ON WITH THE PANORAMA.
“Who was the old codger with whom you were shaking hands, Shirley, as
I came up?” Dick inquired, as once more he went through the process
of settling everybody’s baggage and settled himself, too, down on a
Pullman seat by Shirley.
“His name was Mr. Scott,” said Shirley demurely. At last she had one
name of some one who knew her double. “I would not say that he is very
old, and I’m sure that ‘codger’ does not describe him.”
“Why didn’t he shake hands with Mother first?”
“He probably did not recognize her.”
“How did you happen to know him?”
“I did not know him.” Shirley was enjoying this.
“Then why on earth would you shake hands with him?”
“Because I thought that he might be some graduate or even an important
trustee that knew Father and remembered me, though you might think
that I am flattering myself.”
“And he turned out not to be a trustee or anybody?”
“He was somebody, all right. He said that he supposed I had gone
with my father and that I was looking better than I did right after
school was out, and that Mrs. Scott and the girls had gone on up into
Wisconsin ‘you know.’”
Dick threw his head back and laughed. “I saw him give a quick look back
when he saw me going toward you, Shirley. He stopped a moment, almost
as if he intended to come back; then he took out his watch and shot out
of the door.”
“He was going to the bank,” said Shirley. “Oh, I know Mr. Scott very
well indeed!”
“It is a good thing that we are leaving Chicago. Have you told Mother?”
“No; I’d forget to do it, and we have been doing such interesting
things that it has not seemed very important. It’s rather mildly
interesting, though, to know that some girl, probably of a well-known
and wealthy Chicago family, looks enough like me to have me taken for
her in broad daylight, at least by persons in a hurry, or by clerks
that do not know her any too well. Perhaps I’ll write to Mr. Scott and
ask him what her name is.”
“How would you address him, my dear cousin?”
“Yes. That would be a difficulty. ‘Mr. Scott, Chicago, Illinois,’ might
be a bit indefinite.”
“Well, I’ll say for you, Shirley, that you look like a million dollars
in that new rig of yours. You probably look so much more stunning than
the original that they have to stop to speak to you.”
“Now _you_ are a cousin worth having, Dick. Thanks awfully. Next
year,--no, I can’t--the year after, when you are a senior, I’ll have
all the girls that you like best in for teas and things and invite you
over. Maybe the senior girls wouldn’t come to a party given by little
me, though.”
“They’d be delighted to be asked to the professor’s house, even with
you out of the question, which I should not admit. Moreover, my dear
Shirley, how do you know that by that time a senior girl would be
interesting? Now the reverend seniors are often known to have the most
serious cases of their college career with sophomores, or even freshmen
girls.”
“That is so. Good. I’ll know all the freshmen girls, perhaps, and I
know some of the sophomore girls as it is. Just pick out one that Aunt
Anne will welcome into the family!”
“That remains to be seen, Shirley. Now, look here. Let’s plan what
we do when we get to Denver.” Dick pulled from his pocket one of
the illustrated advertisements, published by the railroad companies.
Everything else was soon forgotten in studying Colorado and its
possibilities.
From that time on there was one delightful panorama of prairie,
irrigating ditches, rivers, mountains, with rides among the foothills
and climbs to the heights; of new birds and flowers and trees; of
unafraid wild animals in the national parks; of snowy summits; of
glaciers in Glacier Park and sure-footed horses on narrow trails.
Shirley was not afraid to go into quiet raptures over dashing mountain
streams, all the scenes so new and inspiring to her, and each new
expedition. Mrs. Lytton declared that it was “as stimulating as a cup
of coffee” to meet Shirley’s eagerness every morning.
“Never having had a daughter, Shirley, I did not know what I had
missed, till this trip. Dick could not be spared, but I wish that we
could adopt you.”
“I never made a good girl, did I?” queried Dick.
“You are a fine son,” said his mother, “and that is enough for me.”
Shirley was glad of that little speech of compliment from her cousin
Molly. Thoroughly appreciating the privilege of this trip with them,
she had tried in every way to make her cousins glad that she had come.
There were many little ways in which she could be of service, and when
they were out together, as they sometimes were without the gentlemen,
they were as jolly as two girls. Mrs. Lytton was active and strong,
taking part in all the rides upon the narrow trails as bravely as any
of them.
