A TELEGRAM EN ROUTE.
At 9 o’clock in the morning two days later, a train of three coaches,
two sleepers and a parlor car, pulled out of Fairberry northwest bound.
It was a clear midsummer day, not oppressively warm. The atmosphere had
been freshened by a generous shower of rain a few hours before sunup.
In the parlor car near one end sat a group of thirteen girls and one
young woman. The latter, Miss Ladd, Guardian of Flamingo Camp Fire, we
will hereafter designate as “one of the girls.” She was indeed scarcely
more than a girl, having passed her voting majority by less than a year.
The last two days had been devoted principally to preparations for this
trip. Mrs. Hutchins had engaged two men who struck the tents and packed
these and all the other camp paraphernalia and expressed the entire
outfit to Twin Lakes station. On the morning before us, Mrs. Hutchins
accompanied the fourteen girls to the train at the Fairberry depot and
bade them good-byee and wished them success in their enterprise.
There were few other passengers in the parlor car when the Camp Fire
Girls entered. One old gentleman obligingly moved forward from a seat at
the rear end, and the new passengers were able to occupy a section all
by themselves.
Before starting for the train, Miss Ladd called her little flock of
“spies” together and gave them a short lecture.
“Now, girls,” she said with keen deliberation, “we are about to embark
on a venture that has in it elements which will put many of your
qualities to severe test. And these tests are going to begin right away.
Perhaps the first will be a test of your ability to hold your tongues.
That’s pretty hard for a bevy of girls who like to talk better than
anything else, isn’t it?”
“Do you really mean to accuse us of liking to talk better than anything
else?” inquired Marie Crismore, flushing prettily.
“I didn’t say so, did I?” was the Guardian’s answering query.
“Not exactly. But you meant it, didn’t you?”
“I refuse to be pinned down to an answer,” replied Miss Ladd, smiling
enigmatically. “I suspect that if I leave you something to guess about
on that subject it may sink in deeper. Now, can any of you surmise what
specifically I am driving at?”
Nobody ventured an answer, and Miss Ladd continued:
“Don’t talk about our mission to Twin Lakes except on secret occasions.
Don’t drop remarks now and then or here and there that may be overheard
and make someone listen for more. For instance, on the train, forget
that you are on anything except a mere pleasure trip or Camp Fire
excursion. Be absolutely certain that you don’t drop any remarks that
might arouse anybody’s curiosity or suspicion. It might, you know, get
to the very people whom we wish to keep in ignorance concerning our
moves and motives.”
“I see you are bound to make sure enough spies out of us,” said Marie
Crismore pertly. “Well, I’m going to start out with the determination of
pulling my hat down over my eyes, hiding in every shadow I see and
peeking around every corner I can get to. Oh, I’m going to be some
sleuth, believe me.”
“What will you say when you catch somebody with jam on his fingers?”
Harriet Newcomb inquired.
Marie leaned forward eagerly and answered dramatically:
“I’ll suddenly appear before the villain and shout: ‘Halt, you are my
prisoner! Throw up your jammed hands!’”
After the laugh that greeted this response subsided, Miss Ladd closed
her lecture thus:
“I think you all appreciate the importance now of keeping your thoughts
to yourselves except when we are in conference. I’m glad to see you have
a lot of fun over this subject, but don’t let your gay spirits cause you
to permit any unguarded remarks to escape.”
On the train the girls all got out their knitting, and soon their
needles were plying merrily away on sleeveless sweaters, socks, helmets,
and wristlets for the boys at the front, timing their work by their
wrist watches for patriotism honors. True to their resolve, following
Miss Ladd’s warning lecture, they kept the subject of their mission out
of their conversation, and it is probable that no reference to it would
have been made during the entire 300-mile journey if something had not
happened which forced it keenly to the attention of every one of them.
The train on which they were traveling was a limited and the first stop
was fifty miles from Fairberry. A few moments after the train stopped, a
telegraph messenger walked into the front entrance of the parlor car and
called out:
“Telegram for Miss Harriet Ladd.”
The latter arose and received the message, signed the receipt blank, and
tore open the envelope. Imagine her astonishment as she read the
following:
“Miss Harriet Ladd, parlor car, Pocahontas Limited: Attorney Pierce
Langford is on your train, first coach. Bought ticket for Twin Lakes.
Small man, squint eyes, smooth face. Watch out for him. Letter follows
telegram, Mrs. Hannah Hutchins.”
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