A TANGLE OF SURPRISES
Morning, to which Carl had looked forward for a moment with his mother,
brought, alas, even more meager opportunity for imparting secrets than
had the night before, for as was the custom of the McGregor family the
new day was launched amid a turmoil of confusion. Hence it came about
that although Carl made several valiant attempts to waylay his mother
in the pantry, or corral her in her room, he was each time thwarted and
was never able to get beyond a vague introduction to the topic so near
his heart. At length a multitudinous list of errands to the butcher,
grocer, and baker was handed him and there was no alternative but catch
up his hat and coat and speed forth upon these commissions. And no
sooner were they all fulfilled than the hour for his appointment with
the stranger arrived and, palpitating with the interest of his mission,
he set forth to the address to which he had been directed.
It was in the down-town part of the village and so busy was he dodging
trucks and hurrying pedestrians that he paid scant heed to anything but
the gilt numbers that dotted the street. In and out the crowd he wove
his way until above a doorway the magic characters he sought stared at
him.
There may have been, and probably were, signs announcing the nature of
the business in which this mysterious friend was engaged but if so Carl
was blind to them. All that concerned him was to find the place that
sheltered his remarkable acquaintance and ascertain the sequel of the
day before.
Therefore he walked timidly into the hallway and seeing at the other
end of it an oaken door panelled with ground glass that bore the
hieroglyphics of his quest he turned the heavy brass knob and walked
in.
The room was spacious and its rich furnishings and atmosphere of
stillness were in such marked contrast to the hubbub of the street that
he paused on the heavy rug, abashed. There was, however, no time for
retreat even had his courage failed him for the door behind him had no
sooner clicked together than a boy in a gray uniform came forward. As
he approached his eye swept with disapproval the shabby visitor and he
said, with an edge of sharpness crisping his tone:
"What can I do for you?"
"I want to see a--a--gentleman," stammered Carl. "I don't know his
name. I forgot to ask it. But he told me to come to this number to-day
at ten o'clock and give him my name on a piece of paper. I've got it
here somewheres."
Awkwardly he searched his pockets, the waiting messenger watching his
every movement.
It was a grimy morsel of parchment that was at length produced; but the
instant the supercilious page read the name scrawled upon it his
attitude changed from superiority to servility.
"This way, sir, if you please," said he, wheeling about.
Carl followed his guide, feeling, as he tagged across the silencing
rug, deplorably small, and painfully conscious of both his hands and
feet. He and his conductor passed through another door, threaded
labyrinthian aisles flanked by gaping clerks and faintly smiling
stenographers, and came at length to a third door which the youth
preceding him opened with a flourish.
"Mr. Carl McGregor," announced he in a stentorian tone.
All the blood in Carl's body rushed to his face.
The room before him was small and on its warmly tinted walls a few
pictures, some of which his school training led him to recognize as
Rembrandt reproductions, lent charm and interest to the interior. But
these details were of minor importance compared to the thrill he
experienced at discovering behind a great mahogany desk the mysterious
stranger of his motoring adventure.
Yes, it was he--there could be no question about that. And yet, now
that his hat and heavy fur coat were removed he appeared surprisingly
slender and youthful. His eyes, too, seemed bluer, his cheeks redder,
and his mouth more smiling.
"Well, shaver, you're prompt," announced he, pointing to the clock with
evident satisfaction.
"You said ten, sir."
"So I did. Nevertheless, I often say ten and get quarter past ten or
even eleven o'clock. Sit down."
He motioned toward a huge leather chair at his elbow and slipping into
it the boy perched with anticipation on its forward edge.
"Well, what about that Miss Harling we were talking of yesterday? Has
she a position yet?"
"Since last night, you mean? I don't know, sir. I haven't seen any of
the Harlings to-day. But I hardly think so."
The stranger pursed his lips.
"Too bad! Too bad!" he murmured. "And you are still for helping the
family out by taking a job, are you?"
"If I can get one; yes, sir."
"Just what kind of work had you in mind?"
"Why--I--I--hadn't thought about it."
"I suppose you go to school."
