A RIFT IN HIS LUTE
Tom Cameron, no matter how desirous he might be of saving Ruth from hurt,
could not possibly have got around the table in time. With a snarling,
ripping noise the heavy patch of plaster tore away from the ceiling and
fell directly upon the spot where the chairs of Ruth and Chess Copley had
been placed!
The screams of the startled girls almost drowned the noise of the
plaster's fall, but Ruth Fielding did not join in the outcry.
With one movement, it seemed, Copley had risen and kicked his own chair
away, seized Ruth about her waist as he did so, and so dragged her out
from under the avalanche.
It was all over in a moment, and the two stood, clinging to each other
involuntarily, while the dust of the fallen plaster spread around them.
For a moment Ruth Fielding had been in as perilous a situation as she had
ever experienced, and her life had been rather full of peril and
adventure since, as a girl of twelve, and in the first volume of this
series, we met her as "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill."
At the time just mentioned, the orphaned Ruth had appeared at her
great-uncle's mill on the Lumano River, near Cheslow, in one of the New
England States, and had been taken in by the miserly old miller rather
under protest. But Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who was Uncle Jabez Potter's
housekeeper, had loved the child from the very beginning. And in truth
the old miller loved Ruth too, only he was slow to admit it.
Ruth's first young friends at the Red Mill were the Cameron twins, and
with Helen she had spent her schools days and many of her vacations, at
Briarwood Hall, in the North Woods, at the seashore, in the West, in the
South, Down East, and in other localities, the narrated adventures of
which are to be found in the several volumes of the Ruth Fielding Series.
In the book just preceding this present story, "Ruth Fielding in the
Great Northwest," Helen was likewise with Ruth when she made her famous
moving picture, "Brighteyes" in connection with the Alectrion Film
Corporation, the president of which, Mr. Hammond, had first encouraged
Ruth to turn her entire time and talent to the writing of moving picture
scenarios.
The fall before the time of this wedding party in which the girl of the
Red Mill was taking part, fortune threw in Ruth's way a charming young
woman, a full-blood Osage Indian, in whom Mr. Hammond saw possibilities
of development for screen acting. At least, to use the trite and
bombastic moving picture phrase, Wonota, the Indian princess,
"photographed like a million dollars."
The Great War's abrupt conclusion brought Tom Cameron home just as eager
as he had been for two years past to have Ruth agree to his plans for the
future. As Ruth saw it (no matter what may have been her secret feeling
for Tom) to do as Tom wished would utterly spoil the career on which she
had now entered so successfully.
Tom, like most young men in love, considered that a girl's only career
should be a husband and a home. He frankly said that he was prepared,
young as he was, to supply both for Ruth.
But their youth, in the first place, was an objection in the very
sensible mind of Ruth. It was true, too, that a second objection was the
fact that she wanted to live her own life and establish herself in the
great career she had got into almost by chance.
And then too Tom himself, since his return from France, had shown little
determination to settle himself at work. Being the son of a wealthy
merchant and possessing, now that he was of age, a fortune in his own
right inherited from his mother's estate, Tom Cameron, it seemed to Ruth,
was just playing with life.
Like many another young fellow so recently from the battlefield, it
seemed as if he could not settle to anything. And his sister encouraged
him in this attitude. Ruth secretly blamed Helen for this. And therefore
her own attitude to Tom had grown more stern.
It was now June--the June following the armistice--the loveliest and most
accepted time for a bridal. The ceremony of Jennie Stone's wedding to
Major Henri Marchand had passed off, as we have seen, very smoothly. Even
Tom, as best man, had found the ring at the right moment, and nobody had
stepped on Jennie's train.
But this accident at the breakfast table--and an accident that might have
resulted fatally for Ruth Fielding--threatened to cause not only
excitement but to sober the whole party.
In a moment, however, in spite of the dust rising from the broken
plaster, the others saw that Ruth and Chess Copley were both safe. The
latter was repeating, over and over and in much anxiety:
"You are all right, Ruth! I've got you. You are all right."
