NELSON WHITNEY rang the bell of the Sheldon House at exactly quarter
past eight the next morning. It was as early as he felt it would be
at all courteous to disturb the household, especially as one of the
members had not been feeling well the night before.
Mary, the trusted servant of the years, opened the door to him.
"Good morning, Mary," he said familiarly, for he had been almost as
much at home in the Sheldon house since childhood as in his own home.
"Is Marguerite up yet? I don't like to disturb her, but she was to have
some measurements written out for the things she wanted me to get for
the Hospital Fair, and I rather think she is expecting me to see to it
this morning."
"Miss Marguerite is away, Mr. Nelson," said Mary with disapproval in
her voice.
Mary had been with the family too long not to know every time one of
the beloved family winked an eye or shed a tear, and Mary felt that
things were all wrong just now; the idol of her heart crying and
carrying on all day and then running away on the midnight train, and
her mother going at daybreak! It certainly was not right.
"Away?" said Nelson. "Why, she was here yesterday, wasn't she? Her
mother told me she was lying down with a headache last evening when I
telephoned."
"Sure she was here last evening," said Mary, glad to get someone to
share her troubles. "I don't know whatever her mother was thinking
about to let her go, and her having headaches and crying and all
yesterday. But young folks, seems to do about as they please nowadays."
Whitney cast her a pleasant grin, but his eyes showed that he was
troubled.
"Well, I guess then I'll have to see Mrs. Sheldon. If she isn't about
just ask her, please, if Marguerite left any word with her. Or, if
she's asleep yet or anything, just look on Marguerite's desk and see if
you find a paper with my name on it. She's likely written it out and
left it there."
"M's Sheldon's gone too," burst forth Mary. "She left on the five
o'clock with some woman was here all evening and come back and stayed
all night, what there was left of it when they got packed."
Whitney looked up startled.
"Mrs. Sheldon has gone too? And she didn't go with Marguerite? That is
strange. There wasn't a death in the family or anything near relatives
in New York perhaps? I believe they have relatives there, haven't they?
Perhaps they telegraphed for Marguerite."
"No, it couldn't a been that, all the Sheldons and Hamptons in New York
went to Europe a month ago—went for a year."
"Well, it's none of my business of course," said Whitney with a grave
smile that ended with a sigh, "but what in sixty am I going to do about
that committee? They'll be in my hair if I don't get those things for
to-night, and they told me Marguerite had the list. She probably forgot
to say anything to you about it, Mary, going in such a hurry. Suppose
you go up and look around her room and see if you see anything that
looks like a list, whether it has my name on it or not."
"Come on in, then," said Mary graciously, and opened the door wider.
Whitney stepped in and stood in the hall, his glance searching toward
the open doorway where he had stood two nights before, talking to
Mrs. Sheldon. Who was that other woman? Was she connected with this
sudden exodus? He had liked her. She seemed a strong true friend. He
remembered the twinkle in her eyes, though they had looked grave, even
sorrowful as if she was full of sympathy.
He sighed again as he remembered how strange it was to have the family
go off this way without telling him. Heretofore he had always been told
of every change from day to day. His life had been so closely twined
with theirs that they never even changed a piece of furniture from one
room to another without asking him gaily how he liked it in its new
place, always joyously consulting him about any action. When they were
going away, it was always he who got their reservations, checked their
baggage, and took them to the station in his car, that is, since he had
been old enough to have a car. Before that he attended them in a hired
taxi.
But now, the last few months, there had been growing a change. Mrs.
Sheldon was just the same, but Marguerite had a certain reserve, as if
he didn't matter any more. It was all since that night when the Farr
girl brought that Keller fellow with her to their literary club, and
introduced him to Marguerite. Whitney had heard him calling her "Daisy"
the very first night; "Daisy," the name that belonged exclusively to
her mother—and himself—up to that night!
After that, he studiously called her Marguerite. He wanted no name for
his girl that he had to share with that man! He was a villain, that's
what he was, a middle-aged man coming in and presuming to monopolize a
girl almost young enough to be his daughter! What was he anyway, and
what did they know about him? He meant to make it his business pretty
soon to find out, if he persisted in coming around as he had been doing.
Then Mary's voice sailed down the stairway.
"Was it a list of flower seeds and bulbs, you meant, Mr. Nelson?"
Whitney walked over to the foot of the stairs and looked up.
"No, Mary, it would be lumber, and canvas, and curtain material for the
stage setting for the Cantata."