"Yes, sir. That's the dickens of it. My mother makes me. I'd a great
deal rather go into Davis and Coulter's cotton mills. Lots of boys and
girls my age do go there, and that is where my father worked before he
died. But Ma is hot on education. She says I've got to have one, and
she insists on sewing at home on all sorts of fool flummeries for some
dressmaker so I can. It's rotten of me not to be more pleased about it,
I suppose."
While Carl fumbled with his cap the man at the desk tilted back in his
chair, regarding him narrowly.
"Your school work can't leave you very much time for anything else,"
remarked he.
"Oh, yes, it does," the lad hastened to retort. "I have Saturdays
and--and--spare hours at night. I'd even work Sundays if there was
anything I could do."
"At that rate I am afraid you would not find much time for skating or
baseball. People have to have fresh air and exercise, you know, to keep
well."
"I don't have to play," protested Carl with great earnestness. "Anyhow
I get heaps of exercise and fresh air doing errands. Besides, we live
up five flights."
His listener turned aside his head.
"If it comes to exercise I get all I want right at home," persisted the
boy. "I've a crew of little brothers and sisters, too, and when I'm not
busy I help take care of them so Ma can sew. Just you try doing it once
if you are looking for exercise. And then I wheel the baby out."
There was a twinkle in the eye of the man at the desk but he said
gravely:
"Isn't it going to bother them at home if you take a position? How does
your mother feel about it?"
"I haven't had a chance to ask her," Carl blurted out with honesty.
"All last evening she was rushing to finish that spangled thing; and
this morning she had the kids to dress and I had errands to do. It's
awful hard to get a chance to talk to Ma by herself. Some of the
children are always clawing at her skirts and bothering her."
"You do believe, though, in talking things over with your mother."
"Sure! We always tell Ma everything if we can get a chance. So does all
Mulberry Court, for that matter. Ma's that sort."
The stranger toyed with an ivory letter-opener thoughtfully.
"Now I'll tell you what we'll do," began he at last. "To-day is
Saturday, isn't it?"
Carl nodded.
"Well, if your friends, the Harlings, are not straightened out by
Monday morning I will let you begin a week from to-day as errand boy in
this office."
"Bully!" cried the delighted applicant.
"If, on the other hand," continued the gentleman at the desk, speaking
slowly and evenly, and not heeding the interruption, "Miss Harling
finds work and the family do not need your aid, you must agree to put
in your free time at home helping your mother as you have been doing in
the past. Is that a bargain?"
"Y-e-s."
"What's the matter?"
"It just seems to me we might as well settle it definitely now that I
am to come here next week. To-day is Saturday and I don't believe
Louise will find work before Monday morning. Of course she can't do
anything about getting a job Sunday."
Although there was a perceptible tremor of disappointment in the boy's
voice the stranger appeared not to notice it. Rising, he put out his
hand with a kindly smile.
"I am afraid the agreement I have made with you is the best I can do at
present," said he. "I will be true to my part of it if you will be true
to yours. I promise you that if the Harlings' affairs do not take an
upward turn by Monday you shall come to their rescue."
"Thank you, sir."
"I wouldn't worry any more about this, if I were you, sonny," concluded
the man. "Go home and try to be satisfied. I'll keep the place for you,
remember. It is Carl McGregor, isn't it, of----"
"Mulberry Court--the top flat."
"And did you tell me these friends of yours, the Harlings, lived there
too?"
"Oh, no, sir! I wish they did. The Harlings are at Number 40 Broad
Street. It is the corner house. They took the tenement because there
was sun, and because it entertains Grandfather and Mrs. Harling to look
out the window. They can't ever go out and it cheers them up to have
something to see. It costs more to live there than where we do, but Hal
and Louise decided it was worth it."
"Under the circumstances I imagine it is," assented the stranger.
"Well, we will wish them luck."
"I hope they have it!"
"So do I." As he spoke the man pressed a bell in answer to which the
uniformed page appeared.
"Show this young gentleman out, Billie," said he. "Good-by, youngster!
Good-by!"
