The girls were entirely at sea at not reaching Nyoda at Ft. Wayne. They
had counted so confidently upon her advice to help them out of the
difficulty in which they found themselves. Being lost from her was the
worst calamity they could conceive of. They were very much puzzled and
a little hurt that she should have run away and left them as she did.
It was so unlike Nyoda. On all other expeditions she had kept them
under her eye every minute, like the careful Guardian she was. None of
them slept much that night for worrying over the strange predicament
they were in. Besides that they had to sleep three in a bed. Gladys
made up her mind to wire her father in the morning when the doctor came.
When they looked out of the door in the morning the guard of the day
before was gone and a new one had taken his place. Evidently Dr. Caxton
was going to do the job thoroughly. Towards noon a buggy drove into the
yard and a white-haired man got out and came up on the porch. He
carried a shabby medicine case.
"Why, Dr. Lane!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin cordially, when she saw him.
"You left a call for me yesterday when I was out in the country," said
Dr. Lane, in a pleasant voice. "I did not get in until early this
morning. What's the trouble?"
"It's the children," said Mrs. Martin. "They've got scarlet fever. I
was so worried about Bobby yesterday that I sent for Dr. Caxton from
B----. We'll have to keep him now, I suppose, but do you want to look
at them anyhow? Mary doesn't want to take her medicine, and maybe you
could--"
"Certainly I'll go up and see them," said Dr. Lane. He was the kind of
man you would love to have for your grandfather. His pockets bulged
suspiciously as though they contained bags of lemon drops or peanuts.
Talking cheerfully all the while he entered the sick room and looked at
the patients.
"So Dr. Caxton said they had scarlet fever!" he said, musingly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Martin.
"Scarlet fever your grandmother!" returned Dr. Lane. "They've got
prickly heat. If Dr. Caxton called that scarlet fever, what would he
call a real case of scarlet fever?"
A minute later the man on guard heard a laugh that almost shook the
windows of the house. Not long after that he was pedaling down the road
on the bicycle that had brought him, very red in the face and very hot
under the collar. The quarantine ended right then and there. Whether
Dr. Caxton came again or not we never found out, for the girls left
immediately. They sped over the road to Ft. Wayne as fast as the
Striped Beetle could carry them. They went to the Potter Hotel and
naturally discovered that we had not stayed there. I believe they had
held to the hope all the time that we had arrived after the telegram
had gone back undelivered. They stood around irresolutely until the
check man to whom we had talked spied them and told them that we had
left not half an hour before and were on our way to Chicago by way of
Ligonier. They could hardly believe their ears when they heard that
Nyoda had gone off and left them the second time. But as they were so
close behind us the only thing for them to do was to follow.
Gladys stopped at a service station and had the Striped Beetle's
carburetor adjusted, or something that sounded like that, and then
started post-haste on the road to Chicago. Pearl looked from one to the
other of the girls with fear and suspicion in her face. "Is there--is
there really such a person as you say you are taking me to see, or are
you taking me somewhere else?" she faltered.
And the girls had a hard time convincing her that Nyoda was not a myth,
although they began to wonder if she had not turned into one. Gradually
Pearl began to thaw out under their persistent cordiality and was
really not such a bad companion after all. She still furtively watched
the road behind them as if she feared pursuit, but some of the scared
rabbit look was going out of her eyes when she began to realize that
the width of a whole state lay between her and her persecutors and they
had absolutely no clue to her whereabouts. She repeatedly expressed her
amazement that a group of girls so young had the courage to travel by
themselves in an automobile, and were not frightened to death to have
gotten separated from their chaperon, but were calmly following her up
as fast as they were able.
She was much interested when she heard they were Camp Fire Girls, and
wanted to know all about the Winnebago doings.
"I wish I could have belonged to something like that in the city where
I worked," she said with a sigh, "maybe I wouldn't have been so
lonesome all the time. And I would have had a Guardian--is that what
you call her?--to go to when I got into trouble."
