THE SUMMONS
Notwithstanding the unusually late hours of the night before, the
Chester household was astir early the next morning. Mr. Chester and
Gretel were to take the eight-thirty train for New York, which meant an
early breakfast for everybody, for it had been decreed that they should
all go to the station to see them off.
“I just can’t tell you how I hate to have you go,” Molly declared,
hovering over Gretel, as she put the last things into her suit-case. “I
wish you would come back and make us another visit later in the season.
They say Washington is frightfully hot in August.”
“I know it is,” said Gretel, “but if Percy and Barbara can stand the
heat, I guess I can. It’s dear of you to want me, though, and I’ve had
a perfectly beautiful time. It doesn’t seem as if I could have been
here more than two weeks.”
“I do wish you could have waited till Monday, and gone down with Jerry
and me,” grumbled Geraldine. “It’s perfectly dreadful to think I shan’t
see you again till we come to Washington in September. Jerry and I
wouldn’t mind the heat a bit if Mrs. Douaine could have us in August
instead.”
Gretel laughed, and said she would speak to Barbara on the subject, and
then they all hurried away to the waiting automobile.
“Good-bye, dear,” Mrs. Cranston said, kissing Gretel affectionately. “I
shall never forget the pleasure your music has given me. You must be
sure to come and see me in New York next winter.”
Then Mrs. Chester kissed her, and told her how much they should all
miss her, and Paul and Frank shook hands, and little Daisy--who was
devoted to her--began to cry, and was only comforted when Gretel
promised to come and tell her more fairy tales next winter.
The four girls and Jerry crowded into the automobile, and the ride to
the station was a very merry one. The train was a few minutes late,
and it was while they were standing chatting on the platform, awaiting
its arrival, that Gretel caught another glimpse of Fritz Lippheim. He
came sauntering through the station, smoking a cigar, and carrying a
suit-case, and was evidently, like themselves, waiting for a train. At
sight of her old friend, Gretel could not resist a little involuntary
start, and Geraldine--who was standing close beside her--inquired
curiously:
“What’s the matter, Gretel? You look as if you were scared about
something.”
“There isn’t anything the matter,” answered Gretel. “I was only--oh,
there’s a whistle; the train must be coming.”
The train was coming, and in another moment it had thundered into the
station. Gretel had one more glimpse of Fritz Lippheim getting into one
of the coaches, as she and Mr. Chester mounted the steps of the parlor
car.
“Good-bye, Gretel, good-bye!” cried her friends in chorus, as the train
began to move. “Be sure to write as soon as you get to Washington.”
And Gretel returned the good-byes, and promised to write to everybody,
and kept her head craned out of the car window till the platform, with
the group of familiar faces on it, had disappeared from sight. Then she
sank back in her chair, with a little sigh that was half regret and
half relief.
“It has been a lovely visit,” she said to herself. “I wonder when I
shall see them all again.”
The train was crowded, but Mr. Chester had secured seats in advance so
that he and Gretel were very comfortable. Gretel felt a little uneasy
at first, and glanced anxiously about, in quest of her German friend,
but she did not see him again, and there was a good deal of amusement
in watching her fellow-passengers. Mr. Chester was very kind and
talked pleasantly to her for more than an hour, before going away to
the smoking-car, after providing his charge with an interesting book.
Gretel tried to read, but found it impossible to fix her attention on
the story, and finally gave it up in despair, and took out her knitting
instead. Several ladies were also knitting, and as her fingers flew,
Gretel’s thoughts were very busy. They had nearly reached New York
before she had finally come to a decision, which proved a great relief
to her.
“I shall tell Percy about Fritz to-night,” she told herself, and she
suddenly felt happier than she had felt since the evening before. She
opened the bag of pop-corn Jerry had thrust into her hand just as the
train was starting, and was placidly munching a ball when Mr. Chester
returned.
It was noon when they reached the Grand Central. Mr. Chester hailed a
taxi and in it they drove to the Douaines’. Gretel had suggested going
home by herself, but her companion refused to leave her until he had
seen her safely inside her brother’s door.
“The house looks rather deserted,” Mr. Chester said, as the cab
stopped, and the driver ran up the steps to ring the bell.
“There is a caretaker,” Gretel explained, “and some of the rooms
up-stairs are open. Percy spends his nights here when he is in New
York. He goes out for his meals, as all the servants are in Washington.”
“I am afraid you will have a rather dull day by yourself,” said Mr.
Chester, regretfully. “I wish I could take you somewhere to lunch, but
I must hurry downtown.”
Gretel thanked him, but assured him she would not be at all dull, and
by this time the door was opened by a stout, good-natured looking Irish
woman, who greeted Gretel with a broad, welcoming smile. Mr. Chester
hurried away in his taxi, quite satisfied that his charge was in safe
hands, and Gretel sat down on the hall chair to read a note her brother
had left for her.
