ON THE TRAIL
Roger looked chagrined and more than a little frightened. The fright was
caused by his sister’s vehemence, the chagrin because he had unwittingly
“told on” Joe. In the code of Roger no crime was as bad as that of
“telling tales” on one’s mates. He had spoken before he thought. It is
so hard for a small boy not to speak before he thinks!
But Dorothy was on her feet now, her cheeks blazing, and he knew he
would have to tell her the truth, not keeping back any of the story.
Roger gave a resigned sigh and braced himself to answer questions. But
Dorothy asked only one of him. That was a reiterated and breathless:
“Roger, are you sure?”
Roger nodded miserably, and to his surprise Dorothy turned suddenly and
left the room. Roger stared after her wide-eyed. He was still miserable,
but he was intensely curious as well.
“I wouldn’t be in Joe’s shoes, not for anything!” he assured himself, as
he returned to the window. “And I suppose he’ll just about murder me
when he finds out I went and told on him. It was his fault, anyway,” he
added, in an effort at self-justification. “I told him he oughtn’t to go
with that fresh Popella kid, and so did Dorothy. My, but I—I wish Joe
would come back!”
Meantime Dorothy rushed upstairs. Meeting Tavia outside the door of her
room, she brushed past her almost rudely. If it had not been so late she
would have gone downtown immediately.
The fact that Joe had been with Jack Popella on the day of the fire
augmented her fears immeasurably. Popella was a young Italian lad with a
not very savory reputation, and Dorothy had been alarmed when, on
several occasions, she had seen Joe with him.
She had tried reasoning with the boy, had pointed out the fact that one
is very often judged by the company one keeps, but Joe had refused to
take her admonitions seriously.
“You talk as if I never went with anybody else, Dot,” he had said on one
of these occasions. “And I never have anything to do with him except
just when I happen to meet him. I can’t help saying hello when he talks
to me.”
This argument had silenced Dorothy, and it had also almost convinced her
that she had nothing to fear in that direction. Almost, but not quite,
for Joe still was seen quite often in the company of Jack Popella.
To see this lad and question him was Dorothy’s one, all-absorbing desire
just now. But to do this she must wait till the next day, and the hours
stretched interminably between.
She flung herself into a chair, her chin cupped in her hand, staring
moodily at the floor. Tavia came in and perched on the edge of the bed
and regarded her chum curiously.
“Yes, I am human,” she said at last, in a mechanical tone. “I speak, I
walk. If you were to pinch me I might shriek.”
Dorothy looked up with a frown. It was the first time she had noticed
her chum’s presence in the room.
“What _are_ you raving about?” she asked.
“I was merely trying to call your attention to the fact that I am
human,” said Tavia patiently. “By the way you brushed past me in the
hall, I assumed that you thought I was a chair, a bedstead, or even a
humble hatrack.”
“Never a hatrack, Tavia dear,” replied Dorothy, smiling despite herself.
“You are far too plump and pretty.”
“I admit the latter but deny the former allegation,” said Tavia calmly.
“Why do you think I follow the dictates of Lovely Lucy Larriper so
faithfully if not for the purpose of keeping my figure intact?”
Dorothy did not answer. She had lapsed into her former mood and Tavia
regarded her chum thoughtfully. Then she deserted the foot of the bed
for the arm of Dorothy’s chair.
“Come on, Doro, snap out of it!” she urged. “Nothing ever has been
gained by surrendering to the doleful dumps. Suppose Napoleon had been
discouraged!”
“Perhaps he was—at Waterloo,” returned Dorothy. But she added quickly in
response to Tavia’s impatient gesture: “Now don’t you go lecturing me,
Tavia Travers. I will have the doleful dumps or any other kind if I feel
like it.”
Tavia felt that her chum was keeping something to herself, but though
she questioned her discreetly—and otherwise—she could gain no
information from her other than the fact that she expected to go
downtown early the following morning.
“Well, buck up, anyway, Doro, and get ready for dinner,” Tavia said
finally, as Nat’s voice was heard below calling to the two girls to
“join the family in the dining room.” “It won’t help Joe any for you to
starve yourself to death.”
