JOSIE O’GORMAN’S VICTORY
Outside the store even more stirring things were being enacted. When
Miss Fauntleroy leaned over with the seeming intention of selecting a
pencil from the beggar’s box there had been a quick exchange of glances
between the proud beauty and the one-eyed mendicant, an exchange of
glances and also the passing of a parcel which was slid from the wide,
bell shaped sleeve of the young woman into the open breast of the man’s
shabby coat. The movement was so rapid that no one who had not been on
the lookout could possibly have seen it. But someone was on the lookout
and that one was no other than the flapper of the bobbed black hair and
the red, red mouth. She did a very remarkable thing for a flapper.
As quick as a flash she whipped out something from the pocket of her
tweed suit, which, when one came to think of it, was of rather sober
pattern for one so flapperish and not at all in keeping with the
red beads and startling tam. The article she drew from her pocket
flashed in the sunlight for a moment and then--snap! snap! and a pair
of handcuffs gleamed on the wrists of the one-eyed beggar before the
astonished Miss Fauntleroy could straighten up from the selection of a
pencil.
“Don’t let him get away!” came in commanding tones from the mysterious
flapper. The remark was addressed to none other than Jimmy Blaine,
who had been pretending to be a corner masher during such moments as
he could spare from the business of shopping for a highly fictitious
family.
“Trust me!” was his cheery rejoinder as he laid a heavy hand on the
shoulder of the beggar who was now trembling like a leaf.
The girl with the bobbed black hair then caught Miss Fauntleroy by the
wrist, at the same moment producing another pair of handcuffs from the
capacious pockets of her tweed suit. She endeavored to snap them on the
wrists of the struggling girl, but Miss Fauntleroy proved too strong,
and jerking free, started to run. Swift as had been the action a crowd
had gathered, as crowds will, and closing around the struggling pair
cut off all avenues of escape. The black haired girl must have known
something about the game of football for she made a flying leap and
caught the taller girl in an iron grip. They swayed together and fell.
In the scrimmage that ensued more startling things happened. Two hats
came off, and with them two heads of hair. A red tam and a bobbed
black wig were torn from the flapper, disclosing the closely coiled
sandy hair and well shaped head of none other than Josie O’Gorman. The
elaborate coiffure belonging to Miss Fauntleroy also came off with the
stylish picture hat.
The combatants staggered to their feet. When Josie caught sight of
her antagonist, standing hot, sullen and ashamed, so hemmed in by the
crowd there was no escape, a wave of pity came over her. The proud and
haughty Miss Fauntleroy was only a poor misguided boy. The marcelled
wig with all its puffs and coils had turned a handsome lad into a
beautiful young woman.
“Gee!” was all Josie could say. “And I thought you were your own sister
all the time. I hate to put handcuffs on you--won’t you come along
without them?”
“Yes--I’m through. The game’s up and I’m glad of it. I’ll go along
with you all right.”
Major Simpson, closely followed by Mr. Burnett, was trying to make his
way through the crowd. He knew something was going on and his superior
intelligence must be in demand. He also knew that lace had been
stolen and that a person with black bobbed hair was the thief. It was
irritating that it was not Josie O’Gorman who had been caught in the
act, but then, any thief was better than no thief at all.
“Here, let me through! I am a detective.”
The word detective was an open sesame for him. The crowd divided and he
and Mr. Burnett passed through to the scene of the fray.
“Some scene it was!” Mr. Burnett described later on to his mother
and sisters. “There was little Miss O’Gorman, her suit all dusty and
dishevelled, her hat gone and her face made up in the most absurd
manner with blackened brows and painted lips. She had by the hand
a young boy dressed as a girl. Handsome? Handsome as Hermes! Shame
and anger were both depicted on his countenance, and his head, with
its dark, closely cropped curls, was hung in deep dejection. On the
pavement wigs and hats were so much in evidence that one might have
thought there had been a battle royal and both fighters had been
decapitated. I had no idea who the youth was at first, not recognizing
‘Miss Fauntleroy’ without her wig. Miss O’Gorman’s famous string of red
beads had broken and were scattered all over the pavement. It looked to
me like a million beads, some of them as big as bantam eggs.”
Major Simpson, acting true to form, broke into the ring blustering as
usual.
