THE NEW HOME ON MEADOW STREET
Wakely classed itself as a city, while Dorfield was content to be
listed as a mere town that might someday grow up. In spite of its size,
Wakely seemed to our young detective to be a very lonesome place on
that first Sunday she was compelled to spend away from all her dear
friends in Dorfield, where she had lived since her father’s death.
There were plenty of people in Wakely, too many people, in fact,
making the housing problem a serious one. But nobody knew Josie and
nobody cared to know her. Nobody paid the least attention to her at
the beautiful old church where she had gone to worship in the morning;
nobody spoke to her at the clean little restaurant where she had eaten
her Sunday dinner; and now as she sat on a bench in the city park,
nobody in all the surging throngs out for the usual Sunday stroll even
so much as glanced her way.
Josie was not inclined to be lonesome. She was too interested in people
and things to think very much of her own aloneness, but there were
times when in spite of herself she felt a crying need for a real home
of her own; something more than the partitioned off rear end of a shop,
which was where she had been living for some time before coming to
Wakely. The place was called The Higgledy Piggledy Shop, conducted by
Josie and her friends Elizabeth Wright and Irene Mae Farlane, and they
had managed it to their profit and to the delectation of the citizens
of Dorfield, who found in it a long felt want.
If the Higgledy Piggledies did not have what you wanted they would
get it for you, and if they could not do what you wished done they
would see to it that someone else did do it. For Josie the shop was
in reality a side line of the detective business, but it was of great
interest to her and she missed the gay chatter of the partners, the
daily visits of her dear Mary Louise--young Mrs. Danny Dexter--and
she sorely missed the kindly interest and advice of Captain Charlie
Lonsdale, the Chief of Police of Dorfield. He it was who had so highly
recommended Josie to Burnett & Burnett.
“I almost wish he hadn’t,” sighed Josie as she sat on the park bench in
the wintry sunshine and watched the people of Wakely swarm past. “I
don’t care much who steals the stupid old dry-goods. It’s a dull job
and I’d be glad to be out of it.”
“Hello! There’s somebody I know--but who on earth is it? Where have I
seen that boy before? Certainly I don’t remember ever having laid eyes
on his companions, rare birds that they are!”
Many persons pride themselves on never forgetting a face, but Josie
might have patted herself on the back for never forgetting a pair of
shoulders, a set of head, a contour of cheek or chin. However, she was
completely baffled by the youth who had passed her as she sat on the
hard, cold bench. Our little detective was irritated that she could not
remember where she had seen that turn of cheek and line of shoulder, so
irritated that she decided the seat in the park was very uncomfortable
and she would trail along behind the trio and find out something about
them. Her curiosity was idle but was it not Sunday afternoon? Why not
let curiosity be idle as well as persons?
The man and woman walking with the youth appeared too young to be the
father and mother of the boy and too old to be brother and sister, yet
there was an intangible resemblance to both that led Josie to conclude
they were his parents. The man was swarthy, black-eyed, and flashily
dressed in a checked suit, gray spats and a brown derby. He walked with
a slight swagger, twirling a slender cane in his lemon colored gloved
hand.
The woman was small, inclined to be stout, and a great mop of henna
colored hair elaborately dressed in waves and puffs defied oversight
and invited scrutiny. She wore a handsome fur cloak and a purple velvet
hat. Her cheeks and lips were tinted a bright coral and her nose was
powdered like a marshmallow. In spite of the paint and powder there was
something youthful and attractive about the woman. She walked with a
light step and had a gay bird-like manner.
The younger man, or boy--he looked about eighteen, Josie decided--had
an elegance that his companions lacked, although they would have been
greatly astonished had they been told that the quiet unimportant little
person, whom they had passed in the park and who later had passed
them on the sidewalk, considered them anything but the last cry of
elegance and fashion. Josie was able to get a good look at the trio at
a crossing. Undoubtedly the boy was the son of the bizarre couple. He
had his father’s bold black eyes and his mother’s delicate tilted nose
and softly rounded cheek.
“Where--where have I seen him before?” Josie asked herself. “Never
mind, I’ll remember someday. In the mean time I think I’ll find out
where they live--not that it is any of my business--but one never can
tell when information will come in handy in this business of detecting
criminals. Anyhow I don’t trust those two, although I reckon the boy is
all right. He looks too young to be anything else but all right and he
looks honest, at least he looks honest in contrast to his father. My
opinion is that the old one is in checks now but has been in stripes,
or should have been. I wonder what they do. People, I’ll bet anything,
and they do them brown while they are about it.”
Josie stopped to look in a window in order to let the trio get ahead
of her and then nonchalantly followed them at a safe distance. They
talked animatedly and their gestures were decidedly foreign-like in
their swift and jerky repetition. It was impossible for Josie to catch
what they were saying without seeming too interested in them, but it
was easy to see that both man and woman were endeavoring to pacify the
youth and persuade him to do something to which he was opposed. Once he
stopped short on the sidewalk and Josie came within earshot as the boy
said in a tone of suppressed violence:
“I tell you I’m sick of the whole game. I’m going to quit!”
“Oh, Roy, darling, not just now,” purred the woman, and Josie noted
that the R in Roy and darling was softly rolled, giving a slightly
foreign accent. “Not now when--” but the woman whispered the rest and
the listener could not hear what was the big reason for not quitting
just yet, nor could she gather what the game was that Roy wanted to
quit.
