabbit. The hole isn’t wide
enough.”
“Maybe it is a rabbit.” Gretchen came nearer.
“Did you ever hear a rabbit make a noise like that?” Dorothy’s tone was
disdainful.
“Then—maybe it’s a wildcat!” said Gretchen fearfully.
“Well, if it is, it’s a small one. Here, puss—puss. The silly thing is
too far in to reach. She just blinks at me.”
“Perhaps she’s hurt and crawled in there to die, Dorothy.”
“Aren’t you cheerful! She probably crawled in there to get out of the
storm, and is half-frozen, poor thing.”
“Well, I don’t know what we’re going to do about it,” sighed Gretchen,
still keeping her distance.
Once more the low moan came from the log, but now that the end was free
from snow, the sound was much clearer.
“That’s no wildcat, either!” Dorothy twisted her head, first to the
right, then to the left, in an attempt to get a better light on the
log’s occupant. “There’s too much of a whine in that cry. The thing’s
probably a young fox. How does one call a fox, Gretchen? I’m hanged if I
know.”
“Nor me, neither, Dorothy. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard of
anybody wanting to call one.”
They both laughed. “You don’t seem to know much about foxes,” teased
Dorothy. “Didn’t you ever see a fox?”
“No. But my father says the way they steal eggs and suck them is a
caution.”
“Well,” admitted Dorothy, “we can’t stand around here all day, trying to
get frozen foxes out of hollow logs. I’ll try whistling, and you can
make a noise like a sucked egg. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to
leave him in his lair.” With a wink at the giggling Gretchen, she bent
down again and whistled shrilly. “Here, boy!” she called. “Come on out
to your mama!”
There was a scrambling noise within the log, and Gretchen started for
the pond.
“Oh, be careful, Dorothy! Do be careful!” she cried, as she saw her
friend gather a small creature into her arms. “What is it, anyway—is it
a fox?”
“No, a first cousin.” Dorothy shook the ends of her wool scarf free from
snow and wrapped them around the small animal.
“A first cousin?” Gretchen came nearer. “What in the world do you mean
by that?”
“Come and take a look,” her friend invited. “He won’t bite you, will
you, boy?”
Gretchen saw her pat a little black nose that poked its way out of the
scarf. A long pointed head, brindle and white, in which were set two
snapping black eyes, followed the nose. “Why, why, it’s a fox terrier—a
fox terrier puppy!” she gasped. “How do you suppose he ever came to
crawl into that log?”
Dorothy patted the dog’s head. “Got lost in the storm, I guess. The poor
little chap can’t be over three months old. Does he belong up at the
house?”
“No, he doesn’t. What’s more, none of the people who live around here
have a fox terrier pup that I know of.”
Dorothy examined the pup’s front paws, but did so very gently. “This
little man has come a long way.” She covered him again. “The bottom of
his feet show it. They’re cut and badly swollen. And he’s half-frozen
and starved into the bargain, I’ll bet. Let’s go back to the house and
make him comfortable.”
“I’ll carry the brooms,” said Gretchen. “You have an armful, with him.
By the way, you’re going to keep him, aren’t you?”
“Surest thing you know! That is, unless someone comes to claim him.”
They trudged off through the trees and up the hill, Gretchen shouldering
the brooms.
“What are you going to call him?” she asked, after a while.
“What do you think?”
“Why, I don’t know. Wait a minute, though—there’s a girl who lives over
in Silvermine named Dorothea Gutmann. Daddy sometimes does work for her
father. Dorothea has a fox terrier pup and she calls him ‘Professor.’ Do
you know why?”
“I give up,” said Dorothy, floundering through the snow beside her. “Why
does Dorothea Gutmann call her fox terrier pup Professor?”
“Because,” smiled Gretchen in delight, “he just about ate up a
dictionary!”
Dorothy laughed merrily, and hugged the warm little bundle in her arms.
“And when you’ve got outside a lot of words like that, even a pup would
know as much as the average professor, I s’pose.”
“That’s the way Dorothea thought about it. I’ve been over to the
Gutmanns a couple of times with Daddy and her dog looks enough like
yours to be a twin!”
“We run into doubles nowadays, every day!” Dorothy chuckled. “First it’s
Janet and me who can’t be told apart. Then it’s Dorothea’s dog and mine.
I know her, too, by the way. She’s in the New Canaan Junior High. But I
haven’t seen her puppy. Our names are almost alike, too, but not quite,
thank goodness. If any more of this double identity business comes
along, I’ll just have to give up. A girl’s got to have some sort of a
personality all her own, you know.”
“I wouldn’t let that worry me,” said Gretchen. “There’s only one Dorothy
Dixon, after all.”
“Thanks for those kind words, Gretchen. That’s really very sweet of you,
though. If the pup was a lady, I’d call him ‘Gretchen’. Since he isn’t,
‘Professor’ will do very nicely. We’ll try him on a dictionary when we
get home, that is, after he’s had some nice warm bread and milk, and a
good sleep.”
“If,” smiled Gretchen, “what you said just now was meant for a
compliment—well, I’m glad Professor is not a lady. You’d better go on
to the house, while I drop these brooms in here at the garage. I’ll come
to your room just as soon as I can slip into my uniform, and I’ll bring
up the bread and milk.”
“I always knew you were a dear,” said Dorothy, and she continued to push
her way on toward the house.