LOUIS SPRINGS A SURPRISE--AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF
May 1, 1914. Nothing special has happened during the last two weeks that
is worth writing about. Carol and I haven't made the least progress in
solving the riddles I last mentioned. The Imp fulfilled all my
expectations, and has been most objectionable ever since that day. Queer
how she turns completely around at times, especially when she feels the
least bit touchy, and acts as if we were her mortal enemies. She has
hardly spoken to us lately.
Monsieur came home from his sanitarium, and seems a lot improved. The
weather is lovely, anyhow, and he stays outdoors a good deal, so I
suppose that helps, too. Carol and I have had several interesting talks
with him. You can't help seeing a good deal of your neighbors in this
shut-off spot around the Green, when the weather is nice, and even
Monsieur seems to have become used to strolling over and having little
friendly chats with us. He has "thawed out" a lot, and actually seems
quite human _now_. The Imp is still his favorite, of course, but he has
come to realize _our_ existence when she isn't about.
What I wanted specially to write about to-night was the delightful time
we had to-day. Louis gave us all a treat, and besides providing such a
good time, he also gave us the surprise of our lives. There was to be a
big aviation exhibition over in Bridgeton this afternoon, and yesterday
Louis gave us all invitations to go with him and see it. He said he had
unusually good seats on the flying field. It was something we wouldn't
have missed for anything, and so we all went,--Dave, Carol, and myself,
and even the Imp. Louis said he had invited Monsieur, too, but Monsieur
did not care to go, not feeling as well as usual to-day.
I've never seen an aëroplane near by before. To tell the truth, the
nearest I ever _did_ see one was probably a thousand feet up in the air,
sailing over our house one time. We had gorgeous seats right in front,
and could see everything plainly. I was so thrilled when the first one
rolled out and soared up majestically that I could have risen and
shouted myself hoarse. Carol had to pull me down once, to keep me from
tumbling right over the railing in my excitement. But that was nothing
to what was to come. We were so absorbed that we didn't notice that
after a while Louis slipped away and disappeared. What was our
astonishment to see him suddenly strolling down the field in a regular
aviator's costume, with a helmet in his hand. He came over to us,
laughing, and said:
"I know I've given you all a shock, that is, all except Dave. He's been
in the secret. But I might as well up and confess my crimes now. I've
been mad about this aviation business for a year or more, and I have
been studying it secretly for some time. A fellow I know here in
Bridgeton has a machine and is to fly to-day. His name is Page Calvin.
He hasn't gone up yet. I've studied and worked on his machine till I
know it by heart, but I've never been up in it yet. To-day he's going to
take me up, and if I stand it all right,--some people can't, you
know,--why then it's aviation for _me_, in preference to everything
else!"
Well, we were so thunderstruck that we couldn't say a word for a moment,
and just gasped. At last I managed to stammer:
"And--and is Dave going in for this, too?"
"Not I!" said Dave. "I haven't any head for it. I get too dizzy. But I'm
going to help Louis build a model aëroplane when we've finished that
motor-boat. I'm interested in the mechanical part of it."
"But what about Monsieur?" Carol asked Louis. "Have you told him about
this?"
"No, I haven't," said Louis. "That's why I wanted him to come to-day, so
that I could surprise him, too. I'm sorry he couldn't--"
Just then some one came and told Louis that the biplane he was to go up
in was ready, so that he said good-bye and walked away. We watched him
put on his helmet and climb into the machine, and I confess now that I
never expected to see him alive again. It's all right when some one you
_don't_ know is going up; you're just excited and thrilled. But when
it's some one that you _do_, you're simply frozen stiff with fright, and
you're morally certain that he'll come crashing to earth any second!
Carol and I gripped hands and held our breath, and I believe it was the
longest fifteen minutes I ever knew or expect to know. They sailed
completely out of sight for a while, and then the suspense was worse.
But at last the biplane came back and settled on the field as gracefully
as a bird. Louis was wild with excitement when he returned to us, and he
says it's the most wonderful experience imaginable. The Imp was so
worked up over it that she wanted Louis to persuade his friend to take
her up and "loop the loop"! He laughed, and told her it was not allowed,
but I believe that for a while she really thought she could tease him
into it.
There was one other exciting thing that happened. Toward the last a
machine went up and something went wrong with the engine when it was
about two hundred and fifty feet in the air. It began to droop over in a
sort of lopsided fashion, and then began to settle, like a bird that has
been wounded in the wing. Before it reached the ground it was almost
upside down, and every one was nearly frantic, thinking the man in it
would fall out. But he didn't, and at last it came to earth with quite a
crash. A lot of people rushed to help the aviator out, Louis among them.
He wasn't killed, but they said he had a badly fractured arm, and we saw
him being fairly carried off the field. It made me actually sick to
think what a horribly dangerous career Louis was letting himself in for.