The man said nothing, merely stood gnawing his moustache in a manner
highly melodramatic and cut the air viciously with his slender cane.
Josie loitered after them, wondering what part of the city they lived
in, what they did for a living, and in the back of her brain was always
the question: “Where have I seen the boy before?”
Josie was stopping for the time being at a hotel, though she realized
it would never do for it to be known that a shop girl was living so
extravagantly. Early in life Josie O’Gorman had learned from her
illustrious father that in the detective business no detail was too
small to be overlooked. If one was supposed to be a shop girl then
one must live, eat, dress, act and talk like a shop girl. After three
days at Burnett & Burnett’s Josie had come to the conclusion that shop
girls were like any other wage earning girls, some silly, some clever;
some educated, some ignorant; some inclined to put all their earnings
on their backs, some saving up for a rainy day; but none of them were
able to live in hotels. So, to play the part, she must bestir herself
and find other quarters. The firm was paying her handsomely for her
time and she could well afford to keep her comfortable room and bath.
She was tempted to do it and give a false address if any of the girls
should ask her where she lived but she remembered one of her father’s
favorite sayings:
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practice to deceive.”
This old saying had decided the matter for her and on that Sunday
afternoon she had armed herself with clippings from the “Boarders
Wanted” column in the morning paper and was determined to go the
rounds and settle herself as soon as possible. The trio she was
following turned the corner. Josie turned after them. Glancing at the
street sign she read that she was on Meadow Street. Several of the ads
were on Meadow Street. She ran quickly through them.
The man, woman and youth went in at No. 11. It was a shabby, drab
looking apartment house. Yes, there was a room for rent in that very
house--“Widow and daughter wish to rent room to young business woman.
11 East Meadow, apartment 4.”
Josie had liked the ad from the beginning. “They don’t flaunt their own
refinement in their ad and they say business woman instead of business
lady. They delicately inform the public that there is no brute of a
husband around. On the whole I believe I’ll rent a room at 11 East
Meadow. I can keep my eye on those flashy folk if I do. I suppose it’s
none of my business--but one never can tell.”
Josie noticed that the interesting trio went in the house without
ringing one of the bells displayed in the lobby. “That means they
either live here or are intimate with someone who does,” was her
conclusion.
Apartment 4 proved to be one of the back ones on the lower floor. The
family who had so interested Josie had entered the one marked 3. After
ringing the bell of No. 4, Josie had peered into the dark hall and had
plainly seen the fur coat of the henna haired woman disappear through
the door after the man in the checked suit had opened it with a latch
key.
“That settles me,” thought Josie. “I’ll take this room if the widow and
her daughter turn out to be most undesirable landladies in Wakely.”
Fortunately they turned out to be pleasant folk who had seen better
days, to which the refinement and taste in the furnishings of their
living room gave mute evidence. The tiny bedroom advertised for rent
suited Josie perfectly; suited also the part she must play as a new
shop girl at Burnett & Burnett’s with but little money to spend on
sleeping quarters.
Mrs. Leslie did hemstitching and fine embroidery to eke out the salary
her daughter made as a stenographer. The home was neat, and while
Josie’s room had only one very small window, it did not open on a court
but had a view of a small back yard which Mrs. Leslie informed her
would later prove a great pleasure to them all.
“It is really quite sweet, and the janitor says that in the spring
we may plant all the seeds there we want to. Mary and I will be much
happier if we have a place where we can dig. We never quite get over
longing for the country.”
Everything being satisfactory, Josie moved in that very evening, the
question of references being waived because Mrs. Leslie had a feeling
when she looked in Josie’s honest face that she was going to like her;
and since one of the trusted employees of Burnett & Burnett’s came from
her county that fact was enough to guarantee the goodness of any one of
his fellow employees.
“We are sorry not to give you your meals,” said Mrs. Leslie, “but Mary
and I live so simply.”
“You couldn’t live too simply for me,” declared Josie, “but I wouldn’t
be any trouble to you for worlds. I can easily get my meals at one of
the many restaurants near here.”
“Oh Mother, couldn’t we?” asked Mary. “Anyhow just breakfast--” and
Mrs. Leslie decided they could manage breakfast and dinner too. So
Josie was installed as a lodger and boarder and soon the lonesome
feeling departed as she began to think that perhaps Wakely was not such
a dismally lonely city after all.
The Leslies were a gentle, pleasant, kindly pair, and Josie was sorely
tempted to tell them all about herself; how she happened to be in
Wakely and what her real profession was. But she remembered in time
what her father used to say, holding up a forefinger in impressive
fashion:
“You know and I know and that makes eleven.”
So Josie held her tongue. She was such an “eloquent listener” that
persons were inclined to tell her all about themselves and to forget to
ask for the story of her life. The Leslies were like most others and
found themselves chatting away to their new lodger with little or no
restraint. She found out they were strangers in Wakely, having lived
there only two months, knowing very few people in the town and none of
the fellow tenants.
“We don’t even know the people who live right next to us,” said Mary.
“Mother says she is glad we don’t but I must confess I’d rather like
to know the boy. He is so handsome and kind of sad looking. I can’t
say much for the sister, though. She is handsome enough but at times a
little coarse and rough. The boy is at home only on Saturday afternoons
and Sunday. I have an idea he and his sister are not on very good
terms. I have never yet seen them go anywhere together. I can’t see
why, because if I had a brother I’d be tagging on after him all the
time.”
“Especially if he were such a good looking brother as you say this
young man next door is,” laughed Josie.