A WEEK END
“Craig!” exclaimed Patricia, smiling up at the lanky youth. “Fancy seeing
you here! And what are you doing?”
“Here on business,” was the brief response, as he shook Patricia’s hand
enthusiastically.
“These are my friends—Anne Ford, Jane Temple, and Katharine Weldon,”
continued Patricia, “who are spending the week end with me.”
Acknowledging the introduction, Craig looked inquiringly at Patricia.
“May I sit down here and have my sweet with the Sweets.”
“We couldn’t possibly refuse after such a ‘sweet’ compliment as that,”
laughed Patricia. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“Well, that depends. If I find what I’m looking for, I’ll go back almost
immediately; if I don’t, I’ll go Sunday afternoon, anyhow.”
“How interesting and mysterious you sound!” remarked Katharine.
“Reporting’s a great game. Now tell me about yourselves,” leaning both
elbows on the table and looking from one girl to another. With flattering
attention the boy listened to the story of their drive home; gave a
couple of short barks of amusement at their movie experience, then
inquired what they intended to do on the morrow.
“Shop in the morning,” replied Patricia. “I always do the Sunday
marketing when I’m home. I just love to poke around the stores and buy
things. In the afternoon—I really don’t know yet.”
“How would it be if you all went to the ball game with me?” proposed
Craig, carefully rubbing a drop of chocolate sauce off of his tie.
“Grand! But you’d be embarrassed to death escorting four females,”
laughed Patricia.
“Don’t you believe it. I’d be the proudest fellow in the stand, and the
most envied. That’s settled then,” as all the girls manifested their
pleasure in the plan. “I’ll call for you at two o’clock,” he added, as
they rose to go. “I’d offer to see you home, but I suppose you have your
car?”
“Yes; it’s in a parking station. Why don’t we meet you at the Park
tomorrow afternoon instead of your going way out to our house?”
“Not a bad idea, especially as I haven’t the least idea where you live.”
Everybody laughed.
“97 Minton Road, in case you ever need to know,” said Patricia, smiling
frankly up into the brown eyes and serious face above her.
“Thanks,” he said, making a note of the address. “Wait a minute,” he
added, taking hold of her arm and steering her toward a candy counter.
“Make up five pounds of the kinds selected,” he directed the prim clerk
who came to take his order. Then, waving off the girls’ thanks, he was
gone.
“Shall we each choose our favorites, to make up one-quarter of the box?”
asked Patricia, turning to the other girls.
“Fine; and in quarter-or half-pound lots, so as to get variety,” said
Katharine; and they all assented.
It was rather late when the girls finally reached home, but they settled
down before the living room fireplace with the box of candy, and regaled
Mr. and Mrs. Randall with chocolates and the story of their adventures.
Mr. Randall finally drove them off to bed shortly after midnight.
“I’m going to stay in the car,” announced Katharine the next morning,
when Patricia drew up in front of a large department store in the grocery
department of which she intended to make several purchases. “I don’t care
for marketing, and I do love to watch people hurrying along the streets.”
“As you like it,” replied Patricia, getting out, followed by Anne and
Jane.
“Can you park here?” inquired Jane in surprise, as Patricia slammed the
door.
“Not really supposed to, but I won’t be long; and I hardly think there’ll
be any trouble.”
“I’ll entertain the cop,” offered Katharine magnanimously, “if he shows
up.”
She had been watching the crowd for about ten minutes, when she noticed a
big, red-faced policeman approaching, his eyes fixed indignantly upon the
car in which she was sitting.
“Now I’m in for it!” she thought. “Why in time doesn’t Patricia come?
She’s been gone an age.”
“You can’t park here, lady,” said the officer sternly. “Can’t you read?”
pointing to the No Parking sign.
“No, sir,” replied Katharine demurely.
“You can’t!” exclaimed the man in surprise
“Not a word!” was the reply, and Katharine looked innocently at him.
“What nationality are you?”
“American, sir.”