“What’s all this?” he demanded. Not recognizing Josie with her bizarre
make-up or Miss Fauntleroy without her wig, the old gentleman stood
gazing at the pavement. He suddenly remembered Min’s words: “Black
bobbed hair and red tam.” He stooped and picked up Josie’s wig and
hat. It looked as though a tragedy had just been enacted at the front
entrance of Burnett & Burnett’s.
“Who has done this thing?” he asked solemnly, glaring all around.
“I reckon I did,” laughed Josie.
“I’ll say she did!” exclaimed Jimmy Blaine, who was still clinging to
the handcuffed beggar.
At Josie’s words Major Simpson looked at her more closely and through
the paint recognized the dangerous criminal, Miss Josie O’Gorman. Just
then a policeman pushed his way through the crowd.
“Officer, arrest this woman,” commanded Major Simpson officiously,
pointing an accusing finger at the grinning Josie. “I fancy, madam, you
will find this no laughing matter when you are safely behind bars.”
“Yes, yes! She is the culprit!” cried the handcuffed beggar. “Good Mr.
Officer, let me loose. I have done nothing but sit here trying in my
poor-r way to make a living selling the pencils--and see, I am a good
American, because I sell only the red, white and blue of our flag.”
“Do your duty, officer,” insisted Major Simpson. “Arrest this young
woman. She is a shoplifter and depraved beyond belief for one so
er--er--young.”
“And beautiful,” smirked the irrepressible Josie. She then turned to
the officer, all levity of manner falling from her. “I am detective
Josie O’Gorman, Sergeant Fagan. I have just caught this boy red-handed.
Open his father’s coat and you will find a heap of costly lace which
has been stolen from Burnett & Burnett within the last few minutes.
I’ll turn this youth over to you. I am sure his case is one for the
juvenile court to deal with. The father, who goes by the name of
Kambourian and lives at 11 Meadow Street, is the one to arrest.”
The lace was found just as Josie had said, three bunches of it hidden
in the ragged coat of the patch-eyed beggar. The patrol wagon was
called and father and son were carried off, Kambourian loudly asserting
his innocence in spite of the lace found in his manly bosom. He
declared to the end that he had no idea how it had got there.
“I’ll follow as soon as I can wash my face,” Josie whispered to
Sergeant Fagan. “Keep a close watch on the old bird. I believe the
young one, poor fellow, is glad the thing has broken and I fancy you’ll
have no trouble with him.”
Mr. Burnett had been a silent witness to the encounter between Josie
and Major Simpson--silent and amused. He had promised Josie to let
her manage the affair and he had done so, although he had been sorely
tempted to step in and interfere when the self satisfied old gentleman
had so peremptorily commanded the policeman to arrest the little
detective. Now he wondered what stand Major Simpson would take and for
a moment felt sorry for the hereditary employee of the firm of Burnett
& Burnett. He need not have wasted his sympathy, however, as that
gentleman’s self esteem was proof against any shock. He immediately
took possession of the stolen lace as though he, and he alone, had been
responsible for its recovery.
“Ah, yes, I was sure we could track down the criminal. A little
patience and eternal vigilance and lo, the thief is caught!”
“Exactly!” said Josie, “but not always the right thief.”
“Patience, I say, patience and astuteness will unravel any mystery,”
continued Major Simpson, ignoring Josie’s remark. “You will remember,
Mr. Burnett, that I said from the beginning that Miss O’Gorman was not
what she seemed. You will grant me that, eh?” And thus did the old man
talk on and on, seeming actually to feel that it was his cleverness
that had caught the shoplifters.
The net had closed around the Kambourians--husband, wife and son. The
search warrant revealed a great store of stolen articles, taken not
only from Burnett & Burnett’s but from almost every shop in Wakely;
dainty, choice articles, just the kind with which to stock a novelty
shop, which had been Madame Kambourian’s ambition.
“We had only just acqui-r-r-ed enough things,” she wailed after she and
her husband were sentenced to a term in the penitentiary. “And I would
have been all moved and away if that bad, bad per-r-son had not warned
the author-r-ities that I was planning to flit. Such a kind looking
per-r-son too! But one nevair-r-e can tell who is false.”
Be it said in favor of Kambourian, the man, that his deepest concern
was for “poor Mamma” and his chief regret that she should not have
escaped.