It was only a hasty line to say that Percy expected to be very busy all
day, but had secured reservations on the night train for Washington,
and would call for her at about seven and take her out to dinner.
“I have told Mrs. Murphy to give you some lunch,” he added. “I am sorry
to leave you alone all the afternoon, but it cannot be helped.”
The house felt cool and comfortable, and Gretel wandered from one
room to another, rather enjoying the quiet and the unusualness of
everything. She decided that she would stay indoors till late in the
afternoon, when it would be cooler, and then go to see Mrs. Barlow. At
one o’clock Mrs. Murphy called her to luncheon.
The caretaker was an old acquaintance, who often came to the house
to do extra work, and Gretel had many questions to ask her about the
family of grandchildren, of whom Mrs. Murphy was extremely proud.
Gretel was a great favorite with all the servants, and Mrs. Murphy
babbled on all the time she was eating her simple luncheon. Her
youngest son was at a training camp, and she had a great deal to say
about “them dirty Germans,” having apparently no idea that Gretel was
in any way connected with the enemy race.
“There’s no end to their wickedness,” she declared, “and the slyness
of them, even the American ones. My Jim says they caught a feller the
other day trying to put a bomb under a train full of soldiers, and he’d
lived in this country since he was eight years old. What do you think
of that?”
“It is very terrible,” Gretel admitted, “but there are some loyal
German-Americans,” she added, timidly.
“Maybe there is, and maybe there ain’t. I wouldn’t trust one of them, I
know that. Have some more raspberries, do, now. They’re real good, and
I bought the cream on purpose.”
Gretel allowed Mrs. Murphy to fill her plate for a second time, but
the Irish woman’s talk had rather added to her uneasiness, and she was
thankful that she had decided to tell Percy about her meeting with
Fritz Lippheim.
After luncheon she went into the drawing-room, and, opening the piano,
practised dutifully for the next two hours. There had been little time
for practising in New London, and she was anxious not to fall behind
with her music during the vacation. But the afternoon was hot and
sultry, and by half-past three Gretel began to feel decidedly tired and
sleepy.
“I’ll lie down for a little while,” she decided, “and then I’ll go to
see Mrs. Barlow. I don’t believe late hours agree with me.”
Accordingly, she curled herself up comfortably on the library sofa, and
in a very few minutes had fallen into a comfortable nap.
How long she had slept Gretel did not know, but she was aroused by the
sharp ringing of the telephone bell.
“It’s probably Percy,” she told herself, as she rubbed her eyes and
rose to answer the summons.
It was evident that Mrs. Murphy had not heard the bell, for there was
no sound of approaching footsteps, and the house was very still. Gretel
took down the receiver, and began the conversation with the customary
“Hello!”
“Is Miss Gretel Schiller there?” inquired a man’s voice, certainly not
her brother’s, for it had a decidedly foreign accent.
“I am Gretel Schiller.” Gretel did not know why her heart was beating
so fast, or why her voice trembled.
“Ah, that is good. I have a message from my niece, Anna Sieling.”
Gretel gave a little gasp of relief. It was only Fräulein, after all,
not Fritz.
“Is Fräulein there?” she asked. “Does she want to speak to me?”
“She is here, but she cannot come to the telephone. She is very ill.”
“Very ill!” repeated Gretel, in a tone of real distress. “Oh, I am so
sorry! Is there anything I can do for her?”
“If you could come to see her this afternoon? She is most anxious to
see you. She is to undergo a serious operation, and fears she may never
recover.”
“I’ll come, of course; I’ll come right away,” cried Gretel. “But--but
how did you know I was in town?”
“We did not know; we only hoped. You wrote my niece that you would
probably leave New London on the fifth, and we thought you might be
remaining over a few hours in New York. There could be no harm in
inquiring. Anna has been asking for you all day.”
Gretel’s face was very grave as she hung up the telephone, after
obtaining Fräulein’s address, for, somewhat to her surprise, she
learned that the family had moved during the past week. They were now
occupying an apartment on the upper East Side, Fräulein’s uncle told
her, whereas their former home had been on the West Side, not far from
Central Park. It seemed a little odd that Fräulein should not have
written her of this change of address, but at the moment Gretel had
only one thought; poor, dear Fräulein--who had always been so kind to
her--was ill, and longing to see her. How thoughtless and unkind she
had been to forget her engagement of two weeks ago. Fräulein had never
answered her letter of apology, and Gretel had feared her friend’s
feelings had really been hurt.
It was only just four o’clock, and without a moment’s hesitation
Gretel ran up-stairs for her hat. There would be plenty of time to
see Fräulein and be back again before her brother arrived. Mrs.
