“Doe,” the boy supplied glibly. “John Doe.”
Eve giggled.
“Well, Mr. Doe,” I continued, “to put the case briefly, what we want
most just now is to get down from this roof.”
“Why don’t you go back the way you came then?” he inquired. “You didn’t
drop down from the skies, I suppose!”
“It’s just awfully clever of you to think of that,” Eve put in. “The
only trouble with your plan is that the doors of the house happen to be
locked on the outside. You see, the real estate agent locked us in.”
“Real estate agent?” the boy repeated. At last there was real
astonishment in his tone. “I never heard that this house was for sale.”
“Never mind that now,” Eve urged impatiently. “The point is that we’re
locked in or out—whichever way you look at it—and, to be perfectly
frank with you, there are other places where we’d rather spend the
night!”
“So if you could borrow a ladder from somewhere,” I put in meekly.
“Or get the key from a gentleman by the name of Bangs down at Trap’s
place at the Corners,” Eve added, “we’d be just eternally grateful.”
The boy did not reply immediately. He seemed to be considering the
situation with an eye on the drain pipe. “Oh, well,” he said at last
with a shrug, “I suppose I’ll have to go get a ladder.”
“The days of chivalry are past!” Eve sighed as we watched our unwilling
rescuer-to-be climb back into his wagon, turn and drive up the road in
the direction from which he had come.
“What can you expect from overalls,” I said. “Be thankful if he
remembers to come back at all.”
But I did him an injustice, it appeared, for less than ten minutes
later the wagon reappeared, this time loaded with a tall ladder.
The boy made no remark as he came dragging the ladder across the yard
and proceeded to prop it firmly against the edge of the roof. “There,”
he said finally when he was satisfied that it was steady.
We descended one at a time. The boy watched us coldly. His opinion of
girls who got themselves locked in empty houses and marooned on tin
roofs was apparent. “I don’t know how we can _ever_ thank you!” Eve
exclaimed as she felt that her feet were on firm earth again.
“It was perfectly swell of you to take all this trouble,” I added
appreciatively.
“A good deed every day, that’s my motto,” drawled the boy.
“Just a splendid young knight errant,” I added. For just the barest
second I thought the corners of his rather uncompromising mouth
twitched. But he quickly controlled them, and lifting the ladder down,
began to drag it back across the grass.
“Oh, let me help!” Eve ran after him and seized the other end. Together
they carried it as far as the wall. “I’ll just leave it here and pick
it up in the morning when I go to work,” the boy remarked. Then with a
nod in our direction, he again vaulted over the wall. We watched him
climb into his seat and gather up the reins. “Well, so long,” he said.
Eve stood beside the wagon and gazed rapturously up at him. “Good-bye,”
she said. “I suppose we shall never see you again but I shall always
treasure your memory.”
“You talk a lot of nonsense, don’t you?” he remarked.
“Nonsense? Me? By the way, you aren’t going far with that wagon, I
suppose?”
“I’m going home,” he stated stolidly. “And you’d better do the same if
you’ve got any.”
“That’s just the point,” Eve exclaimed brightly. “I was wondering if by
any chance—that is, we’re not so very heavy—you see, we’re late for
supper as it is.”
“Well, get in,” he said ungraciously.
We needed no urging, which was fortunate. With more speed than grace we
climbed into the rear of the wagon and in another minute were rattling
down the road toward Beecham Corners.
Conversation was difficult. Only as we approached the crossroads I
managed to make myself heard, “Oh, my suitcase!” I cried. “I can’t go
home without my suitcase.”
The horses were pulled up sharply. “What’s the matter now?” inquired
the boy.
I left Eve to make explanations. I was out of the wagon in one leap and
flying up the road toward Trap’s. I found the case in the front hall
just as Mr. Bangs had said. Nobody was about so I just took it and went
out. Panting, I returned to the wagon.
“Mr. Doe’s going almost to Fishers Haven; isn’t that luck?” Eve said as
she reached down to give me a hand. “He says we can ride as far as he
goes. Or at least,” she added, twinkling, “he didn’t say we couldn’t.”
It was dusk when we saw the white houses of Fishers Haven ahead of us.
At a spreading farmhouse on the outskirts, our equipage came to a stop.
“This is where I live,” the boy said.
We climbed stiffly to the ground. “I suppose,” said Eve, smiling up at
the boy, “that you have no idea who we are?”
It was now our turn to be surprised. “Sure. You’re the girls who are
staying at Mrs. Poole’s.”
“But how in the world did you know?” she demanded. “We only came last
night.”
“Fellow who lives next door is a kind of friend of mine,” he vouchsafed
shortly. “Tells me all his troubles.”
“But,” giggled Eve, “we’re not one of his troubles, are we? At least
not yet!”
The boy made no reply to this but gathered up his reins preparatory to
turning into the drive.
I remembered suddenly the dark figure I had seen creeping along the
hedge last night. “What kind of troubles has your friend?” I called
hastily.
“Oh, cat troubles mostly.” The words drifted back as the wagon rattled
away.
“Did he say ‘cat’?” I asked.
“Sounded like it,” said Eve.
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