“Listen!” cried Dorothy, suddenly jumping to her feet. “Isn’t that Ned
talking to Nat? Maybe he has news of Joe.”
Dorothy was out of the room and rushing down the stairs before Tavia had
time to more than blink her eyes. She followed her chum in time to see
the latter pounce upon Ned with desperate eagerness.
“It isn’t any use, Dot, I’m afraid,” she heard Ned say reluctantly. “I
have followed up every possible clue—there were not very many, at
that—and none of them seems to lead to Joe. He has disappeared as
completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up.”
They went in to dinner after that, but they made very poor business of
eating; all except Tavia, that is, who never allowed anything to
interfere with her appetite.
Once, looking across at the Major, she did stop long enough to say in an
undertone to Nat:
“Major Dale looks dreadfully, doesn’t he, Nat—like a ghost at a feast?”
“If you call this a feast,” Nat grumbled. “Seems more like a funeral to
me.”
After dinner Dorothy sought out her Aunt Winnie and, drawing her into a
corner, spoke to her about her father. Mrs. White patted the girl’s hand
gently and sought to evade Dorothy’s questions.
“Your father’s general health seems unimpaired my dear,” she said. “But
of course he is frightfully worried about Joe.”
“It is more than worry that makes him act as he did at dinner,”
persisted Dorothy. “He hardly touched a thing. Aunt Winnie, he is on the
verge of a breakdown, and you know it as well as I!”
“Perhaps I do, my dear,” sighed Mrs. White. “But I don’t see what we can
do about it.”
“Except find Joe,” replied Dorothy softly. “We _must_ find Joe!”
Early the next morning Dorothy dressed herself in her street things and
slipped out of the house without awakening Tavia. What she had to do she
wanted to do alone, and she feared her chum’s persistent curiosity. No
one should know that Joe had been with Jack Popella on the day Haskell’s
store burned down and the day when Joe himself had disappeared if it was
possible for her to keep the knowledge to herself!
She did not even stop to have breakfast at home, for fear her Aunt
Winnie would question her concerning her errand downtown.
Feeling absurdly guilty, she slipped into a small restaurant in the
downtown district in the vicinity of Haskell’s store. She questioned the
yawning waitress as adroitly as she could about the fire, but the woman
could give her no particulars.
Mechanically Dorothy gulped down the overfried egg and underdone bacon,
thinking longingly of home as she did so. How different the morning meal
would be at The Cedars.
She had started on the second piece of bacon when the door opened and—in
walked Tavia Travers!
Dorothy gasped and nearly upset the cup of coffee at her elbow. She
stared at though she were seeing a ghost.
Tavia came straight up to her table, color bright and eyes dancing.
“So you hoped to escape me, fair one?” she said, sinking into a chair
and motioning to the waitress. “You should have known better by this
time, Doro, my dear. Were you not aware that I always sleep with one eye
open?”
“You must have had them both open wide if you saw me leave The Cedars
this morning,” replied Dorothy crossly. “I didn’t want to have even you
with me this morning, Tavia.”
“Business of my becoming horribly offended and leaving the place in a
huff,” drawled Tavia, as she ordered a ham omelet from the indifferent
waitress. “But I am going to disappoint you, Doro darling, for the
reason that you will be very glad of my company before you get through.
I intend to befriend you at all costs, even at the expense of my honest
pride.”
“Oh, Tavia, you are too ridiculous!” sighed Dorothy. “I can’t be angry
with you, no matter how hard I try. Only, if you are coming with me you
will have to hurry with your breakfast.”
“Have a heart, Doro. The ravening wolves have nothing on me!”
But under Dorothy’s insistence Tavia finished her breakfast in a very
short time, and after Dorothy had paid the check the two girls left the
place and turned in the direction of Haskell’s store.
Half way down the block it loomed before them, a charred and gutted
ruin. Dorothy uttered an exclamation and grasped Tavia’s arm.
From the wrecked store a skulking figure emerged, turned, and, at sight
of Dorothy and Tavia, darted down the street.
“Jack Popella!” gasped Dorothy. “What is he doing here?”