Murphy was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the sound of voices in
the kitchen, Gretel decided that the caretaker must be entertaining
company. Going to the top of the basement stairs, she called to the
Irish woman that she was going out for a little while, to which
information Mrs. Murphy responded with a cheerful:
“All right, dearie; have a nice time.”
Two minutes later Gretel had closed her brother’s front door behind her
and was walking rapidly down the street.
The address Fräulein’s uncle had given was much further uptown, as
well as being farther east, and Gretel, anxious not to lose time,
decided to take a car, and, having pushed her way on board a crowded
open trolley, she was soon being carried rapidly to the upper part of
the great city. She felt very anxious about Fräulein, but found some
comfort in the recollection that her friend was apt to make a good deal
of slight illnesses. Perhaps, after all, things were not quite as bad
as Fräulein’s uncle had represented.
A ride of fifteen minutes brought her to a part of the city with which
she was quite unfamiliar, and, alighting at a corner of a rather shabby
street, she turned her face eastward. She was not at all afraid of
not finding her way. She had been accustomed to going about the city
by herself since she was a little girl, although of late years Percy
and Barbara had insisted on having a maid accompany her when going
any distance from home. She walked on briskly for several blocks,
the neighborhood growing shabbier and more squalid as she proceeded.
There was no doubt that this was a poorer part of the city than where
Fräulein’s family had lived before. She was afraid her uncle must have
met with business reverses lately. Poor Fräulein, how she must hate
this neighborhood; she was so fond of luxury and comfort.
The sidewalks were swarming with shabbily dressed children, who
screamed and shouted, and at times impeded her progress.
She paused at last before a dingy apartment house, and going up the
steps began looking for the name she wanted. Yes, there it was:
“R. Becker; third floor back.” Gretel rang Mr. Becker’s bell, and
waited. In a moment the latch clicked, and Gretel--who knew the way of
apartment houses--pushed open the door and stepped into a dark, narrow
hall. There was no one to be seen, but a mingled odor of onions and
cabbage proved that the house was inhabited, and Gretel made her way up
the steep, not very clean stairs to the third floor.
She had reached the top of the first flight, when a voice inquired over
the banisters:
“Is it Mees Schiller?”
“Yes,” said Gretel. “Is that you, Mrs. Becker?”
“It ess. Come right up, if you please.”
Gretel quickened her steps, and in another moment was shaking hands
with a stout, middle-aged woman, whom she at once recognized as
Fräulein’s aunt.
“Mr. Becker telephoned me,” she explained, “and I came as quickly as I
could. I am so sorry about Fräulein. Is she suffering a great deal?”
“Come in,” said Mrs. Becker, and she led the way to her apartment, the
door of which stood open.
Gretel followed her down the narrow hall to the parlor, a small room,
furnished in very bad taste.
“Sit down,” said the hostess, motioning to the plush-covered sofa, but
Gretel did not sit down.
“I haven’t long to stay,” she apologized. “Couldn’t I see Fräulein now?”
Mrs. Becker heaved a deep sigh.
“Our dear Anna is not here,” she said, solemnly; “they have taken her
away to the hospital.”
“Oh,” cried Gretel, “is she really so ill as that? Mr. Becker said
she was to have an operation, but I didn’t think it was to be this
afternoon. He said she wanted to see me. Did she get worse after he
telephoned?”
“Our dear Anna is very ill,” said Mrs. Becker, speaking as if she were
repeating a lesson. “They have taken her to the hospital. Will you not
sit down and take coffee with us? I will bring it in at once.”
“You are very kind,” said Gretel, “but I don’t think I can wait.
Perhaps I might be able to see Fräulein at the hospital. Mr. Becker
said she was so very anxious to see me, and I am going to Washington
with my brother to-night.”
“You cannot go to the hospital,” said Mrs. Becker, in the same
dull voice; “it would not be allowed. Even I, Anna’s aunt, cannot
go. My husband will explain.” And once more motioning towards the
plush-covered sofa, Mrs. Becker left the room.
Gretel sat down on the edge of the sofa. There seemed nothing else to
do, but she was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. She was afraid
her old friend must be very ill, Mrs. Becker spoke and looked so
strangely. Perhaps Fräulein had died suddenly, and they did not like to
tell her. There was a moment of silence; then the sound of approaching
footsteps, and Fräulein’s uncle came into the room.
“I beg a thousand pardons for bringing you here under false pretenses,”
he said, apologetically, “but when I telephoned an hour ago my dear
niece--what is it, my dear young lady--are you not well?”
With a little inarticulate cry, Gretel had sunk back on the sofa, and
every particle of color had left her face. As the light from the one
window fell on Mr. Becker’s face, she recognized it. She knew now why
the face of that waiter at the New London hotel had seemed so familiar.
That waiter was Fräulein’s uncle!