AT SARANAC
Sylvia walked toward the hotel office, where the telephone booths were
located.
"I am so sorry!" murmured the cavalier. "If there is anything I can
do--or my chums--don't fail to let us know. We'd be only too glad to
help."
"Thank you," Sylvia said. "I shall be glad to let you know. But I
think it will mean that I shall have to go to my brother. He is up at
Saranac."
"I shall be sorry to see you leave," he said, simply.
"And I hope you and your friends will return."
"It is impossible to say, at least for a time," was her answer. "I will
say good-night now."
He understood, and parted from her.
"Was it anything definite?" asked Sylvia of Aunt Theodora.
They were approaching the telephone booths, and Sylvia was a bit
nervous.
"I did not wait for all the details," said the chaperon. "I thought it
better to let you talk. Central said the line would be available if you
called up within a few minutes, as they are not very busy now."
"With whom were you speaking?"
"With that young man who went up with your brother."
"Harry Montray?"
"Yes. He said there was nothing to be alarmed about, but he thought Roy
had gotten to the point where it would be better to see some one from
home. Probably the poor fellow is suffering from an attack of good,
old-fashioned home-sickness--or, rather, bad home-sickness, for it _is_
a dreadful feeling. I have had it abroad, when I felt as though I would
give anything just to see an old tin peddler from my home town."
"I know," murmured Sylvia.
In a few minutes she was in conversation with her brother's friend. She
was much reassured to know that, though Roy was not so well as could be
hoped for, he was in no sense in danger. It was just that his companion
felt, in Roy's present mental state, that it would be better to have
some one of his family near him. His physical health was good, but he
had not been able to bring to his mind the lost chemical formula. And
this preyed on him.
"I will come up at once," Sylvia said. "We will start in the morning."
"I will help you make all preparations," Mrs. Brownley remarked. "Will
you take the other girls with you?"
"Of course; if they want to go."
"As if we didn't want to go!" exclaimed Alice, when the matter was
mentioned to her and her chums. "Besides, that's what we came up here
for. This lingering in pleasant places was no part of our original
programme, nice as it is. You want to go; don't you, Hazel?"
"Certainly."
"And there's no need to ask Rose," said Alice, but it was not in the
least done jokingly. Rose's face precluded anything like that.
And so the masquerade came to an end rather sadly, and yet Sylvia tried
not to let it affect her too much, for she regarded herself in the
light of a hostess to her three chums.
Before the girls retired, a message came to them from the four young
men with whom they had danced so much that evening. It was to the
effect that the campers expected to remain some time longer at, or
near, Raquette Lake, and would be very glad to entertain the young
ladies if they returned.
Sylvia sent back word, expressing the appreciation of herself and
her chums, but said their plans were not settled, and it was hardly
possible that they would come back to Raquette that summer.
They were to take a morning train, and there was not much of the night
left in which to get rest. Sylvia herself had very little sleep, and
was up, almost at dawn, packing her trunks.
They were to go to Saranac Inn, located on Upper Saranac Lake, as Roy's
place of sojourn, Loneberg Camp, was located near there. The journey of
the girls was to be by rail, though they had hoped to make the trip by
canoes and other boats--steamers and motor craft.
"But we really haven't time," decided Sylvia. "Perhaps we can come back
that way, but it will be better to go by train, I think."
"Yes," assented Rose. "It's quicker."
It was rather a surprise to Sylvia and her chums to find, that morning,
the four young men who had danced with them waiting on the broad
veranda when they came down to go to the station.
"Why!" exclaimed Sylvia, blushing rosy-red. "How did you get over from
your camp so early?"
"We haven't been to camp," replied Felton Ware--he who had been
disguised as the cavalier.
"Did you stay at the Antlers all night?" asked Hazel.
"Yes, we couldn't very well get back to camp," said James Pendleton,
who had been the Dutchman.
"And we thought we might be of some service to you," went on Felton.
"Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?"
"Thank you, no," Sylvia murmured. "We are used to travelling, you know,
and one of our club mottoes is 'Do it yourself.'"
"What club is that?" he asked, interested at once.
"The Nowadays Club," answered Alice. "It's real jolly."
"I can well believe that," agreed Felton.
The young men insisted on accompanying the girls to the station,
carrying their satchels. The trunks had been sent on ahead by an
earlier train.
There were rather prolonged good-byes at the depot, and Sylvia was
quite sure she heard Alice and Hazel agreeing to send, from Saranac,
at least souvenir postals to their friends. But she was not absolutely
sure, and her mind was too fully occupied with thoughts of her ailing
brother to allow her to dwell long on what others did and said.
"Well, here comes the train," said Felton, finally.
"And I'm glad of it!" murmured Sylvia, with something like a sigh.
"What!" he cried, with simulated surprise.
"Oh, you know what I mean," she went on.
"I hope you have no more canoe accidents," said Felton.
"Well, if I do, I hope I find as nice a knight as you were," she
answered, rather daringly.
"That's awfully nice!" he exclaimed, with real pleasure in his voice.
Then the train came in, and there was the usual bustle and hustle
getting aboard. Good-byes were said over and over again, and hands,
caps and handkerchiefs were waved until the coaches were out of sight
around a bend in the line.
The four young men walked away, rather downcast, for they had
thoroughly enjoyed the company of Sylvia and her chums.
"Well, old man," said James Pendleton to Felton Ware.
"Not well--ill," he sighed.
"What's the matter?" laughed a companion. "Hard hit?"
"Not at all. Only they were such real, jolly girls. You don't often
meet their class up here. The others are too much on dolling-up and
talking society mush. I wonder what some of those dolled-up ones would
look like if they were rolled out of a canoe into the rapids; tell me
that!"
"It's beyond me," was the honest confession. "Never mind. Maybe they'll
come back."
"Let us hope so," was the decision, in which all agreed.
Meanwhile Sylvia and her chums were speeding as fast as the train could
take them to Saranac. They had engaged rooms by telegraph at Saranac
Inn, and from there they would start for Roy's camp, which was some
miles away.
"Will you go on to-night?" asked Rose of Sylvia, as they sat together
in the train.
"It depends on what time we get in. If we arrive early enough I shall,
provided we can get back to the Inn at any reasonable hour. I don't
want to disturb Roy too late, though."
"No, it wouldn't be wise."
But if Sylvia hoped to see her brother that night she was doomed to
disappointment. There was a slight accident on the railroad, not
involving the train of our friends, however, and it was quite late when
they arrived at Saranac.
"Well, we won't see Roy to-night," Sylvia decided after dinner. "But
I'll see if I can get Harry on the 'phone."