TOM AND GRACE SCENT TROUBLE
The time passed all too rapidly, and with many expressions of regret on
both sides the judge and his youthful guests parted, two days before the
New Year.
On account of the house party the Phi Sigma Tau had been obliged to
postpone until New Year's Day entertaining as they had done the previous
year the stray High School girls who were far from home. Therefore, the
moment they arrived in Oakdale they found their hands full.
Mrs. Gray had been in California with her brother since September, and
the girls greatly missed the sprightly old lady. It was the first
Christmas since they had entered High School that she had not been with
them, and they were looking forward with great eagerness to her return
in February.
Julia Crosby, who was at Smith College, had accepted an invitation from
her roommate to spend the holidays in Boston, much to Grace's
disappointment, who had reckoned on Julia as one of the judge's house
party.
New Year's Day the Phi Sigma Tau nobly lived up to their reputation as
entertainers of those girls who they had originally pledged themselves
to look out for, but New Year's Night the four girl chums had reserved
for a special gathering which included the "eight originals" only. It
was Miriam who had made this possible by inviting Eva Allen, James
Gardiner, Arnold Evans, Marian Barber, and much against her will, Henry
Hammond, to a dinner.
"Don't feel slighted at being left off my dinner list," she said to
Grace, then added slyly, "Why don't the eight originals hold forth at
Nora's?"
"You're a positive dear, Miriam," Grace replied. "We have been wanting
to have an old-time frolic, but didn't wish to seem selfish and
clannish."
"Opportunity is knocking at your gate, get busy," was Miriam's advice,
which Grace was not slow to follow.
"At last there are signs of that spread that I was promised at the
bazaar," proclaimed Hippy Wingate cheerfully, as attired in a long
gingham apron belonging to Nora's elder sister, he energetically stirred
fudge in a chafing dish and insisted every other minute that Nora should
try it to see if it were done.
"You'll have to stir it a lot, yet," Nora informed him.
"But I'm so tired," protested Hippy. "I think Tom or Reddy might change
jobs with me."
"Not so you could notice it," was the united reply from these two young
men who sat with a basket of English walnuts between them and did great
execution with nut crackers, while Anne and David separated the kernels
from their shells.
The eight originals had repaired to the O'Malley kitchen immediately
after their arrival, and were deep in the preparation of the spread,
long deferred.
Grace stood by the gas range watching the chocolate she was making,
while Nora and Jessica sat at a table making tiny sandwiches of white
and brown bread with fancy fillings.
"This spread will taste much better because we've all had a hand in it,"
remarked David, as he handed Nora a dish of nut kernels, which she
dropped into the mixture over which Hippy labored.
"I never fully realized my own cleverness until to-night," said Hippy
modestly. "My powers as a fudge maker are simply marvelous."
"Humph!" jeered David, "you haven't done anything except stir it, and
you tried to quit doing that."
"But no one paid any attention to my complaints, so I turned out
successfully without aid," retorted Hippy, waving his spoon in triumph.
"Stop talking," ordered Nora, "and pour that fudge into this pan before
it hardens."
"At your service," said Hippy, with a flourish of the chafing dish that
almost resulted in sending its contents to the floor, and elicited
Nora's stern disapproval.
"How fast the time has gone," remarked David to Anne. "Just to think
that it's back to the college for us to-morrow."
"It will seem a long time until Easter," replied Anne rather sadly.
"And still longer to us," was David's answer.
"Oh, I don't know about that," put in Grace, who had heard the
conversation. "I think it is always more lonely for those who are left
behind. Oakdale will seem awfully dull and sleepy. We can't play
basketball any more this year on account of the loss of the gym., and we
seniors are going to give a concert instead of a play. So there are no
exciting prospects ahead. There will be no class dances as we have no
place to dance, unless we hire a hall, and we never have money enough
for that."
"How about the five hundred dollars the judge sent?" asked Reddy.
"Oh, we have decided not to touch that. The money we take in at the
concert will be added to it," said Nora. "That will be two
entertainments for the seniors, and we think that is enough. We want the
other classes to have a chance to make some money, too."
"If we only had the bazaar money that was stolen," said Anne
regretfully.
"Strange that no trace of the thief was ever found," remarked David. "I
know that my wrist was lame for a week from the twist that rascal gave
it."
