Wonderment over the mystery of the money, and excited anticipation of
Ruth Stuart's luncheon and "plan," kept the Thurston girls from getting
to sleep very early that night. They awoke bright and fresh next
morning, nevertheless. Just before eleven they started on their two-mile
tramp to the hotel. They were hardly out of sight of the house, however,
when what should they see but the now familiar red car speeding toward
them. "Look--yes, it is!" cried Mollie. "Ruth herself is making it go!"
The young driver waved a free hand for a second, as she neared them,
then wheeled in a broad turn and stopped. "I was so afraid you might
have started," she protested tactfully, "for it is such a fine morning
for a nice leisurely walk. I was so anxious to see you that I simply
couldn't wait, and I told Dad I'd take the 'bubble' and spin out to meet
you. Now, won't you please hop in, and ride back with me?"
The girls "hopped" with delighted celerity, and Ruth turned back to them
for a moment. "I have reams to talk about," she continued, "but, to tell
you the truth, I want my father to be with us, when I begin. So, now, if
you don't mind, we'll just ride."
Neither Mollie nor Barbara will ever forget their first ride. "I felt as
if I had chartered my own private flying machine, and I was sure the
angels were jealous," Mollie confessed, naïvely, at lunch.
They reached the hotel very quickly, and after a cosy chat on the
private balcony belonging to Ruth's tiny suite of rooms, found
themselves seated around a little table in a cool, palm-shaded corner of
the big dining-room. Between them, opposite Ruth, sat big, blue-eyed,
open-hearted, Robert Stuart, Ruth's "Dad."
Robert Stuart had made his fortune out West, in the mining country. That
was how he started, anyway. For years, now, he had lived in Chicago,
buying and selling real estate in the vicinity. There his wife had died,
and there his eighteen-year-old daughter Ruth had spent nearly all her
life. During the summers she had traveled more or less, and the last few
years had frequently gone East. Her father's sister, Aunt Sallie Stuart,
had brought the girl up since her mother's death, which had occurred
when Ruth was a little girl. Aunt Sallie was not present at the
luncheon, because of a bad headache. "Grace Carter has come over and is
staying with her, like a dear," Ruth explained. Later, if Auntie felt
better, the girls were to go up to her room.
Ruth, as has appeared, was an extremely impulsive young person.
Fortunately, most of her impulses were inspired by a natural kindliness,
and a cheerful, youthful energy, with a stratum of good common sense at
bottom. There was apt to be method in her madness. Her "plan," for
instance, had long been her desire, but before she had never seen the
way.
Ruth couldn't wait for the cold boullion to be taken off. "Father, I
want to tell them now!" she exclaimed. After his cheerful, "Go ahead,
daughter," she burst out: "Barbara, Mollie, won't you go on an
automobile tour to Newport with Grace Carter and me, with Aunt Sallie
for chaperon? Won't you, can't you come?"
While the amazed girls could only look at her and at each other, she
hurried on: "Oh, yes, you probably think I'm crazy. But I'm not. You see
it's like this: all my life I have longed to travel by myself; at least,
with the people I want, not in a train, or a big crowded boat. Dad knows
the feeling; it's what makes him run away from Chicago, and get out on
the prairies and ride and ride and ride! I'm a girl, so I can't do that
or lots of things. But I can run an automobile. For two years I have
just been waiting to get the right crowd. Grace is a dear, but I wanted
two more. The other girls I know are all right to meet at dances and to
see now and then; but they'd collapse at the thought of starting off on
a lark like this. You two--you're different, I knew it the minute I saw
you. Besides," she continued, "Grace has been telling me things about
you. I always know right off whether I like anybody, and it doesn't take
long to find out how much I like them. I like both of you a whole
lot--and I know we will have a perfectly delightful trip if you will go
with me. If you don't, I simply can't go--that's all. It would be absurd
setting off in that great machine with only Grace and Aunt Sallie to
rattle around like two peas in a pod. Daddie understands, and he likes
you just the way I do--I can see it in his eyes. So it's just up to you!
Do you like me a little bit--well, say enough to visit me in my
automobile for a month or so? Oh, please say you do!"
She stopped, her voice catching impulsively over the last words.
Barbara's eyes were shining. "I don't believe we need to tell you that,"
she said softly; "you must just know. But there's mother. And we haven't
the money."
"Now that's not fair," Ruth broke in. "The money is out of the question
altogether. You are my guests. Why, it's you who will do me the favor,"
she pleaded, as she caught the look of dissent on Barbara's face.
"Remember, if you fail me, I can't have my trip at all--and I have been
looking forward to it for two whole years. As for your mother, if she
will consent to it, Dad and I have a beautiful plan, to keep her and Dad
both from being lonely. Poor Dad is sick and tired of hotel cooking and
I told him all about your dear little cottage and the dandy tea and
cookies your mother makes, and--and--do you suppose your mother would let
Dad take his meals with her while we are away? Then he won't be too
wretched living all alone up here. Also, you wouldn't have to worry
about your mother, nor would I have to worry about Dad. Aunt Sallie has
been with him so long that I don't know what he'd do all by himself. He
could get on very well, if only your mother would look after him at
meals, I know that.
