THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF
"Who are you--what you do here?"
The question was snapped out at Tom and Ruth as they stood near the
shack. A man had come to an abrupt halt as he emerged from the bushes
and faced them; something of fear, Tom thought, mingled with anger
showing on his face. It was this man whom they had heard approaching, a
man clad in ordinary garments, yet with an indefinable foreign air about
him--an air that was accentuated by his words and inflection. He was
dark of skin, swarthy, and when he smiled, which he did a moment after
his rather harsh words of greeting, his very white teeth showed beneath
a small black moustache. A Spaniard Tom put him down for, or a Mexican.
The latter guess proved correct, as the lad learned afterward.
"You come here to--to--pardon, senor, I am forgetting my manners," went
on the fellow with a bow, and a sharp glance at Ruth. "You are here
perhaps to look at cottages--you and your charming bride."
Ruth drew in her breath sharply, and a rosy glow suffused her face. She
did not look at Tom, who chuckled audibly.
"I--I'll never speak to you if you do that again," said the girl, in a
low voice.
"Do what?" asked Tom, innocently enough.
"Laugh at--at what he said," and she still blushed, and refused to look
up.
"Pardon, senor," went on the man. "No offense, but----"
"That's all right," said Tom easily, master of himself now, but
wondering much who the man might be. "We were just looking around. Some
friends of ours have a cottage here--the Tylers----"
"Oh, yes. Then you are very welcome. In fact you would be welcome
anyhow, as this island is more or less of the public--what you say, I
have not the very good English?" and he looked questioningly at them.
"Oh, you mean that it is open to the public."
"That is so, yes, senor, and senorita. You are interested in my poor
abode here--yes?"
"Oh, we were just looking around," explained Tom. "We did peep in. No
harm, I hope."
"None at all, senor."
"I'm from Randall," the pitcher went on. "Miss Clinton is from Fairview."
"Oh, you are fellow students then?"
"Not exactly--say, rather--rivals," and Tom looked at Ruth and laughed.
The blush had somewhat subsided.
"Ah, I comprehend. I am Rafello Mendez, at your service, senor."
"My name is Parsons," went on Tom. "Sorry I haven't a card," and he
thought of the one he had picked up, which he had quickly thrust into
his pocket at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"I am what you call the take-care man around here," went on Mendez. "I
am the take-care man of the cottages--not all--some."
"The 'take-care' man," murmured Tom. "It sounds like the bugaboo-man."
"Oh, he means the care-taker," exclaimed Ruth. "I understand. You look
after the property while the cottagers are away; isn't that it?" and she
smiled at the man, who bowed low and answered:
"The senorita has said it. I am the take-care man."
"But I thought old Jake Blasdell had that job," said Tom. "I know he
used to be here. But I never knew he had this shack, though I haven't
been much on this part of the island."
"Senor Blasdell did was the take-care man," explained Mendez. "But he
was took sick, and had to leave, and a friend got me the place. Me, I
used to be of the sheep take-care in my country--Mexico, but I long for
this country and I come. I do what you call a business on the edge."
"On the edge?" murmured Tom.
"Yes, senor, on the edge. Or maybe you say on the point. You see he
is like this: I am the take-care man for the cottages in place of
Senor Blasdell in Winter. In Summer I am the cut-the-grass-man or the
garden-man, what you like. Then, besides, in addition, on the edge I
sell things in my store which it is unfortunately not open now, or I
should show the senorita some pretty things. The store I do on the
edge--or maybe on the point, I know not how you say," and he shrugged
his shoulders expressively.
"Oh, he means on the side!" cried Ruth. "Don't you understand, Tom?
He is a caretaker, and at odd times he sells things to the Summer
cottagers."
"The senorita has said it," went on Mendez. "It is on the side, not on
the edge--pardon!"
"What do you sell?" asked Tom, curiously.
"Everything. Things from the country. Of a specialty I have the
beautiful Mexican push-work, senorita."
"Push-work, that's another new one," said Tom.
"I guess he means Mexican drawn-work," explained Ruth with a smile.
"Some of it is very beautiful. He ought to do a good business here in
the Summer."
"I should, if I had all customers like the senorita," said the man with
a bow to Ruth, again showing his white teeth in an expansive smile. "I
am covered with confusion that I can show her none now. But it is all
put away. Perhaps, though, if you wait----"
"No, we must be moving on!" interrupted Tom. "It is getting late. And so
you live here all Winter?"
"Yes, senor. This little hut was part of the place where Senor Blasdell
used to stay. It was donated to me. I moved it here when I succeeded
Senor Blasdell, and added to it. It is very comfortable. I have been
over to the main land for some supplies, and when I come back I see you.
At first I am suspicious, for which I ask your pardon. You are always
welcome, the senor and senorita," and again he bowed.
"Thanks, Mr. Mendez," said Tom, rather carelessly, for somehow he did
not like the fellow. "We may see you this Summer. Some of us fellows may
camp here."
"Then I shall be pleased to show you some fine Mexican leather work.
Perhaps a lariat, spurs, bridles, and some fine silver work for the
pretty senoritas, is it not?" and the fellow smiled genially.
"Good-bye!" called Tom. "Come along, Ruth. I'll have to hit up the oars
going home or I'll have you so late that you'll get on the bad books of
the Ogress."
"Oh, I'm there already," she replied, as she nodded to the Mexican, who
bowed low in farewell. "All our crowd is, but we don't mind. Now, Tom,
did you really mean what you said about going to camp on Crest Island
this Summer?"
"I do, if I can get the other fellows to do it. I know they will, too,
for we'll be near our rowing shells, and we can have the best kind of
practice."