"Oh," said Mary, "this ain't it, then, I'll look again."
Mary went back into the girl's room, and the young man stood there
waiting. He moved his position impatiently and drew another sigh, and
something crackled under his foot. A paper! Probably that was the list.
Marguerite had left it on the hall table and it had blown across the
floor when the door was opened.
He stooped and picked it up. Yes, it was Marguerite's writing. Probably
some directions about color and fabrics. Maybe a bit of a word of
apology for going so hurriedly, or even a friendly goodbye. His heart
was lifted at the thought. His eyes plunged into the midst of the words
in the dim light of the hall, and grasped, searching for that personal
word which he so longed to read. So before he was aware that he was
reading a note addressed to someone else, he had gathered the whole
unhappy truth.
For an instant he stood with the paper quivering in his hand, a sense
of mortification upon him for having read something he shouldn't, yet a
great sinking within his soul for the facts that had been revealed in
that brief note.
So then Daisy Marguerite had gone away without her mother's knowledge!
Marguerite to have done a thing like that! She would never have done
that a year ago! Something terrible must have happened to get her
wrought up to the degree that she would worry her much-loved mother by
doing that.
And of course that explained the mother's hasty leave by the next
train. Mrs. Sheldon would never allow that quietly without doing
something about it. But why, oh, why hadn't she telephoned to him? That
is what she would have done even a few weeks ago! Oh, and what was that
other awful thing the note had said? When she had accomplished her
strange mission, whatever it was, trying to prove that somebody did not
exist, she was going to hunt up that unspeakable villain Keller and
marry him! Could any calamity loom greater than that to Nelson Whitney
in the whole bright world that had suddenly gone black?
At that instant, while he was turning over those awful facts and trying
to make something out of them, he heard Mary's brisk footsteps coming
down the stairs. Instantly he crushed the paper he held and drove his
hand deep into his overcoat pocket.
"I can't find it nowheres, Mr. Nelson," she said, "would you like to go
up and look? You might recognize it when I wouldn't."
Nelson sprang up the steps hastily.
"I'll just take a look about," he said.
But it was not for the list he wanted to go up. He had a feeling that
he must look about the apartment where she had last been as if its very
walls must cry out and give him a clue to go by, some hope for his
anguished soul that was all wrapped up in the little girl he had loved
since childhood, the little girl about to step off into danger! What
could he do about it?
But the room was in perfect order, as Marguerite's room always was,
nothing about to tell any tales, save her little blue sweater, lying
on the bed in a heap as if it had suddenly been cast aside. He stood
for an instant in the doorway, looking around, walked to her desk and
her bureau with a keen swift glance, went back toward the door. Pausing
suddenly beside the bed, he picked up the soft little wool garment and
laid it to his cheek, just an instant, like a caress, and dropping it,
went out of the room and ran swiftly down the stairs.
"D'ya find it?" asked Mary noting triumphantly that he had no list in
his hand.
"No, Mary, it wasn't there," he said. "Thank you. She must have
forgotten it. I'll have to get along the best way I can without it."
"Well, if it turns up when I go to sweep, I'll phone you to the office,
Mr. Nelson."
"Thank you, Mary, and by the way, they didn't say when they were
returning, did they? Or give you an address? I might get her on Long
Distance you know."
"No, they didn't say. M's Sheldon she did say that ef they decided to
stay mor'na day ur so, she'd write and tell me what hotel they put up
at. Ef she does, I'll phone ya, Mr. Nelson."
"All right, Mary. Thank you!" said Nelson Whitney, and closing the door
behind him, went out into the street.
As he got into his car and threw in the clutch, it suddenly came to him
what he must do. His people were off alone, in possible trouble, and he
must be at hand ready if they needed him! He must go to New York and
find them.
But how could he find them since each detachment of them had the start
of him, and might be lost in New York long before he could get there?
He began to calculate distance and time. Marguerite a whole night ahead
of him, and her mother several hours' start! When he reached New York,
they might have already left it. Marguerite might already be married.
And even if he were there, unless he got there ahead and met their
trains, how would he know where they had gone?
Stay! Hadn't that note told a place where Marguerite was going? He
pulled out the crumpled paper and smoothed it, getting the number fixed
in his mind. — Fifth Avenue! Well, at least, he knew one place where
she intended to go, if there was such a place. Her note seemed to imply
that she doubted it. But there would at least be the number whether the
person whose existence she was seeking to disprove, was there or not.