The officer pushed back his hat in perplexity. He felt that something was
wrong, but could not quite put his finger on it. With all our money spent
on schools, and this young woman couldn’t read.
“Well, anyhow, whether you can read or not, you can’t park here.”
“But this isn’t my car, and I can’t drive.”
“Where _is_ the owner?”
“In there,” pointing to the store. “She’ll be out in just a minute. I
think she went in to buy—oranges.”
“Well, if she isn’t out by the time I come around again, she gets a tag;
and that’s flat!”
Wrathfully the officer strode on, and Katharine sank back comfortably
against the cushions again. Five minutes passed; ten; and still no signs
of Patricia. Katharine began to fidget nervously and wish she had gone
into the store with the girls. Still, if she had, the car would have been
tagged at once; even now perhaps she could stave the man off again if he
came around before Pat got back.
There he was, striding along as if he meant business! “I wish Pat and her
oranges were in Hades,” thought Katharine, preparing to smile sweetly at
the irate officer.
“She hasn’t come yet,” she said, leaning out of the window and speaking
confidentially. “Something must have happened to her. I’m _so_ worried.
What ought I to do, do you think?”
Momentarily disarmed by the unexpected greeting, the man removed his hat
and scratched his head. Then suddenly realizing that he was being worked,
he snapped:
“What _could_ happen to her except that, like all other women, she has no
notion of time! This car’s been here half an hour now. I suppose she
can’t read either!”
“It’s been here only twenty-five minutes, officer,” corrected Katharine,
showing him her watch.
“So you can tell time, even though you can’t read,” commented the
officer, rather admiring the girl’s poise despite his annoyance.
“Well, you see,” began Katharine, resting both arms on the opened window,
“when I was a little girl—(if I can only keep him interested until Pat
comes!)—I was—” She broke off to gesticulate madly to her friends who
were just coming out of the store.
The policeman wheeled sharply and saw three girls racing madly toward
him. Just as Pat reached the car, the bag she was carrying broke, and a
dozen oranges rolled in all directions.
“There!” cried Katharine triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you she just went
in to get some oranges?”
What could the man do but help gather up the fruit and toss it into the
car? Scarlet with exertion and embarrassment at the comments of
passers-by, he finally faced Patricia sternly.
“Lady, you’ve been parked here half an hour, right under that sign. Can’t
_you_ read either?”
“Why, yes, a little,” replied Patricia, with a suspicious glance at
Katharine. “But those signs are placed so high that if you’re in a low
car, you really have an awful time seeing them at all. You can see for
yourself that this one is directly over the top of the car. Get in and
see.”
“Of course it is if you drive directly under it!” grumbled the man. “And
the next time I see this car where it doesn’t belong, it gets a tag right
away; whether your passengers can’t read, or you think the signs are too
high, or—or anything else.”
“Thanks for your patience, and assistance,” replied Patricia, smiling at
him in such a friendly fashion that he had a hard time maintaining his
expression of outraged dignity. He was still a bit doubtful as to whether
or not the girls were making fun of him. These women!
“Goodbye,” called the irrepressible Katharine, as Patricia stepped into
the car and started the engine. “Hope I meet you again sometime.”
The officer strode away without comment, while Katharine reported her
encounter to the girls.
“I’m an absolute wreck!” she declared in an injured tone, as her
companions laughed heartlessly. “I’ll never keep car for you again.”
“Your own choice,” retorted Patricia flippantly. “We wanted you to come
with us.”
“That’s all the thanks I get,” sighed Katharine, “for risking my life to
protect your property.”
“Policeman, spare this car; touch not an ancient wheel!” giggled Anne.
“In youth it carried me,” continued Jane.
“And I’ll protect it now,” carolled the three.
“I’ve a good mind to dump you all out,” declared Patricia in mock
indignation. “I know it’s not exactly a latest model, but it really isn’t
so ancient as all that.”
“Never mind, Patsy,” said Katharine. “We’ll ride in it, even if it is
old.”