The farewell was cordial and in its cadence rang so disconcerting a
finality that try as he might Carl could not repress a conviction that
in spite of his suave promises his new-found friend did not really
expect to see him again.
"I guess there are folks like that," meditated he, as he walked
dispiritedly home. "They are awful pleasant to your face and give you
the feeling they are going to do wonders for you. But when it comes to
the scratch they slide from under. This chap is one of that slick
bunch, I'll bet a hat."
It was not a cheering reflection and with every step lower and lower
ebbed his hopes. It chanced that his pathway to Mulberry Court led past
the corner of Broad Street (or if it did not really lead him there his
subconscious mind did) and once in the vicinity what more natural than
that he should drop in at Number 40 to pass the time of day?
Grandfather Harling loved to have visitors. He said they cheered him
up.
But to-day neither the old gentleman nor any of the Harling family
needed cheering. Carl found them in such high spirits that for a time
it was difficult to get any of the group to talk coherently.
"What do you suppose has happened, Carl?" cried Louise, the instant he
was inside the door. "The most wonderful thing! You never could guess
if you guessed forever."
"If it is as hopeless as that I shan't try," laughed Carl.
"But it is amazing, a miracle!" put in Mrs. Harling.
"We can't understand it at all," quavered Grandfather Harling, who was
quite as excited as the rest.
"Well, what _is_ it?" the boy demanded.
"You'll never believe it," laughed Louise with shining eyes. "I've had
a letter. You couldn't guess who it's from!"
She held a square white envelope high above her head.
"I'm going to have it framed and hand it down to my
great-great-grandchildren."
"You might let me see it," coaxed Carl, putting out his hand.
"Oh, it is far too precious to be touched. It is going to be an
archive, an heirloom, you know."
"Oh, come on and tell a chap what's happened," urged Carl, his patience
beginning to wane.
"Well, think of this! I've had a note from Mr. Coulter--not from the
firm, understand, but from the great J. W. himself, written by his own
hand. He says he hears that through some error my name has been dropped
from the Davis and Coulter payroll, and he not only asks me to come
back to the mill but sends me a cheek for double the sum that I have
lost by being out. Can you beat that?"
"Oh, Louise, how bully! I _am_ glad! But how do you suppose----"
"That's exactly what we don't know. It seems like magic, doesn't it? I
never knew before that Mr. Coulter kept such close track of what went
on at the mills. He doesn't come there often because he is always at
the down-town office. When he does visit the mills he simply strolls
through them as if they belonged to somebody else rather than to
himself. Of course he doesn't know one of the workers and I've always
fancied he didn't care much about us. But this proves how wrong I was
to think so. He does care, you see, and means everybody shall have a
square deal. I shall go back Monday and work harder than ever for him.
You will work your fingers off for such a man as that, you know."
"It certainly is white of him!" Carl agreed.
"It is nothing but justice," asserted Mrs. Harling proudly. "Still,
justice isn't a common commodity in this world."
"Evidently it isn't Mr. Coulter's fault if it isn't, Mother," Louise
replied. "And isn't it nice, Carl, that I am not to go back to work
under Mr. Corcoran. Oh, I forgot to tell you that. That is almost the
best of all. No! I am to be in the shipping department where the work
is lighter and the pay better. Won't Hal be tickled to death when he
hears it? He'll be more convinced than ever that he did the right thing
to lay Corcoran out."
"I think he did. Still, it was a dangerous experiment and this should
be a warning to him," put in Mrs. Harling. "Hal must learn to be more
careful with his temper, his tongue, and those fists of his. If he
isn't he is going to get into serious trouble some day."
Carl, however, was not listening to Mrs. Harling's moralizing.
"I wish I knew how Mr. Coulter found out about Louise," murmured he,
half aloud.
Well, this was certainly a most satisfactory termination to the
Harlings' troubles. He was genuinely glad the affair had turned so
fortunately. And yet in his heart lurked a vague regret. This would
mean that probably he would never see or hear from the mysterious hero
of the red racing car again. Could the stranger have had any knowledge
of what was to happen and did that information account for his jaunty
adieu? Of course such a thing was impossible. And yet how odd and
puzzling it all was!