Yes, with only that little clue, and no chance at all of getting
there on time, he meant to go after her! For what could her mother
do? True she might have more information of her whereabouts than was
contained in that note, but even so, she was a woman of another day
and generation, a woman used to being cared for, and not accustomed to
traveling by herself. That other woman had looked capable, of course,
as if she might go around the world by herself, and have no trouble
whatever, but who knew whether that other woman—Dunlap her name was,
wasn't it—who knew, whether she was going all the way to New York or
not?
Yes, he must go! And there was only one way to get there in time to be
of use. Could he do it?
He drove hard down to his office, a very new office with a new
secretary and office boy, new desks and chairs and typewriter, and
new clientele. This was a busy day, too, but that couldn't be helped
either. His boss in Chicago was not a hard master, and anyway his
secretary was efficient if she was rather old and homely.
He plunged into his morning mail. That must be got out of the way
first. Matilda Herrick, the shell-rimmed secretary, had it all in neat
order for him; the new orders, the old customers, the complaints, the
letter from the head office in Chicago. He went through the piles
rapidly, giving a word of direction now and then.
"Get these letters ready for me as soon as you can," he said. "I may
have to go to New York to-day. Call up Bainbridge and find out if he is
ready to talk business yet. Get Hetherington on the phone and see if
he has heard from that order he took yesterday, and send the boy up to
my home to get my suit case. He had better go as soon as he has those
envelopes addressed. There 'll be time."
When Matilda Herrick had taken her gaunt ability out of his private
office, he locked his door and went down on his knees beside his desk.
He was a young man who traveled under Guidance and went nowhere without
orders.
When he got up from his knees there was a look of purpose on his face
that had not been there before. He reached for his telephone and called
a number.
A hearty voice answered it promptly.
Whitney's face lighted with relief.
"Hello, Bert, is that you?"
"Sure is! Hello, Nell. Glad to hear your voice! How's crops?"
"Oh, growing, growing fast. Say, Bert, flying anywhere to-day?"
"Sure thing. Want to go?"
"If you're going in the right direction. What's your chart?"
"Wherever you say. You never thought you could spare the time to go
with me before."
"Happen to be going anywhere within a hundred miles of New York?"
"Flying right to Fifth Avenue, this afternoon, if you'll accompany me.
Got a bit of engine trouble to make right, it'll take a couple of hours
to fix, then I'm ready. How soon can you start?"
"I could make it any time after one if things go well here."
"Make it snappy and we'll paint New York red to-night."
"I'd prefer white, if you don't mind, Bert."
"O. K. with me Nellie, just so's you go along. Meet me at the field at
two o'clock."
Whitney hung up with an awed look in his face.
"It seems to be in the plan," he said to himself reverently, and began
to work at several matters of business that he knew must be set right
before he could honorably leave his own city.
It seemed beautiful to him the way everything worked out, no
hindrances, not a single hitch in the things that must be finished
before he left. Every man he called on the telephone was in, every
report of sales was such that he could give the important directions
concerning them before he went away.
"It's just as if somebody else was working with me to smooth the way,"
he thought.
The hours of the morning sped. Matilda Herrick had the letters ready
for signing in plenty of time. Everything went smoothly.
Nelson Whitney telephoned his mother to pack his suit case for a quick
trip, and the office boy did all the rest, including accompanying his
chief to the flying field, and driving the car back to the garage
again. At two-thirty exactly they were off, through the clear blue
ether, Nelson Whitney's first experience in flying.
For a few minutes the thrill of the new sensation occupied every
sense, but after he was accustomed to the thought of sailing with the
clouds, and looking down upon earth, he began to think of what was
before him in New York. Was this a wild-goose chase he was going on?
Wouldn't anybody, just anybody think he was a fool to start off with as
little warrant as he had had? Wasn't there danger of making his lady
everlastingly angry chasing her this way, even if he did find her?
Wouldn't even her mother have a right to resent it?
And what, pray, was he to do when he arrived in New York, beyond the
mere meeting the trains at the station, and getting in touch with
the people he was trying to help? How could he do that? Just walk up
smiling and say he knew they were expected so he met them? He hadn't
really any warrant for that. Of course he could say that Mary told him
what train they had taken, but he would feel like a fool saying that to
Mrs. Sheldon. Her keen eyes would see that there was something behind
it all, and perhaps she might resent his intrusion into her affairs,
though she had always acted, hitherto, as if he belonged to her scheme
of life.