“If she had only told us that the young lady had bought the paper
in which the articles of value were twisted we would have been more
careful,” he said to Jimmy Blaine, who interviewed him for the great
soul stirring scoop. “She merely said the lace and things had been
lost. We had no knowledge how and we did not question poor Mamma too
closely because we are always so tender of her. She is so gay and
we did so hate to make her sad. This beggar’s life was hard on poor
Mamma--to sit all day and whine for pennies when she loved so to live
and be happy. And clothes--ah _mon Dieu_, how poor Mamma does love to
dress up--yes--yes--I, too, like the life. Ah me! All that is to be
postponed--but perhaps--some day--”
The boy, Roy, was taken before the juvenile court where the wise
young judge listened to all Josie had to tell him of the unfortunate
environment in which he had been raised. She told of the conversation
she had overheard through the open window and of the boy’s evident
reluctance to proceed in the dishonest course mapped out for him by his
parents.
“Yes,” the boy told the judge, “I have hated it always, but because I
had the knack of mimicry and could pass myself off for a girl I was
forced to wear those fool clothes and pretend I was ‘Miss Fauntleroy.’
I despised myself all the time, despised myself and began to despise
them, I mean my mother and father, although they did love me and were
always kind to me except that they made a thief of me. Of course if I
was going to be a thief I determined to be the very cleverest thief in
the business, and if it had not been for you, Miss O’Gorman, I believe
I could have been. Anyhow I am glad it is all over and I’m going to be
as straight now as I used to be crooked. All I want is a chance. Gee,
I’m glad to be able to wear pants all the time! I never have been a
sissy, and many is the time I felt like jumping in the river when I had
to wear those silly skirts and picture hats. It was poor Mamma’s fault.
Not that I blame her, for she did so want to have a nice little shop
of her own and dress up in pretty things. She always said when once we
got together enough things we would go into a real business and stop
stealing. Poor Mamma! I wish I could do something for her.”
Josie thought that a prison term might do more for poor Mamma than
anything else. At least it might teach her that honesty was the best
policy for her to pursue in the future.
A chance was given Roy. The judge of the juvenile court sent him to
an industrial school where it would be possible for him to work out
his own salvation. He was as a brand snatched from the burning and, by
God’s grace, snatched in time. Josie was sorry for the youth and Mary
Leslie wept many tears in her pity.
“He was so handsome,” she sobbed.
“He still is,” consoled Josie, “and now it can be ‘Handsome is as
handsome does,’ as my father used to say. This thing broke just in
time to save that poor boy from becoming a confirmed criminal. As it
is, I bet anything he’ll pull through and come out of that school a
good fellow and a useful citizen. He is interested in the stage and I
hope he’ll do something big in the dramatic line some day. The way he
acted _Miss Fauntleroy_ was little short of genius.”
“Perhaps he’ll come out all right,” said Mrs. Leslie, “but I have my
doubts about foreigners. Anyhow I am glad we took you to board, Josie,
because it has made life much more interesting. Just to think of Mr.
Burnett’s writing me a letter of thanks for the part I took in helping
to catch that woman! Of course I appreciate the handsome check he sent
me and the fur jacket he sent Mary, but I think more of the letter than
I do of the check and the jacket. After all, the detective tales I have
read did something for me, if only to make me keep my eyes open for
mix-ups.”
Major Simpson decided after due consideration to accept Burnett &
Burnett’s offer of a pension and he determined to retire from the
active labors of a detective.
“Of course this is a good time to retire, while I am yet in the hey-dey
of my powers,” he was heard to say to Miss Willie at Maison Blanche.
Mrs. Trescott was the person who heard him say it and it was with
difficulty that she controlled her merriment. “I have just been the
means of tracking down for my firm a family of desperate criminals
and--er--er--out of gratitude to me the Burnett Brothers have offered
to pension me on--er--er--full pay.”
“How wonderful!” trilled Miss Willie. “But you will remain in Wakely,
surely?”
“Ah, yes! In fact I should not like to go far from Burnett & Burnett’s
because they may need my advice at any moment. My advice--er--er--is
most important.”
Josie had made many friends at Burnett & Burnett’s, and they were one
and all very sorry that she was leaving the notion counter and Wakely.
