ADAIR MACKENZIE SPEAKS UP
It all started in Laredo, Texas, just after Nan and her guests had been
met by Adair MacKenzie, Alice, and that amazing young newspaper man,
Walker Jamieson.
"Got everything?" Adair MacKenzie asked gruffly when the bevy of pretty
young girls, all in their early teens, had stepped, one after the other,
from the streamlined train that had brought them from St. Louis. They
had met in that city, all except Rhoda whose home, as those who have
read "Nan Sherwood at Rose Ranch" will remember, was in the South. She,
therefore, had joined the party at beautiful San Antonio. From there on,
the girls had all been together.
"I-I-I guess so," Nan answered her eccentric old cousin slowly as she
looked about first at her friends and then at the suitcases and bags
that the porters were setting on the station platform beside them.
"Looks it." Adair MacKenzie agreed laconically. "Got almost as many
bags as Alice here and I thought that she carried more junk than any
other woman alive. So these are the girls. H-m-m." He looked at the
Lakeview Hall group in much the same manner that he had appraised Bess
just three weeks before.
"Let's see," he began, and Nan's eyes twinkled as she realized that he
was not going to keep his conclusions to himself any more than he had
before. "You're Laura," he said positively, picking the red-headed girl
out of the crowd as though he had studied a photograph of her until he
couldn't possibly mistake her features.
"And that red hair's going to get you in trouble sometime," he continued
his characterization. "Got a temper now. I can see that. A ready tongue
too, I'll wager. But you'll get by if you can go on laughing at
yourself. You've got a sense of humor. Keep it."
"Yes, sir," Laura answered as meekly as she could. She had already been
warned, on the train, by Bess as to what to expect, so this frank
analysis of her character did not take her altogether by surprise.
"And you, Miss," the old Scotsman went on around the circle of girls
enjoying himself hugely as he characterized his young cousin's friends,
"you," he was looking at Amelia as he spoke, "are the one that has all
of those clocks. You're too serious. You'll learn down here in this lazy
country that time just doesn't matter. Ask anybody to do anything for
you and he'll nod his head slowly and mutter, if he's got enough pep,
'Si, si, senor, manana!' He'll do anything in the world you want him to
do, manana, and manana never comes.
"However, you and I will get along. I like you. You are punctual. It's a
virtue. Never been late for anything in your life, have you?"
Amelia hardly knew what to answer, for Adair had made time seem both
important and unimportant.
"Speak up," the old man looked at her kindly now. "Don't be modest like
my young cousin here. Well, never mind," he passed Amelia by as he saw
that he had embarrassed her beyond her ability to speak. "I'll take care
of you later," he ended before he turned to Rhoda.
"From the West, aren't you?" he questioned the proud brown-eyed young
girl. "Can tell in a minute. That carriage, the way you hold your head,
your clear eyes. Even if I hadn't heard that Western accent, I would
have known." Adair MacKenzie was proud of his ability to read character,
and as he went from one of the young lassies to the other, he was
pleased with himself and pleased with them, for their quiet acceptance
of his outspokenness.
"A city girl. Just a little too shy." Grace's turn came last, and she
had been dreading it. "You've got to learn to stick up for your own
rights," he had struck home here, he knew, and though he realized that
Grace could take it with less equilibrium than any of the rest, he
wasn't going to spare her.
"Say, 'boo,' to you," he went on, "And you'll run. Isn't it so?"
Grace said nothing, but nodded her head.
"Try saying 'boo!' back sometime," he advised in a quieter tone than he
had used to any of the other girls, "and see what happens. If the person
you say it to doesn't run, stand your ground and say it again, louder.
But be careful," he patted Grace on the shoulder, "and don't scare
yourself with your own voice."
At this everyone laughed, including Grace, and Alice MacKenzie took her
father by the arm and started toward the station. "If you don't look
out, father," she warned, "I'll say 'boo!' to you and then you'll jump."
"Oh, go along with you," Adair MacKenzie pounded his cane on the wooden
platform, and then shook it at his daughter, "If you don't behave
yourself, I'll give you one last spanking that will hold you until you
are as old and gray as I am."
For answer, Alice laughed provocatively up into his face.
"Now, come on, you girls," Adair frowned as best he could under the
circumstances, "we've got to get along. And you too, you get a move on,"
he pointed his cane, with this, at a tall, lanky blond young man.
At this, Nan and Bess, Rhoda and Grace, Laura and Amelia with one accord
turned their eyes on Walker Jamieson.
"It's real, girls." Walker grinned down into their faces. "It moves and
speaks, eats and sleeps just like the rest of the world. It does
everything but work." So saying, he winked quite openly at Alice and
lengthened his steps so that he walked beside her father.
"First truth I've ever heard you utter," Adair MacKenzie tried to sound
brusk, but didn't succeed very well. The truth was, of course, that he
was intensely pleased with the prospect of spending his summer with this
crowd of young people. And, though he would be the last person in the
world to admit it, he was intensely flattered that this brilliant young
newspaper man was in the party. "Not that he came," he thought to
himself as he noted, with some satisfaction, the regard with which
Walker seemed to hold Alice, "to keep me company." He sighed deeply as
he finished the thought. Alice was his only child.
"Got everything?" Adair MacKenzie repeated the question with which he
greeted the girls as they all approached the customs office. "Baggage
checks? Tourist cards?"
At this, they all opened their purses and rummaged around in them.
"Shades of Glasgow." Laura murmured into Nan's ears. "Seems good to be
going through this red tape again, doesn't it?"
Nan nodded. She felt much the same as she did the day they had first
stepped foot on foreign soil, an unforgettable experience that they all
had talked over again and again since that morning in May when the great
boat had been moored to the dock and they had walked, one after the
other, down the gangplank to set their feet in Scotland for the first
time. The adventures that had followed had made their vacation the most
exciting of their lives as those who have read "Nan Sherwood's Summer
Holidays" all agree. Now, as they all walked forward toward the offices
of the Mexican officials, Nan wondered idly what further adventures were
in store for her.
"Senorita, your bag, senorita."
"Why don't you answer when you are called?" Walker Jamieson dropped
back into step beside Nan. "Lady," he prodded Nan with his elbow, "the
handsome young Mexican with the neat little mustache that is running
after us, is calling you."
"Me?" Nan's voice had a surprised ring to it. "Am I Senorita?"
"None other, for months to come, now." Walker Jamieson answered. "You
are Senorita Sherwood and you had better answer when these Senores call
or they will be so much insulted that they will never recover."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Nan looked genuinely regretful as she turned to the
tall thin native that had been following her.
"It is nothing," he dismissed her concern with a wave of his hands, "but
the Senorita has dropped her purse. May I give it to her?" He bowed
gracefully as he presented it, and Nan felt that he couldn't possibly
have presented the finest gift in the world with more grace.
However, before she could possibly thank him, he disappeared. She turned
to follow the others into the offices, rummaging through her purse, even
as they had done, as she went.
"Why, it's gone!" Nan looked first at her purse and then in the
direction in which the obliging young Mexican had vanished.
"Uh-huh, we should have guessed," Walker Jamieson shook his head sadly.
"Dumb of me. What did he get?"
"My visitor's pass!" Nan exclaimed. "Now, what will I do?"
Involuntarily, they both looked toward Adair MacKenzie who was just
disappearing through the door. Then they laughed.
"I don't know, kid," Walker liked this youngster that Alice had already
filled his ears with tales about. "But you're in for it. It's tough,
these days, getting duplicates of the things. Shall I break the news to
the ogre," he nodded in Adair MacKenzie's direction. "He'll explode, but
you've just got to take it."