And what could he do before her train arrived to keep Marguerite in
sight? If he met her train, she would be likely to be indignant. He
could not tell her he had found her note on the floor, and read it,
though it was addressed to her mother, and that he was here to protect
her from whatever evil, real or fancied, threatened her. Assuredly he
would meet her train and try to appear as casual as possible, but he
shrank inexpressibly from the look of scorn her dear eyes would cast at
him.
There was no question but that Marguerite would resent his entrance
onto the stage at this point in her career. She had been most haughty
and independent of late, and it stung him even to remember her careless
indifference.
And failing to get suitable touch with his girl at the train, if he
should go to hunt up that number of Fifth Avenue, and should find it
there, what would he do? And what if it were not there? And where lived
this Keller man who was apparently making all this trouble? Why! He
ought to have telephoned somebody and found that out before he left!
Here he was thinking he had done everything up in fine shape and he had
left out one of the strategic points in the whole matter. Of course he
could telephone back when he got to New York, but a lot of time might
be lost.
However, was he not traveling under guidance? Could not He who had
smoothed the way thus far manage it so that he would go to the right
place, do the right thing? Would not the way open as he advanced?
He had put himself under the guidance of the greatest Leader in the
universe, and there he must trust and not be afraid.
The silver wings that bore him above the earth flew straight on, over
wide stretches of the map. Sometimes he looked down wondering, when he
saw a railroad train creeping along like a small worm on the earth, if
perhaps he might be looking at the very train in which those he went to
protect were traveling.
The strange thing about it all was that though he was positive they
needed protection, he was not in the least sure from what he was
protecting them. Only in the case of the girl, if it should come about
that she tried to carry out her threat of marrying that man Keller,
he knew he must prevent it. He felt that it could be nothing short of
a calamity for her, to say nothing of her mother and himself, if that
should ever come to pass. He felt, too, that God was on his side, for
had he not put himself and his plans in the hands of God, willing to
be guided, willing to have all plans overturned if they were not the
right thing? And the way had been smoothed before him. Nothing had been
hindered of the least detail to stop him from going through the air.
So the silver wings flew on, and in due time Nelson Whitney arrived in
New York.
He did not help his friend in painting the town red. Instead he went
directly to the Pennsylvania station and got full details of all trains
arriving from the West. He found that Marguerite's train was due to
arrive late that evening. He begged off from going with his friend
longer than to dinner, and went straight back to the station where he
made himself well acquainted with the various exits of the train, and
found the best place to watch and await her.
It had not been hard to discover just where the train would come
in, and he had established himself behind the great iron bars just
above the train floor, where he could look down upon the disembarking
passengers without being seen by them unless they deliberately turned
around and looked up, but near enough to the train gate to get to her
at once if he should see she was in any need of a friend, or was at all
hesitant which way to turn.
During the long day, he had had full opportunity to plan what he would
say when he met her. He would tell how he had called at the house for
her list, and Mary had said she had gone to New York on the midnight
train. So when he was invited to fly with his friend to the same city,
he thought he would meet her train and ask her about the list, in case
he went back the next day. That was a perfectly reasonable story as
well as being absolutely true, for his friend had many times invited
him to fly, and had told him to call him when he could go.
Nevertheless he wished to reconnoiter before he approached her. It
was even conceivable that that Keller person might have somehow got
in touch with her, and be traveling with her. His blood boiled at the
thought, and he stood for twenty long minutes till the train arrived,
thinking over what he should do if that were the case. He decided that
he would in any event go to the gate and speak to Marguerite. It might
even be that a face from home might influence her, hinder her, from any
foolish thing she might be going to do. At least he would ask where she
was staying, and perhaps let her know that her mother was on the way,
just casually, as if of course she knew it.
He would be able to judge a great deal from the way she took what he
said.
In the mean time, while he mused, in not a little anxiety, forgetting
for the moment his Guide, the train came in. The stream of people like
ants, came filing up the iron stairs to the gateways, and not one of
them escaped the anxious eye of Nelson Whitney, as he stood in his
sheltered nook behind a bunch of train flags and gate signs and waited.
But Marguerite did not appear.
She did not even come up in the elevator, which was in full view from
his position. He was sure he had not missed her, yet a frenzy of
anxiety seized him. Perhaps she had seen him and had evaded him while
he was looking the other way!
Where was Marguerite?