CLIMAXES
Meanwhile the runaways were having the very time of their lives. Not
since that two-mile race to Four Corners for the letter which proved the
wedge to divide her own and Athol's ways, had Beverly been able to "let
out a notch," as she put it. Nor had the little broncho been permitted to
twinkle his legs as they were now twinkling over that soft dirt road.
Virginia roads were made for equestrians, _not_ automobiles. Head thrust
forward as far as his graceful slender neck permitted, ears laid back for
the first unwelcome word to halt, eyes flashing with exhilaration, and
nostrils wide for the deep, full inhalations and exhalations which sent
the rich blood coursing through each pulsing artery, little Apache was
enjoying his freedom as much as his rider. In two seconds they were at
the top of a rise of ground, down at the further side and out of sight of
the others. Then, to make the exhibition realistic, Beverly drew out her
hat pin, gave it a toss to the side of the road, and the wind completed
the job by whisking her soft felt hat off her head and landing it upon
the roadside bush.
Oh, it was glorious! Five miles? What were five miles to the little
beastie which had many a time pounded off twenty-five without turning a
hair? Or to Beverly who had often ridden fifty in one day with Uncle
Athol and her brother? Just a breather. And when there swept through the
gateway of Kilton Hall a most exalted, hatless, rosy-cheeked,
dancing-eyed lassie mounted upon a most hilarious steed, the gate-keeper
came within an ace of having apoplexy, for she was a portly old body.
But Beverly did not pause for explanations. Her objective point was the
athletic field at the rear of the building and her appearance upon it
might have been regarded in the light of a distinct sensation. It would
never do to forsake too promptly the role of being run away with. There
were coaches and referees upon tennis court, cinder path and football
field, and boys galore, in every sort of athletic garb, performing every
sort of athletic stunt.
When Beverly set out to do anything she rarely omitted any detail to make
it as near perfect as possible. As she tore across the lawn which led to
the field her sharp eyes discovered Athol upon one of the tennis courts
and closer at hand a lot of other boys sprinting, gracefully or
otherwise, around the cinder path, taking hurdles placed about a hundred
feet apart.
Now, if there was one thing in this world upon which Apache and his young
mistress agreed more entirely than another, it was the pure delight of
skimming over a fence. A five-footer was a mere trifle. The three-foot
hurdles upon the cinder path a big joke. The tennis nets? Pouf!
If Beverly really was tugging upon Apache's bridle he was not permitting
anything so trivial as a girl's strength to bother him, and her knees
told him quite a different story as he swept upon the cinder path, took
two hurdles like a deer and was off over the tennis courts and over a net
before the astonished players could draw a full breath.
Then they woke up!
"It's a runaway!" cried Mr. Cushman, who had charge of the football
coaching, to be echoed by the tall quarter back in football togs, as both
broke away in pursuit, the whole field quickly taking the alarm also. But
that tennis court held one individual whose wits worked as quickly as the
star performer's, and there and then shrilled across it a high-pitched,
peculiar whistle which they both knew mighty well, and the four-legged
one obeyed instanter by wheeling so suddenly that he put a very realistic
climax upon the scene by nearly unseating the two-legged one, as he tore
pell mell for the whistler and came to a sudden halt in front of him, to
the increased astonishment of the general audience.
"Gee whiz, Bev! What's let loose?" cried Athol, trying to respond to
Apache's nozzling, whinnying demonstrations of delight and reach his
sister's extended hands at the same time, while Archie did his
record-breaking sprint across the gridiron, and the whole field came
boiling toward them.
"_I_ have. Don't you see I've been run away with? It's lucky Apache
turned in here," answered Beverly, with remarkable calmness for one so
lately escaped from disaster or sudden death, as she brushed back her
flying locks, for--well--reasons.
"Run away nothing! _You_ run away with! Piffle. Ah, cut it out Apache! I
know you're ready to throw a fit at seeing me, but keep bottled up for a
minute, won't you?" he ended as Apache lay hold of his tennis shirt and
tried to jerk him into attention. But he gave the bony little head a
good-natured mauling nevertheless, as Archie rushing up exclaimed:
"You're a winner, Bev!" Then the others surrounded them, the two coaches
really concerned lest the young lady had suffered some mishap, and Mr.
Cushman brushing the boys aside as he asked:
"Are you faint? Can we be of any assistance?" and Mr. Ford, the new
instructor from Yale and mighty good to look upon (so decided Beverly in
the space of one glance) pressed to her side to ask: "Were you riding
alone when your mount bolted?"
Before Beverly could draw breath to reply the answer came from another
quarter.
Now there is no such accomplished actor, (or liar) upon the face of the
round world as your genuine darkey. Indeed he can do both so perfectly
that he actually lives in the characters he temporarily creates and
believes his own prevarications, and that, it must be admitted, is _some
achievement_.
When Beverly departed so suddenly upon her self-elected route, Jefferson
naturally had but a very hazy idea of her intentions. He knew Kilton Hall
lay over five miles straight ahead, and he knew, also that Beverly's
brother was at school there, but Jefferson did not possess an analytical
mind: It could not out-run Apache. He knew, however, that he must put up
a pretty good bluff if he wished to save his kinky scalp upon his return
to Leslie Manor, so he set about planning to "hand out dat fool 'oman a
corker." Moreover, Petty was inclined to take the situation seriously.
Petty was sweetly romantic, but stupidly literal. At times a hopeless
combination. The riding party had cantered along in the fleeing Beverly's
wake for a little more than a mile when Petty spied the hat upon the
bush. Nothing further was needed to confirm her misgivings.
"She _has_ been run away with, girls! She has! I think it's perfectly
awful not to ride faster. She may be lying on the road d-e-a-d-!"