“There’s where we’re going this afternoon,” remarked Patricia a few
minutes later, pointing down a side street; “you can see the baseball
park from here.”
Long before the game started, they were in their seats watching the
crowds pour into the stands.
Patricia, who sat beside Craig, soon noticed that he was scanning faces
with more than casual interest. When he pulled out a pair of opera
glasses with which to view the opposite stands, her curiosity got the
better of her.
“Looking for someone special?” she inquired, making pleats in her
handkerchief.
“Yes.” He moved closer, put his head down, and spoke softly. “We got a
tip that the principal in the Brock affair might be around here, and my
chief sent me out to see what I could pick up. Keep it under your hat,
though.”
“Of course,” breathed Patricia, quivering with excitement.
“Come home to dinner with us?” asked Patricia, when the game was over and
they were headed for the parking station.
Craig shook his head. “Like to a lot, but I want to look around a bit
more tonight; so I’ll eat in a one-arm lunch that I know about where
perhaps I’ll overhear something. Thanks a lot.”
“If you’d care to come, suppose you make it tomorrow instead. We have
dinner at one on Sundays.”
“I’ll be glad to come then.”
“Any luck?” Patricia inquired, as she met Craig in the hall of her own
home the next noon.
“Not a bit,” looking so dejected that Patricia could hardly keep from
smiling.
“Too bad; but don’t be quite so downcast.”
“Good advice; perhaps I’ll run across something on the train. You get
into a conversation with strangers, and oftentimes a clew slips out.”
Dinner was a hilarious affair. Craig exerted himself to be entertaining,
and Katharine had a silly streak which kept the company in gales of
laughter.
“Hate to break away,” said Craig, looking at his watch after they
finished their coffee before the fireplace in the living room.
The day had turned cool, and a wood fire was very welcome. “This is
awfully cozy,” he went on; “but my train goes in twenty minutes.”
“Why don’t you let Pat tuck you into her machine, and go back with the
girls?” suggested Mr. Randall.
“Like nothing better,” replied Craig, unfolding his long body slowly as
he rose reluctantly from a big easy chair; “but I have my return ticket,
and ‘Waste not, want not’ is one of my mottoes.”
“See you when you get back to town,” were his last words to Patricia,
after taking leave of the rest of the party.
“Very likely,” she replied carelessly.
Had she been wise in inviting the boy to her house? She wondered, closing
the door. He was inclined to be a bit possessive and might think she was
more interested in him than she really was. But the end of the college
year was fast approaching, and with it a breaking off of many Granard
associations. Her face was very sober as she rejoined the group in front
of the fire; for the fear of not being able to go back next fall was a
very poignant one.
“What’s the matter, Pat?” inquired Katharine bluntly. “You look as if
you’d just buried your last friend.”
“Haven’t,” replied the girl, perching on the arm of her father’s chair,
and twisting his hair into a Kewpie knot.
“Pat always looks like that when it’s time to leave home,” commented Mrs.
Randall, after a searching glance at her daughter.
“I don’t mean to appear inhospitable—” began Mr. Randall.
“But you think we should be on our way,” finished Patricia, “so as not to
be on the road long after dark.”
“Well, you know it always takes longer than you expect.”
“Yes, darling; we’ll get started. Come, girls, get your things together.”
When they were about twenty-five miles from home, Patricia gazed
anxiously ahead at a bank of dark clouds, rapidly spreading all across
the sky. “Afraid we’re going to run into a storm, girls.”
“As long as it isn’t a thunder storm,” began Anne, in a worried tone.
“Safe enough in a car if you keep out from under trees,” commented
Katharine.
“Can’t, if you happen to be in the woods,” objected Jane, who was
watching the clouds gathering so rapidly.
“We’re not going to be in the woods,” said Patricia. “We’ll strike the
storm long before we reach them.”
As she spoke a wave of chill wind swept across the country as the
darkness shut down like the cover of a box, and huge hailstones began to
bounce off the hood and patter on the top of the car with such force that
it seemed as if they must break through.