One delightful experience followed another. They grew weary at times,
to be sure, and there were some narrowly averted accidents, but no
calamity occurred to mar their trip. When it was wise to let time
intervene between undertakings, they merely tarried a little longer in
some camp or hotel until they felt like resuming the onward way. They
met many friendly people at different places and with the informality
of American tourists, they joined forces for some trip, or discussed
frankly the problems of a common country. There was one group of girls,
traveling with two chaperons, who were attracted to Shirley. Their
companionship made the trip through the Yellowstone lively, for they
often found themselves upon the same ’bus. Dick, too, attached a young
man of about his own age, a student in a different university.
But it was not until they had reached a hotel in the big and wonderful
state of Washington that Shirley saw her double.
It happened in one of the corridors on the second floor about noon.
The Lyttons and Shirley were leaving that night. Shirley had just been
downstairs to the lobby, and as there was but one easy flight of stairs
with a landing midway, Shirley did not take the elevator, but ran up
the stairs instead.
Between the stairway and her room were the doors to the elevator, and
as she turned from the last stair down the corridor in the direction
of her room, she saw herself, apparently, standing in front of the
elevator door. Even the hat was of the same color as her own, and a
little fluff of golden hair curled around near the place where ears
were supposed to be. The coat was not like her own, however.
The young girl was laughing and talking in an animated fashion to two
girls who were with her. She faced Shirley, and Shirley, now surprised
and interested, took an eager step toward her. But it was quite evident
that the other girl had not seen Shirley. The elevator doors slid open
just then; the three girls stepped in and were out of sight in a moment.
More mechanically than otherwise, Shirley went on toward the room with
something that she was bringing Mrs. Lytton. “Why, Cousin Molly, I’ve
just seen my double. It’s the queerest thing. I didn’t suppose that
two people of different families _could_ look so much alike. Oh, I
haven’t told you a word about how in Chicago people kept taking me for
some one.” Shirley paused, rather dazed by the experience.
Mrs. Lytton looked at her rather soberly, Shirley thought. “I wonder
who it could be. Why don’t you try to find out who she is? Has she a
room on this floor?”
“How stupid I am, Cousin Molly! Here I stand! It _would_ be rather
interesting to know who she is, perhaps.”
Shirley flew out of the room and down the stairs. But there was no sign
of the girls in the lobby. She even went to the desk and asked rather
hesitatingly if the clerk had seen any one who looked like herself pass
just now.
The clerk to whom she addressed the question looked at her closely.
“Yes,” he said. “A young lady enough like you to be your twin came to
the desk for a moment with another young lady, who left her key. Let me
see. The young lady’s name was Penn, Miss Penn. She and her mother just
checked out, but she came back to get something which she had forgotten
or thought that she had forgotten she said. From what was said I took
it that they were going to some other hotel in the city, here. If they
are friends of yours, or relatives, I may be able to trace them for
you.” The clerk, as he talked, noted Shirley’s hesitation. He came to
the correct conclusion that she did not know the young lady who looked
so much like her. Odd, he thought.
“Thank you,” said Shirley. “I will ask my cousin if it is best to find
them. We are leaving in a few hours ourselves.”
But Mrs. Lytton did not think that it would be worth while to try to
find the girls. “It would only be a matter of curiosity, perhaps, and
neither of you would care for acquaintance, since you say that it has
not made a pleasant impression to find yourself taken for some one
else. And if the girl should be some distant relative, my experience is
that unless there is something in common, looking up one’s relatives is
not very satisfactory,--though interesting, of course, and kinship does
make a bond, unless too distant. If you really want to do it, Shirley,
we can remain another day. I will let you decide the matter. We might
get into touch by this evening, I’ve no doubt, and perhaps you would
feel better satisfied.”
“If you leave it to me, Cousin Molly, I’ll say to go right on with our
trip. For a moment, I felt like going right up to the girl and saying,
‘Look in the mirror, please,’ just for fun. But my curiosity has all
oozed out and my natural timidity, Dick, has come to the fore.”
Dick Lytton, who was present at the discussion, laughed and asked
Shirley again if she had told his mother all the details.
“Most of them Dick. I’ll give her the whole story while we pack up. Now
let me fold up your frocks, Cousin Molly. You know you like the way I
do it. Is it too soon to pack them?”
“No. Better have it done before we go out. Where did you say you were
going to take us, Dick? Oh, yes. We get another and better view of the
old Pacific, Shirley. Go and find your father, please, Dick.”