But it didn't seem to disturb _him_ a bit. All he would say was that a
careful aviator would never let a thing like that happen.
It was late when we came home, so we invited Louis and Carol over to our
house to tea, and had a jolly evening afterward.
I've had a gorgeous day and, as Louis said, "the surprise of my life."
But I cannot help wondering how Monsieur is going to take this piece of
news.
It was the day after Louis's great surprise, and, since it was Saturday,
he was out in the barn hard at work putting the finishing touches to the
motor-boat that was to be launched on the river during the coming week.
Carol, Sue, and the Imp had also drifted over to admire the
"toot-and-scramble," as the Imp insisted on pronouncing Louis's favorite
French expression, _tout ensemble_.
"Won't it be jolly to have our first picnic up the river in her?"
remarked the boy, stopping to glance critically at a stroke of varnish
he had just administered. "Do you know, I really began this boat just to
get my hand into that kind of mechanical work, but I believe we're going
to have a lot of fun out of her, too. However, just you wait till I
begin my biplane--"
At that moment a shadow fell across the doorway, and the figure of
Monsieur entered unexpectedly behind the group.
"_Bon matin_," he began, as was his custom. Then suddenly and sharply he
added in English to Louis, "What is that you say?"
"Good-morning," said Louis, politely. "I haven't seen you, sir, since
our expedition yesterday, or I would have told you what I told the girls
at the aviation field. I hope you'll be pleased."
With a visible effort, for, in reality, he greatly dreaded this
revelation to Monsieur, yet simply and directly he told the old
gentleman what he had said and done on the previous day.
The result was as unexpected as it was distressing. Not one of the
listeners but was fully prepared to see the excitable French gentleman
rage and storm and attempt to forbid Louis to engage in so dangerous a
pursuit. From all they had heard of him, they could imagine no other
course of action. They were entirely unprepared, however, for the
strange quiet with which he received the news. It was not till Louis
began to tell of yesterday's flight that Monsieur suddenly raised his
hand and cried in a low voice:
"Stop! A chair, if you please! I--I feel very--ill!"
Not till then did they notice the strange, gray pallor that had crept
into his face. Louis hurried into the main part of the barn and came
back with a rickety chair. When he had placed it, Monsieur sat down
heavily and, groaning slightly, pressed his hand to his side.
"Hurry in--to--Mademoiselle Yvonne!" he gasped. "Tell her--bring my
medicine. My heart! It--it has been weak for years!"
Louis dashed out of the barn to obey his command, and Carol dashed after
him, glad to get away from the sight of physical suffering. But the Imp
and Sue stayed with the old gentleman, the Imp steadying him in his
chair with her strong young arm, for he seemed to be slipping down. Sue
began fanning him frantically with a newspaper. It seemed as if the
other two were gone for an age, and, in fact, they were gone longer than
might have been expected, for Miss Yvonne was not about the house and
had to be hunted up in the big garden.
Before they came back, however, Monsieur appeared to grow a trifle
easier. But the only word he said during the absence of the others was
just before they came back with Miss Yvonne.
"It is useless!" they heard him murmur, and the Imp, bending over, asked
him what he had said and if they could do anything. But he acted hardly
aware of her presence, and went on murmuring something in French. Then
the others returned, bringing Miss Yvonne, breathless and excited, but
carrying a bottle and spoon. A few moments after taking the medicine
Monsieur seemed easier, and with the help of all he managed to get back
to the house.
"It's all right now," Louis told the girls. "He says he will go to bed
and rest, but the worst of the attack is past. Don't you worry."
The three girls wandered back across the Green, subdued and upset by
what had happened. Even the Imp was apparently forgetful of her past
grievances toward the others.
"I wonder what he was trying to say?" marvelled Sue, as the three roamed
aimlessly toward Carol's barn. "Did you catch it, Bobs? You were nearest
to him, and I think he spoke in French."
"Yes, I caught it," said the Imp, turning to them suddenly. "And look
here, girls, I believe I might as well tell you the whole thing now, if
you care to hear. I'm getting tired of the worry of carrying this thing
around by myself!"
If she had exploded a bomb in their midst, she could not have startled
them more.
"Gracious! What has made you change so?" demanded Sue, wonderingly.
"Well, I feel kind of upset by what has happened this morning," admitted
the Imp, "and so I feel like getting this thing off my mind. Do you know
what he was muttering in French, as he sat there? It was this: 'It is
useless to try any longer to keep the secret. I must tell him at once'!"
"So you see, if he tells Louis," went on the Imp, "there's no reason,
so far as I can see, why I shouldn't tell you _now_. Come up into your
den, and I'll tell you all I know!"
She began to climb the ladder to the haymow, and the two followed her,
silent with amazement.