"Maybe you'll get into a group yet," said Hinpoha, optimistically.
"There are some in the city where you live."
Pearl was as great a curiosity to them as they were to her. How any
girl of eighteen could be so babyish and helpless as she was was a
revelation to them. Everyone of them wished devoutly that she could
become a Winnebago so they could make something out of her. Hinpoha
began making plans right away.
"As long as you have no people and it doesn't matter where you work,
why couldn't you come to Cleveland and find work, and possibly join our
group?" she suggested. "I'm sure Nyoda would take you in. When Migwan
goes to college she won't be able to attend the meetings regularly and
there will be a vacant place. Couldn't you?" she cried, warming to her
plan, and the rest of the girls voiced their approval.
"Oh, do you suppose I could?" asked Pearl timidly, clasping her hands
before her in a nervous manner. "Oh, I never could do it. I'm afraid to
go to a bigger city for fear I'll get into trouble again. And I never
could do the things you girls do, I just never could." And she looked
at them with appealing helplessness in her big blue eyes.
"Nonsense," said Hinpoha, "you can do anything you want to if you only
think you can do it." And she told her a marvelous tale of how I earned
the money to go to college when things seemed determined to go against
me. Which is all perfectly nonsensical; the chance of earning money to
go to college fell right into my lap. Pearl only opened her eyes wider
at Hinpoha's recital and answered with a sigh, "Oh, I never could do
it!"
The girls went on happily planning how they would take her back to
Cleveland with them and make her one of the Winnebagos.
They had to slow up the Striped Beetle along the road for a cow and a
calf that were monopolizing the right of way and Hinpoha decided to
take a picture of them. "Oh, this film's finished," she said
impatiently, examining her camera. "I'll have to stop and reload. Oh,
Gladys, do you mind if I open the trunk here on the road? My extra
films are all in there."
"Go ahead and open it," said Gladys good-naturedly, handing her the key.
Hinpoha got out and went behind the machine to get her film from the
trunk, all the while calling out to the cow and her calf in a friendly
and coaxing manner not to walk away before she could take them. But she
stopped suddenly in the midst of a persuasive "Here, bossy, stay here,"
to utter a surprised exclamation.
"What's the matter?" asked Gladys.
"There isn't any trunk here." cried Hinpoha. "It's gone!"
Consternation reigned in the Striped Beetle. The trunk, containing all
their extra clothes, had vanished from the rack at the back of the car!
"And my scarf was in it," said Hinpoha, ready to cry with distress,
"that mother sent me from Italy!"
"Don't worry, we'll get it again," said Gladys soothingly, although she
was as much dismayed herself. "Where did we have it last? We had it in
Ft. Wayne, I know, because we opened it there. It must have been taken
off in the service station where we had the carburetor adjusted. We'll
have to go back and see if it's there."
Accordingly they turned around and drove swiftly back to Ft. Wayne.
Inquiries at the service station at first brought out nothing, because
the proprietor declared that the trunk had not been touched--whoever
heard of taking off a trunk to adjust a carburetor? But a repairman
coming in just then, heard the talk about the trunk and said he was the
man who had made the adjustment on the car and he noticed that the
trunk rack seemed to be sagging and took off the trunk to fix it. He
had not put the trunk on again, because just then he had been called to
help install new gears in a car for a man who was in a great hurry and
had called one of the helpers to put on the trunk and fill the tank.
The helper was called and admitted that he had put a trunk on a car,
but it was not the Striped Beetle; it was a similar car owned by a man
who was driving to Indianapolis. He had thought the trunk belonged to
him.
The girls looked at each other tragically. Their trunk on the road to
Indianapolis!
"How long ago did he start?" asked Gladys.
"About an hour," answered the repairman.
"We'll have to go after him," said Gladys, resolutely. "We need that
trunk. Can you tell us what the man's name is?"