“We felt all the time that you were a little different,” Jane Morton
told her. “Min and I used to talk about it, but we just thought you
had picked up more education than we had and that was what made you
different. If we had ever known that you were a detective we might have
been a little shy. But we have learned that a woman detective may also
be a human being. As for that ‘Miss Fauntleroy,’ my blood boils when I
think of her--him. Anyhow we never did have much to do with him because
we always mistrusted her--er--him. She never did seem natural and now
since she has turned out to be a boy, I see the reason. One thing to
his credit, he was a gentleman, even when masquerading as a girl, and
never tried to get chummy with us. I feel a little sorry for him and
hope he will turn out all right.”
That night Josie accepted Mr. Theodore Burnett’s insistent invitation
to take dinner at his home. There was no longer any good reason for
refusal, though in truth she sought no such reason.
Never was there a gayer, livelier party. Mr. Burnett’s sisters, May and
Lily, vied with one another in little acts of gracious hospitality, and
the aged mother, austerely garbed in a voluminous black dress, gave the
lie to her years and her garb as fires kindled in her deep set eyes at
the retelling of the capture of the shoplifters. Mr. Theodore was high
in his praise and colorful in his narration.
Josie, vivacious enough in other matters, had little to say concerning
her latest exploit, having learned from her father that modesty and
justifiable pride are becoming handmaidens.
“Now, Miss O’Gorman,” said Mr. Theodore when the dinner was over,
“let us come back to a matter of business. You know how we appreciate
your efforts and how valuable your services have been to our firm.
However, it is hardly to be hoped that this will definitely stop all
shoplifting. When the story has cooled, the whole wretched business
will flare up again. Through diplomacy we have succeeded in influencing
Major Simpson to retire on full pay. No doubt he deserves it, for as
my brother Charles points out, loyalty deserves reward, and the Major
was certainly loyal. Now we are in need of a house detective and we are
willing to substantially increase the pay where results are as certain
as mere loyalty. A-hem, the--the place is yours, Miss O’Gorman, if you
will take it.”
Before the astonished Josie could form a reply the aged mother broke in:
“I hope you will accept, and I want you to come here to live. This is a
big house, plenty of room, and you will add a great deal of life to our
colorless world. I have reared four children who have been successful
in a matter-of-fact way. I feel that I would like to mother you--you
with your startling ingenuity. Won’t you come?”
“You simply _must_!” chorused Lily and May. “Please do. Just think of
the things we could think up to do,” and they clapped their hands in
anticipation.
Josie was troubled. She appreciated the kindness; sensed its deep
sincerity. But she knew her own spirit--knew that dull routine could
not long hold her interest.
“I am sorry,” she began simply, “but I must get back to Dorfield and
my work. The Higgledy Piggledy Shop needs me, and somehow I seem to
need it. Then, too, Captain Lonsdale writes me that there is work to do
right away--a peculiar case that he thinks I can handle. I--I simply
can’t tell you how I feel, but surely you will understand.”
“I do,” nodded the mother. “You are too big a girl for a little place.
We will miss you, but I am glad that you are ambitious.”
“It isn’t ambition,” answered Josie, and a big tear stood in her eye.
“It is a sort of trust, the carrying on of my father’s work.”
“Well, well,” boomed Mr. Theodore, vigorously blowing his nose, “you
must not forget us. Some day you may feel like accepting the offer. It
is an open one and may bring you back to Wakely.”
“Poof!” protested Lily. “As if she must wait for _that_ to bring her
back. She is going to visit us at least once every year and give us a
complete account of herself--won’t you, Josie?”
“I’d love to,” Josie answered quietly.
She little realized what the coming year would bring and how thrilling
would be that first account. Some hint of it came to her a few days
later when she reached Dorfield and called on Captain Lonsdale. The
task put before her called for the best that was in her; an undertaking
worthy of the efforts of her illustrious father.
Sobered by the importance of the coming quest, she seemed to have
lost some of her spontaneity when her friends, Irene and Mary Louise,
rapturously greeted her return to the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.
“My dear,” said Mary Louise a little later when the first warm gush of
welcome was over, “you have changed. You seem so quiet and--and sort
of sweetly pensive. I declare, Irene, I believe she is in love.”
“I am,” said Josie, comically wriggling her nose in her old manner,
“with my work.”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.