"Now I won't say another word about it for the rest of our lunch. Then
we'll run in and call on Aunt Sallie. Afterward we will take the car out
and see your mother, and get her to say yes! Then you'll say it, too,
won't you? But don't let's spoil this good chicken salad, through
worrying about it."
In a more or less complete, yet altogether happy silence, the luncheon
was finished. Ruth and her father did not try to force their guests to
talk, realizing that the girls would want to think. From the smiling
glances the two Stuarts exchanged now and then it was evident they hoped
the thinking would have a happy outcome.
After the last course had been served, and the finger bowls, a sprig of
rose geranium floating in each, had been pushed aside, Ruth said
quietly: "Now we will go to see Aunt Sallie for a few minutes. Daddie,
you'll have the machine at the door?"
The girls filed into the elevator, and soon were speeding down a long
hall to Aunt Sallie's suite, just across from Ruth's. The latter knocked
softly, and Grace Carter came to the door. "Yes, ever so much better,"
Grace murmured, in reply to Ruth's whispered inquiry. "She wants you to
be sure to come in with your friends before they go. Yes; I am sure she
would be glad to see them now."
As the girls entered the vestibule of the apartment, Grace gave
Barbara's hand a furtive squeeze, and whispered: "I'll just never
recover if you don't come." There was no chance for a reply, for a
precise, though rather kindly voice called from the room beyond: "Ruth,
please bring your friends in here."
With some trepidation the girls advanced toward "Aunt Sallie." She was a
somewhat stout woman, who reclined on a couch in a handsome violet
negligée. She scanned the girls sharply for a moment, then in her
carefully enunciated syllables, which contrasted oddly with her smooth,
plump face, she said: "So you're the young ladies who stop runaway
horses! Well, I never could have done it when I was young. But I'm sure
I am indebted to you, and I am happy to know you, my dears. I hope and
trust, since my madcap niece is bound to take her trip, that you will
come along to keep her company."
The girls smiled, and Ruth murmured to them: "You see, you really must
come for the sake of my family!" Then Aunt Sallie stretched out two
plump, jeweled hands and remarked: "I am sure I shall see a great deal
of you very soon, my dears, and you will see all you want to of me. So,
if you don't mind, I'll ask you to excuse me now, my head is so tired."
"She likes to take a cat-nap pretty often," explained irreverent Ruth,
as soon as they were safely outside the door. "But Aunt Sallie is a good
sort, just the same, and the best possible dragon for our trip. Your
mother needn't be in the least afraid to trust you to her. Now for your
mother," Ruth added as the girls entered the elevator.
In front of the broad piazza, the automobile waited on the driveway,
with Mr. Stuart as chauffeur. "Pile in," he smiled, and, in a trice, the
girls were whirled homeward once more.
There a mighty conference was held. At first, Mrs. Thurston simply
gasped. Then she dumbly shook her head. Barbara and Mollie both
protested that nothing would persuade them to leave their mother against
her wishes. As Ruth said afterwards, "Daddie did the whole thing." He
explained to the girls, and to their mother, how brief the separation
would be. To the mother he expatiated on the delights and educational
value of such a trip. To the girls he hinted, delicately, that perhaps
the little mother would get a bit of a rest, all by herself, for a few
weeks, even with him to take care of. To all present Mr. Stuart enlarged
upon the duty of charity toward him, a homeless vacation visitor,
starving from eating only hotel food, and toward his daughter, a
sisterless girl with a longing for friends. Though the Thurstons shook
their heads, between smiles and tears, at the absurdity of these
arguments, they finally said a grateful "yes."
"One really doesn't need any clothes except veils and dusters for an
automobile trip, and I have a big extra stock of those," concluded Ruth.
"I want to run up here for you people--let me see--to-day is Friday--next
Monday morning. That's such a nice day to start."
"Yes," again cried Mollie and Barbara.
The girls joined hands and made a low curtsey to Mrs. Thurston and Mr.
Stuart. "Allow me to introduce you," said Ruth in her most impressive
voice, "to 'The Automobile Girls' on their way to Newport."
"Long may they flourish!" concluded Mr. Stuart, turning to the girls'
mother. "I'll come up with Ruth and help you start them off, Mrs.
Thurston. Then, if I may, I will come back and have lunch with you later
in the day."
"Till Monday!" called Ruth, and the machine whirled off.
Barbara and Mollie watched it from the gate. "I wish--I wish I could do
something for them," mused Barbara, her chin sunk in her hand, her brown
eyes showing that soft brightness that only came to them when she was
greatly moved.
How well she was to repay the Stuart kith and kin she could not then
guess.