"Hansen," replied the repairman. "George Hansen. Driving seven
passenger touring car, brown, with black streamer and gold striping. He
was driving to Indianapolis over the road that goes through Huntington,
Marion and Anderson; I heard him talking about it. That's one of the
main roads out of here. You ought to be able to overtake him on the
way; he's a slow driver and his motor was missing pretty badly.
Wouldn't let me fix it though, because it would take too long and he
wanted to get to Indianapolis in time to see the races. He lives there,
so you ought to be able to find him; runs some kind of a store."
He poured out his information eagerly; he seemed anxious to do anything
he could to aid in the recovery of the trunk, since he had put it on
the wrong car. "Funny how well it fitted that other rack!" he said. But
Gladys says there is nothing peculiar about that because the two cars,
being the same make, had the same style rack, and the trunk was the
ordinary one carried by automobilists.
She hastily looked up the route to Indianapolis and started in pursuit
of the unconscious thief. It was then nearly five o'clock in the
evening. They really did not have much hope of catching the other car
on the way, since it had an hour's start, but they were confident of
recovering the trunk in Indianapolis, where they could find out the
man's address and follow him to his home. Fortune played into their
hands in that they found good roads all the way and had no breakdowns,
and sometime after eight they reached Indianapolis. There were half a
dozen George Hansens in the telephone book, four of whom were away on
automobile trips. But further inquiry brought out the fact that one of
them did own a seven passenger brown W---- car. He was expected home
that evening, but had not yet arrived. His wife (it was she who was
talking) was very sorry about the trunk, but if it had been placed on
the rack of her husband's car it would undoubtedly arrive when he did.
He would probably come home during the night, as he was very anxious to
see the races, which were to take place the next two days. Would they
call later?
Somewhere on the road they had passed him, but it was too late now to
wonder where. The only thing to do was to wait until he came. At ten
o'clock he had not arrived yet. The girls went down to the Young
Women's Christian Association, where they could spend the night. Gladys
concluded that Nyoda must be told if possible where they were, and
judging that she had reached Chicago by that time she wired the Carrie
Wentworth Inn, where they had planned to stay that night, telling what
had happened and saying she would arrive in Chicago the next day.
They called the Hansen home the first thing in the morning and learned
to their dismay that Mr. Hansen had not yet returned. But he was
expected any minute and Hinpoha would not hear of leaving without the
trunk. Shortly afterward their telegram came back undelivered from the
Carrie Wentworth Inn in Chicago, with the notation, "Party not
registered." That threw them into a state of bewilderment, but Gladys,
after thinking hard and long about the matter, remarked that the
Glow-worm had a habit of breaking down at inconvenient times and that
probably accounted for our not having reached Chicago the night before.
Every half hour they called up the Hansen home to find out if Mr.
Hansen had returned and every time they received a negative answer.
Finally, Hinpoha suggested that they drive out to his house and sit on
the curbstone where they could see him coming, before they spent all
their substance in a riotous feeding of nickels into the public
telephone. Which they proceeded to do. But their vigil was vain, for he
came not and it became apparent that they must either depart without
the trunk or stay there another night. Gladys was for going on and
having it sent after them, but Hinpoha refused to budge until she had
seen that scarf with her own eyes. Accordingly, they sent another wire
to the Carrie Wentworth Inn, thinking surely Nyoda must have arrived by
that time, and stayed a second night in Indianapolis.
The next morning they received the news that Mr. Hansen had arrived,
but alas, he had brought no trunk with him. He knew nothing about the
matter at all. He could remember no trunk being on the back of his car
when he left the repair shop in Ft. Wayne, but then, he had not looked
particularly. He had made several stops on the way home on business--he
was a traveling salesman--and that was how they had passed him on the
road. The car had stood for a time in a dozen different places, the
trunk could easily have been stolen, and he had never known the
difference. Possibly they could hold the repair shop responsible.
The girls were much downcast at this news, especially Hinpoha, on
account of the scarf that had been the last gift of her mother. Where
was the trunk now? It might be anywhere between the north and south
poles in that length of time. Gladys's only hope was now that it had
been mislaid and not stolen, and that it would fall into the hands of
some honest person who would ferret out the owner.