"Oh, is _that_ the only reason you want to come here?" and she looked
archly at him.
"Why, isn't that----" he began and then a light dawned on him.
"I guess we wouldn't come if you girls weren't to be here," he added,
quickly. "When I tell the fellows that, I know it will cinch matters.
Oh, we'll come all right."
They reached their boat, embarked, and Tom was soon sculling away from
the island.
"Queer chap--that Mendez," remarked the youth after a bit.
"Isn't he?" agreed Ruth.
"I didn't know those Mexicans were so thrifty," the rower went on.
"Being a 'care-take' man and doing Mexican 'push-work' on the 'edge'.
Pretty good; eh?"
"Yes," laughed Ruth. "I can see where we girls will spend a great deal
of our time this Summer."
"So can I," declared her companion, boldly. "With us fellows."
"Oh, you're not at all conceited; are you?"
"I didn't know it," went on Tom, tantalizingly. "But say, do you know I
didn't much like that fellow, for all his fine airs."
"Why not, pray? I thought him quite polite."
"He was--altogether too polite," murmured the lad, with a little more
force than seemed necessary. "I don't like foreigners, anyhow."
"Well, I could forgive anyone, even a foreigner, if I could get back my
brooch," sighed Ruth. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it."
"It is too bad," agreed Tom. "Now, Ruth, we won't say anything about
what happened to-day, and if you promise not to tell, I'll whisper a
secret."
"Oh, Tom, of course I won't tell--you know that!" and she looked
reproachfully at him.
"Of course--I was only joking. Well, we four fellows are trying to do a
little detective work, and recover the stolen jewelry."
"You are?"
"Yes, and if we do we may get back your brooch."
"Oh, I hope you do!" and she clapped her hands in spontaneous delight.
"Do you think you will, Tom?"
"Hard to tell, Ruth. There aren't many clues to work on. At least there
weren't until to-day----"
"Oh, did you find some to-day, Tom? Tell me, I'm so fascinated with
detective work! Did you really see some clue that escaped me?"
"Ahem! Detectives never talk about their cases, or tell about their
clues!" he exclaimed, with exaggerated gravity.
"Tom Parsons!"
"Well, really, I don't know whether I did find a clue or not, Ruth. I'm
going to think about it over night. If you can help me I won't hesitate
to call on you."
"Will you, really, Tom? That's good of you. And now I'm afraid you'll
have to row a little faster. It _is_ getting quite late."
"All right," agreed the lad, as he bent to the oars. As he rowed his
thoughts went to the card in his pocket and to the strands of silk from
the gay handkerchief.
Fortunately Ruth was not so late that Miss Philock found fault. Tom
proved himself a good rower, though after he had said good-bye he took
the course easy on the way to Randall.
"Some sculling," he told himself, as he tied up the boat and, in the
dusk of the late Spring evening, walked toward his room. "This ought to
stand me in good stead for the eight. My muscles are hardening," and he
felt of his biceps. He was in extraordinarily good training from his
baseball work.
As he was about to enter the building where he and his chums had their
rooms, he saw Boswell approaching. Tom's mind flashed to the card he had
picked up at the shack.
"I wonder what he could have been doing there?" the tall pitcher mused.
"If Mendez didn't have his store open and his stock ready for sale, how
could Bossy have bought any? And, if he didn't go there to buy anything,
why did he go at all? I give it up."
There was no time for further speculation just then, as the rich lad,
with a nod, addressed Tom.
"Where were you?" he asked with an air of familiarity that Tom rather
resented in a Freshman. "We had a fine row in the eight. I'm almost sure
of bow, and Lighton may shift me to stroke, or number seven."
"Yes?" questioned Tom indifferently, yet resolving to make a brave
struggle not to let this usurper put him out of his place in the boat.
"Sure thing. I'm coming on fine, and I've got a dandy scheme for keeping
in trim this Summer."
"Yes?"
"Yes. Our folks are going to take a cottage on Crest Island, and----"
"You are?" and Tom fairly exploded the words.
"Surest thing you know, though it's a beastly slow and unfashionable
place. We usually go to the shore. We have one cottage there, and
another in the White Mountains, but I persuaded dad to take one at Crest
for the Summer, just so I could be near the water here and get familiar
with the course we'll row next Fall. Nothing like knowing the course,
old man, really."
"No, I suppose not," and Tom's mind was busy with many things. With
Boswell on the island, matters might not be so pleasant as he had
anticipated.
"That's right. I'm going to get a professional coach, too."
"You are?" Tom's voice was still indifferent, but Boswell did not notice
it.
"Sure thing. When I go in for a thing I go in hard, and I'm going into
this rowing game for keeps."
"Well, I hope we all do," and Tom tried to be pleasant as he turned away.
"See you later," murmured the Freshman, in a patronizing tone, and, as
he turned aside he drew from his pocket a gaudy handkerchief. At the
sight of it Tom stared, for it was the same pattern as the strip of
silk found near the looted jewelry box. Tom stared at it intently as the
rich lad flourished it.
"By Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Boswell, "I've got that torn handkerchief
again," and he held it up, showing where a strip had evidently been
ripped from it. "I've got two," he explained, "and this one got torn
the other day. I thought I laid it aside, but, in my hurry, I must have
grabbed it up."
"How--how'd you tear it?" asked Tom, when he could trust his voice.
"Oh, it caught on a nail down at the boathouse, and a piece was ripped
off."
"Why--why couldn't you have it sewed on?" asked Tom.
"What? Carry a mended handkerchief? I guess not. Anyhow the piece fell
in the water and floated away. Hope you'll be in the eight next time we
practice, though I may get your place."
"Maybe," answered Tom, and he did not take the trouble to designate
which clause the word modified.