By this time Jefferson thought it might be politic to manifest more
concern, so throwing a well-assimilated anxiety into voice and manner he
said hastily:
"Now you fo' yo'ng ladies jist come 'long careful an' orderly, so's not
ter bring no mo' trebbulations, 'pon us an' I'll light out fer dat
run-way. Ma Lawd, I'se been clar distracted fer de las' ten minutes fer
ter know which-a-way ter tu'n! I aint really believe Miss Bev'ly is in no
danger 'twell Miss Petty done got me so sympathizin', but now I'se shore
rattled an' I'se gwin' ter find out fer sartin. Come on yo' Jumbo! Wo'k
yo' laigs fer fair," and under touch of the spur the big horse broke into
a gait which bade fair to speedily overhand the scapegraces, _providing
Jefferson let him do so_.
A turn in the road simplified the problem.
"Now don' yo' tak ter sweatin' yo'self so's I has ter spend a hull hour
a-coolin' yo' down," admonished Jefferson when well out of sight. "We'll
git there, an' when we does we'll mak' one fair show down," and thereupon
Jefferson restrained his steed to a long swinging run which told off the
miles without making him turn a hair until Kilton Hall was in sight.
_Then_ the dusky actor and his mount prepared to make their spectacular
entré. Pulling up at the roadside Jefferson threw his cap upon the
ground, twisted his tie awry, and let fly the belt of his riding blouse,
then dismounting, he caught up a few handfuls of dust and promptly
transformed big bay Jumbo into as disreputable looking a horse as dust
rubbed upon his muzzle, his chest and his warm moist flanks could
transform him. It was this likely pair which came pounding across the
athletic field of Kilton Hall at the moment of Mr. Ford's question, the
human of the species, with eyes rolling until they were nearly all
whites, shouting as he drew near:
"My Lawd-a-mighty, Miss Bev'ly, is yo' hu't? Is yo' daid?"
It was a good enough bit of acting to have won the actor fame and
fortune. As a matter of fact, Beverly gave one glance at the fly-away
figure, then clasping both arms around Apache's neck, buried her face in
his mane and to all intents and purposes collapsed into a paroxysm of
tears, to the entire dismay of Mr. Cushman, and the skeptical "sizing up"
of the situation by Mr. Ford, more lately from the campus. It was Athol
who promptly turned a few handsprings behind their backs and Archie who
rolled over upon the grass chortling.
"Don't be alarmed! Don't be alarmed, my good man. Your young lady is none
the worse for her involuntary run (just here a distinct snort came from
the ground behind Mr. Cushman) though I dare say a little unstrung and
exhausted. But we stopped her mount ("yes you did!" came sotto voce from
Athol) and now we will lead your mistress back to the house where Mrs.
Kilton will be delighted to minister to her comfort. Are you too nervous
to ride to the rear entrance, Miss Ashby?" for during the few words
spoken Mr. Cushman had discovered that this was Athol Ashby's sister, had
the resemblance left any doubt of that fact.
Beverly resumed an upright position, hastily wiped away her tears, (one
_can_ laugh as well as weep them) and answered:
"Oh, no sir. Of course I was a little startled at first, but Apache is
never vicious, and it was only the need of exercise which made
us--_him_--bolt, you know."
The acrobat came to an upright position and very nearly upset the whole
show.
Meantime Jefferson with many flutterings and gesticulations, had
dismounted and managed to work his way to Archie's side and whisper:
"Don't yo' let on, will yo' suh?"
"Not on your sweet life. It's the best ever. But where's the rest of the
bunch? There must _be_ some. You always take out a full fledged
seminary."
"Praise Gawd der aint but fo' dis time, an' dey's yander on de pike
some--'ers. But I'se near scared blue."
"Gray, you mean. Keep cool. I'll fix it all right. Oh, Mr. Cushman the
groom had to leave the other young ladies back yonder on the road and
he's a good bit upset about it. Hadn't he better ride back to them?
They'll be scared blue you know."
"Certainly. Certainly. By all means. Return to them at once. This young
lady will be carefully looked after," and Jefferson lost no time in
going.
"You'd better bring the whole outfit--I--er--I mean you'd better bring
the other young ladies to the Hall," called Mr. Ford, deciding that if
Beverly was a sample of the Leslie Manor girls it would be just as well
to see more of the material. Had he caught the sudden flash in Archie's
eyes perhaps he would have grown a bit wiser.
Twenty minutes later all five girls were seated in Mrs. Kilton's cozy
living room, the boys, and the instructors who had shifted into
drawing-room garments in record time, serving hot chocolate and little
iced cakes.
As they were not expected home until five anyway there was no cause for
concern. There would be no alarm at Leslie Manor. Meanwhile Jefferson,
who had looked after the horses, was holding the floor in the servant's
quarters. If a report of that afternoon's experiences did reach Leslie
Manor he meant to have first scoop.
After an hour spent very delightfully, for Mr. Ford was attention itself
to Beverly, to Archie's ill-concealed disgust, Hope MacLeod advised a
move toward home. As they were about to start Beverly asked sweetly:
"Oh, dear Mrs. Kilton, would you mind if Athol showed me his room? You
know we have never before in all our lives been separated and I get so
homesick for him and his traps it just seems as though I couldn't stand
it."
"Why of course you may go up, my dear," smiled kindly Mrs. Kilton. She
was too wholesome to see the least impropriety in so simple a request.
"Oh, hold on a second, Ath. Keep her a minute until I rush up and stow a
few of our duds. We didn't stop to slick things up when we shifted," and
Archie bounded away.
"Come on now, Bev. I reckon he's had time to make Number 70 presentable,"
said Athol three minutes later, and the brother and sister went demurely
from the room.