They were just about to start out for Chicago again when they were
handed a telegram. It was from the Carrie Wentworth Inn and was dated
midnight of the night before. It read: "Wire from party you want says
address Forty-three Main Street Rochester Indiana."
That wire threw them into great perplexity. What were Nyoda and the
girls doing in Rochester, when they had been on the road to Chicago two
days before?
"The Glow-worm is more like a flea than a glow-worm," said Hinpoha.
"It's never where you expect to find it. I really believe Nyoda has
lost control of the car and it is taking her wherever it wants to."
Gladys was consulting the route book. "Rochester is on the direct road
to Indianapolis," she said. "We can make the run in a few hours. I'm
going to wire Nyoda that we're coming and she should wait for us."
So she sent the wire we received that morning in Rochester:
"Where on earth are you? Wait Rochester for us. Coming to-day noon."
That was Friday, the day of the big races in Indianapolis. The town was
full of people. Tourists from all over managed to make the city just at
that time, and the streets were crowded with motor cars of every
description. Gladys looked sharply at every car they passed on the way
out of the city to see if her trunk was on the back of any of them, but
in vain.
"I suppose I'll never see that scarf again," said Hinpoha, sadly.
Pearl looked a little enviously at the women who came to town in their
big fine cars with drivers and bull dogs. "It must be lovely to be rich
and taken care of," she said, with a sigh.
Pearl was the kind of a girl who should have been born to a life of
luxurious ease. She certainly had no backbone to fight her own battles
in the world. She was a Clinger, who would curl around the nearest
support like a morning glory vine. She didn't seem to have any more
spirit than an oyster. Hinpoha, still imbued with the idea of taking
her in hand and making a Winnebago out of her, kept trying to draw her
out with an idea of finding out what her possibilities were. It was
rather a matter of pride with us that each one of the Winnebagos
excelled in some particular thing. When Hinpoha asked her what her
favorite play was she answered that she had never been to the theater
and considered it wicked. She opened her eyes in disapproval when
Hinpoha mentioned motion pictures. Hinpoha had been on the verge of
launching out on our escapade with the film company the summer before,
but checked herself hastily. She also suppressed the fact that I had
written scenarios, which fact Hinpoha glories in a great deal more than
I do and which she generally sprinkles into people's dishes on every
occasion. The fact that Gladys danced in public seemed to shock her
beyond words. Clearly she was unworldly to the point of narrowness, and
Hinpoha began to reflect that, after all, she might be somewhat of a
wet blanket on the Winnebago doings if she came and joined the group.
Pearl showed such marked disapproval of Gladys when she remarked that
she wished her father were in town so they could have gone to the races
that an awkward silence fell on the group. No topic of conversation
seemed safe to venture upon.
They were driving along country roads now and in one place they crossed
a small river with the most gorgeous early autumn flowers growing along
its banks. They caught Hinpoha's color-loving eye and she must get out
and wander among them. Gladys and Chapa and Medmangi decided that they
too would like a stroll beside the river, after sitting in the car so
long. Pearl did not care to get out; she offered to stay in the car and
hold the purses of the other girls until they returned. The four girls
walked along the stream, admiring the flowers, but not picking any,
because they would only fade and wither and if left on the stems they
would give pleasure to hundreds of people. Now and then they dabbled
their fingers in the cool water.
"It's such a temptation to go wading," sighed Hinpoha, who never will
grow up and be dignified if she lives to be a hundred.
Gladys was afraid Hinpoha would yield to the temptation if it stared
her in the face too long, and announced that it was time to be under
way. Reluctantly, Hinpoha tore herself away from the river and followed
Gladys to the road.
What a rude ending that little wayside idyll was destined to have!
For when they returned to the road where they had left the Striped
Beetle there was nothing but empty air. Car, Pearl, and four purses,
containing every cent the girls had with them, had vanished!