The girl herself was quite breathless. Copley held her in rather a close
embrace, and for a much longer time than appeared necessary--to Tom
Cameron at least. Tom had got around the table just too late to be of any
assistance.
"We see you've got her, 'Lasses," Tom observed, rather tartly. "The
close-up is shot. Break away."
His words started the laughter--and there was much relief expressed in
the laughter in which all about the table joined. People are apt to laugh
when serious danger is over. But it might have been observed by his
friends at another time that Tom Cameron was not usually tart or unkind
of speech.
Ruth said nothing, and Chess Copley flushed hotly. Jennie had got up with
Henri in the moment of excitement, and now she quickly seized her goblet
of grape-juice in which the party had previously toasted the bride and
groom, and raised the glass on high.
"Hear! Hear!" cried Ann Hicks. "The bride speaks."
"This is a good omen," declared Jennie clinging to Henri's arm. "Our Ruth
was wounded in France and has been in danger on many occasions, as we all
know. Never has she more gracefully escaped disaster, nor been aided by a
more chivalrous cavalier. Drink! Drink to Ruth Fielding and to Chessleigh
Copley! They are two very lucky people, for that ceiling might have
cracked their crowns."
They drank the toast--most of them with much laughter.
"Some orator, Jennie," commented Helen. "We are just beginning to
appreciate you."
"You will all be sorry that you did not treat me better--especially as a
chee-ild," returned the plump bride, with mock solemnity. "Think! Think
how you all used to abuse my--my appetite at Briarwood Hall. It is only
Mammy Rose who is kind to me," and she pointed to the old colored woman's
gift that had a place of honor before her own plate and that of Major
Marchand's.
"Let me give a toast," cried Helen gaily. "Let us drink to Jennie's
appetite--long may it wave."
"Goodness me! Don't speak of waves and appetite in the same breath, I
beg. Remember we are going directly aboard ship from the house and--and I
never was a good sailor. Waves! Ugh!"
The fun went on while the serving people swept up the debris and removed
those dishes that had been covered with dust.
Aside, Ruth, taking for the moment little part in the chatter and
merriment, for she had received a considerable shock, stood talking with
Copley. Ruth had given him her hand again and Chess clung to it rather
more warmly--so the watchful Tom thought--than was needful. But the girl
felt that she really had a great deal to thank Copley for.
"Jennie in her fun spoke quite truly," Ruth said in a low voice. "You are
a friend in need."
"And I hope you consider me a friend indeed, Ruth," rejoined the young
fellow.
"I certainly do," agreed the girl of the Red Mill with her customary
frank smile.
"I--I am afraid," Chess added, "that I am not considered in that light by
all your friends, Ruth. Helen Cameron hasn't spoken to me to-day."
"No? Is it serious?"
"It is serious when a fellow gets turned down--snubbed--and not a word of
explanation offered. And, in the words of the old song, we were
'companions once, but strangers now'."
"Oh, don't mind. Helen usually gets over the mollygrubs very quickly."
Chess turned to see the other Cameron twin eyeing him with no great
favor.
However, the throng of guests who were invited to the reception began
coming in, and for the next two hours the parlors were crowded with the
many friends of the plump girl, who, as Helen had said, found this the
greatest day of her life, and there was little time for much individual
chat, though, it seemed to Tom, Chess Copley kept as close as possible to
Ruth's side.
It was after Jennie had gone to put on her traveling dress, and the
immediate wedding party, who were to accompany the bridal couple to the
dock to see them embark, were hurrying out of the room to put on street
clothes that Tom, in a low voice, demanded of Chess:
"What are you trying to do--put a label on Ruth? Don't forget she belongs
to all of us."
Chess Copley had not won his commission in the war and wore only a
sergeant's chevrons. But the war was over and he could tell his captain
just what he thought of him. And he did.
"Do you know what you are, Tom Cameron?" he drawled, smiling a hard
little smile. "You are a regular dog in the manger, and I'm frank to tell
you so!"