"I have always had a curious conviction that the man who took that money
had been traveling around in the hall all evening," said Anne
thoughtfully. "Whoever it was, he must have seen Grace deposit the money
in the box, and he also knew the exact location of the switch."
"One would imagine the box too heavy to have been spirited away so
easily," said Tom Gray. "The weight of all that silver must have been
considerable."
"Yes, it did weigh heavily," replied Grace. "Still, we had a great many
bills, too. In spite of the weight the thief did make a successful get
away, and we owe Judge Putnam a heavy debt of gratitude for making good
our loss."
"'Look not mournfully into the past,'" quoted Hippy, "but rather turn
your attention to the important matter of refreshing the inner man."
"You fixed your attention on that matter years ago, Hippopotamus," said
Reddy, "and since then you've never turned it in any other direction."
"Which proves me to be a person of excellent judgment and unqualified
good taste," answered Hippy with a broad grin.
"More taste than judgment, I should say," remarked David.
"This conversation is becoming too personal," complained Hippy. "Excuse
me, Nora, use that Irish wit of yours and lay these slanderers low."
"I am neither a life preserver nor a repairer of reputations," replied
Nora cruelly. "Fight your own battles."
"All right, here goes," said Hippy. "Now Reddy Brooks and David Nesbit,
I said, that what you said, and formerly have said to have said, was
said, because you happened to have said something that I formerly was
said to have said that never should have been said. What I really
said--"
But what Hippy really did say was never revealed, for David and Reddy
laid violent hands upon their garrulous friend and, escorting him to the
kitchen door, shoved him outside and calmly locking the door, left him
to meditate in the back yard, until Nora suddenly remembering that she
had set the fudge on the steps to cool, opened the door in a hurry to
find Hippy seated upon the lower step, a piece of fudge in either hand,
looking the picture of content.
[Illustration: Hippy Sat With A Piece of Fudge in Either Hand]
The party broke up at eleven o'clock, and the hard task of saying
good-bye began. The boys were to leave early the next morning, so the
girls would not see them again until Easter.
"Don't forget to write," called Nora after Hippy, as he hurried down the
steps after the others, who had reached the gate.
"You'll hear from me as soon as we hit the knowledge shop," was the
reassuring answer.
At the corner the little party separated, Hippy, Reddy and Jessica going
in one direction, Anne and David in another, leaving Tom and Grace to
pursue their homeward way alone. As they turned into Putnam Square,
Grace gave a little exclamation, and seizing Tom by the arm, drew him
behind a statue of Israel Putnam at the entrance of the square.
"Marian Barber is coming this way with that horrid Henry Hammond," she
whispered. "I don't care to meet them. I have not spoken to him since
the house party, and Marian will be so angry if I cut him deliberately
when he is with her. I am sure they have not seen us. They were invited
to Miriam's to-night. We'll stand here until they pass."
The two young people stood in the shadow quietly waiting, unseen by the
approaching couple, who were completely absorbed in conversation.
"I tell you I can't do it," Grace heard Marian say impatiently. "It
doesn't belong to me, and I have no right to touch it."
Hammond's reply was inaudible, but it was evident that Marian's remark
had angered him, for he grasped her by the arm so savagely that she
cried out: "Don't hold my arm so tightly, Henry, you are hurting me. I
am not foolish to refuse to give it to you. Suppose you should lose it
all--"
They had passed the statue by this time, and Grace and Tom heard no more
of their conversation. There was a brief silence between them, then
Grace spoke.
"Tom, what do you suppose that means?"
"I don't know, Grace," was the answer. "It didn't sound very promising."
"I should say not," said Grace decidedly. "I feel sure that Henry
Hammond is a thoroughly unscrupulous person, and I shall not rest until
I find out what the conversation we overheard leads to."
"I believe you are right," said Tom, "and I'm only sorry I can't be here
to help ferret the thing out."
"I'll write and keep you posted as to my progress," promised Grace, as
she said good-bye to Tom at the Harlowe's door, a little later.
"Good-bye, Tom. Best wishes to Arnold. I'm sorry I didn't see him
again."
"Good-night, Grace, and good-bye," said Tom, and with a hearty handshake
they parted.
As Grace prepared for bed that night she turned Marian's words over and
over in her mind, but could arrive at no logical conclusion, and finally
dropped to sleep with the riddle still unsolved.