DORIS FORCE
AT LOCKED GATES
_Or
Saving a Mysterious Fortune_
_By_
Julia K. Duncan
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO NEW YORK
Copyright MCMXXXI
H. A. Co.
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I A Queer Invitation 5
II A Friendly Note 12
III A Prospective Visit 22
IV An Aviation Meet 28
V Kitty Arrives 35
VI Locked Gates 42
VII A Strange Reception 53
VIII A Visitor 59
IX A Conversation Overheard 66
X Memories 75
XI A Sorrowful Romance 82
XII An Interlude 91
XIII An Important Request 99
XIV A Valuable Find 108
XV Questionable Characters 118
XVI A Pleasant Adventure 125
XVII A Dog’s Discovery 135
XVIII The Floor Above 141
XIX Under the Window 149
XX A Picnic 154
XXI An Unusual Procedure 168
XXII A Narrow Escape 179
XXIII An Accusation 187
XXIV Face to Face 195
XXV Vindication 200
DORIS FORCE AT
LOCKED GATES
CHAPTER I
A QUEER INVITATION
“What are you waiting for, Doris? You’ve been hanging on that gatepost
all afternoon.”
“Marshmallow” Mallow, a chubby, pleasant-faced youth flung away the core
of an apple and came slowly down the walk toward the girl he had just
addressed.
“Oh, I’m waiting for the postman,” Doris Force, an unusually pretty miss
of sixteen, tossed carelessly over her shoulder as she continued to gaze
down the street. “He just turned the corner.”
“Must be you’re expecting a very important letter,” Marshmallow drawled.
“I’ll bet it’s from Dave!”
“Oh, go eat another apple!” Doris retorted goodnaturedly. “I’m looking
for a letter from Kitty Norris, my chum at boarding school. I’m anxious
to find out what she’s planning to do this vacation.”
“It’s sure going to be dull here at Chilton this summer.”
“I wish something exciting would turn up.”
“So do I, but nothing ever does.” Gloomily, Marshmallow thrust his hand
into his coat pocket and brought out two candy bars. “Have one, Doris?”
“No, thanks. I don’t see how you can enjoy eating all the time! Why, if
you keep on, you’ll land in the circus!”
Doris knew from past experience that her gibes would be accepted in the
bantering spirit in which they were intended. She had known Marshall
Mallow for a number of years, and, in fact, they had resided in the same
house, for Doris’s uncle, Wardell Force, rented a suite of rooms from
Marshall’s mother, Mrs. Thomas Mallow.
Though Doris and Marshall were as unlike as it was possible for two
persons to be, they were the best of friends. Marshmallow, who answered
to his given name only when his mother called, was liked by nearly
everyone in the neighborhood, but he was subjected to a great deal of
teasing because he was decidedly fat. He was a year older than Doris but
frequently was mistaken as the younger of the two.
If Marshmallow were easy going and perhaps inclined to be a trifle lazy,
Doris made up for his lack of energy. She was studious, and tremendously
interested in athletics and music, particularly the latter. It was her
ambitious dream that some day she would win fame as a singer in grand
opera. Doris was utterly without vanity and would never admit that she
was talented. As for her appearance, she never could understand why her
friends were envious of her dark red curly hair and deep blue eyes.
“Here the mailman comes at last,” she sighed in relief, as she saw the
man turn in at the house next door. “Oh, I do hope he has something for
me.”
A moment later the postman stopped at the Mallow gate and began to look
through a pack of letters.
“Here you are, young lady,” he said with a pleasant smile.
“Two!” Doris gasped in delight. “That’s better than I had hoped for.”
Quickly, she scanned the postmarks. “And this one is from Kitty, too!”
Eagerly, she ripped open the envelope. The letter, written in an almost
illegible scrawl, was brief, for Kitty Norris had never been a
satisfactory correspondent.
“Kitty hasn’t made any plans for the summer yet,” she informed
Marshmallow as she replaced the letter in the envelope. “She thinks it
would be fun if we could go to some summer camp.”
“Well, why don’t you?”
“I wish I could—but there’s the problem of money.”
“Your uncle will give it to you. He thinks you’re just right and he
couldn’t deny you anything.”
“Uncle Ward is a dear and he’s always given me everything I want, but I
don’t like to ask for too much.”
“It’s your own money, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle Ward has looked after my property ever since Mother and
Father died, but the other day he told me he wanted to have a long talk
with me about money. I guess I’ve been using it up dreadfully fast.
Boarding school costs such a lot.”
“Well, it shouldn’t cost so much to go camping.”
“No, that’s so,” Doris agreed, more cheerfully. “I think I’ll ask him if
I can’t go. Oh, dear, I don’t see why one has to worry about money all
the time! I’d just be sick, if I found out I couldn’t go on with my music
lessons. It would seem so funny to be poor!”
“I wouldn’t see anything funny about it,” Marshmallow said as he
thoughtfully munched a candy bar.
“I didn’t really mean it would be funny,” Doris corrected. “I’ve always
had the things I’ve needed and until Uncle Ward spoke to me the other
day, it never occurred to me that I didn’t have a substantial income.”
Remembering that she had not read her second letter, she tore open the
envelope and glanced curiously at the message. It was written in a fine
but cramped hand, and Doris turned over at once to the signature.
“Azalea and Iris Gates,” she read aloud. “How very odd!”
“What’s odd?” Marshmallow demanded.
“Why, just listen to this letter:
“‘My dear Miss Force: We understand you are the only daughter of the late
Louise Trent Force. We knew her a great many years ago, and now after
many years of heartache over her older brother, John, we find a most
unusual circumstance has arisen. Could you come to Rumson and visit our
home in order to acquaint yourself with the present affairs pertaining to
John Trent, your uncle? Very truly yours, Azalea and Iris Gates.’”
“You never told me you had an uncle by that name, Doris.”
“I didn’t know it myself, Marshmallow! This is all news to me!”
“Sort of queer they invite you down to their place at Rumson, isn’t it? A
fellow would think they could write anything they wanted to tell you.”
“Perhaps this is only an excuse for something else,” Doris said,
thoughtfully scanning the letter a second time. “What do you suppose they
mean by saying they want to acquaint me with the present affairs
pertaining to my uncle? I hope I’m going to inherit some money! I need
it.”
“Fat chance,” Marshmallow grunted. “More ’n likely they’ll ask you for
some.”
Doris did not reply, for just then a smart red roadster swung around the
corner. It did not appear to be running smoothly and the driver, a man of
perhaps thirty, dressed immaculately but in rather sporty attire, brought
the car to a standstill not a half dozen yards from where Doris and
Marshmallow were standing.
“Now what?” they heard him mutter angrily.
Doris and Marshmallow moved over toward the car, curious to learn what
was wrong.
“Having trouble?” Marshmallow inquired pleasantly.
“What does it look like?” the stranger snapped crossly. “This car hasn’t
run decently for the last fifteen miles!”
“Perhaps your gas line is plugged,” Marshmallow suggested, lifting the
hood. “Yep, that’s just what it is. Give me a wire or something and I can
fix it in a jiffy.”
“Gas line plugged?” the driver grumbled as he searched in the tool case.
“That’s what I get for buying cheap gas at Rumson.”
Doris glanced up quickly.
“What do you know of Rumson?” she asked.
“Plenty.”
“Ever hear of people there named Gates?” Marshmallow questioned.
The driver gave him a sharp glance and muttered something which neither
Doris nor Marshmallow could make out. To their surprise, he brushed past
them and slammed down the hood. Then he sprang into the roadster and
without a word of explanation started the motor and drove rapidly away.