A Man, a Dog, and a Girl
With almost startling suddenness, the little house affectionately known
as “Buckingham Palace” popped into view as the car swung round a turn in
the road.
A white, two-story house, with brilliant orange awnings, that Terry’s
father had bought when Oceanedge had promised to become a thriving
seashore resort. But the “plans of men” had gone “agley,” and Oceanedge
had never developed beyond Terry’s house, the beginnings of a boardwalk,
and a bridge over the small inlet of Bottle Bay.
Arden kept her hand pressed down on the horn, and amid the noise of the
horn and Terry’s shrill whistle with forefingers between her lips,
announced their arrival.
“Yoo-hoo!” Terry called and once more gave her famous loud whistle.
It was a feat much admired by the other two, who, although they had
practised faithfully under Terry’s instruction, were never able to
produce as much as a single “toot” from carefully pursed lips.
Terry’s mother, a woman still young and pleasant enough to be Terry’s
sister, appeared in the doorway and waved a hand. The girls jumped out
and hurried toward her.
“Oh, Mother!” Terry exclaimed, throwing her arms affectionately around
her proud parent, “it’s so good to be here. We made wonderful time and
never a puncture, even.”
“It’s good to have you here, too,” Terry’s mother replied and with a
welcoming smile kissed Arden and Sim.
“I’m glad you arrived safely, for I think we will get a storm before
night, it has been so sultry today,” she went on, and as though to give
credence to her words a low, angry rumbling was heard in the west.
“But come in and get comfortable. You must be starved. We have only a
cold supper, for we were not sure just when you’d get here. Ida,” she
called, “the girls are here, we can begin whenever you’re ready.”
“Yes, ma’m, Miz Landry, right away,” came from the kitchen while the
girls were on their way upstairs.
The house was not elaborate. One of those many rubber-stamp houses, four
bedrooms upstairs, maid’s room downstairs type, but it was bright and
airy, and to the somewhat weary travelers it represented all that could
be desired.
They quickly changed from “city clothes” into cooler cotton dresses and
slipped fresh shoes on stockingless feet. They hoped before their visit
was over to have acquired a tan that would defy detection of bare legs
and make true skin stockings look smarter still.
Downstairs in the dining room Ida had made a noble attempt at a cold
supper. Potato salad, lettuce and sliced tomatoes, cold meat, and
lemonade that made a great hit. They ate hungrily and drank glass after
glass of the cool drink as the air became more dense and the storm more
imminent.
Rolls of thunder growled nearer now, and the sky was dark and
threatening. Mrs. Landry lit the low-hung chandelier over the table; and
then, all at once, with a deafening clap of thunder, the storm was upon
them.
“Terry, the windows upstairs!” Mrs. Landry called. “And, Sim and Arden,
see if you can pull up the porch awnings. Ida and I will take care of the
windows here.”
Terry dashed upstairs, and Sim and Arden made for the screen-enclosed
porch.
A cool, almost cold, wind whipped their hair in their eyes and snapped
the awnings viciously as they hurriedly worked.
“Isn’t it glorious, Sim?” Arden asked, pulling with all her might at an
awning rope.
“I don’t like it,” Sim answered and gave a little squeal at a flash of
lightning.
“Look at the ocean—it’s all gray, and just a little while ago it was so
blue. Oh, dear, Sim, let’s pull together!” Arden wrapped the rope around
her hand, and they both tugged vigorously.
The awning went up with a rush, and the girls hurried to the next one.
Upstairs a window slammed as Terry went on with her job. The sky was as
dark as night now, and the lightning flashed with increased brilliance;
sometimes in flaming vastness, then again in piercing arrows.
Suddenly the rain came. Dashing down in silver sheets, it quickly drove
Arden and Sim inside. Terry came running downstairs, and they all
gathered in the living room, where they could watch the fury of the storm
over the ocean.
“Are you frightened, girls?” Terry’s mother asked, as she saw Sim wince
at a thunderclap. “You mustn’t be. The storm will follow the bay right
out to sea. They never last long when it gets as black as this. It’s
mostly wind, and it blows out quickly.”
“I love it,” Arden replied. “I think it’s beautiful. But it makes us seem
so small and....” She hesitated. A new noise could be distinguished above
the roar of the storm. The little group, with one accord, turned to a
side window from whence the sound seemed to come. What they saw made poor
frightened Sim gasp. It was a white peering face, with hair plastered
down by the rain, and a questioning look in the eyes.
“Terry! Go to the door! Let her in!” Mrs. Landry called, quickly
realizing this was a girl’s face.
Terry sprang to obey. The front door opened; the screen door beyond it
was blown back and slammed against the side of the house.
“Come in, come in,” Terry shouted against the screaming wind. “You’ll be
blown away!”
But the storm-born creature, holding a torn sweater closer around her,
looked sharply at Terry, then turned and dashed away in the dim light and
was almost instantly lost to sight on the winding pathway.
Terry, drying her face and smoothing her hair, came back to the harbor of
the lighted room.
“She ran when I called her,” she stated simply. “What do you suppose she
wanted, if she didn’t want to come in?”
“It’s a queer time just to come for a look around,” Sim agreed. “You must
have scared her away, Terry.”
“She’s probably a water pixie,” Arden remarked, still under the spell of
the majestic storm. “She was most likely never there at all; we just
imagined it.”
“What’s that?” Sim asked. “Do I imagine I hear a knock at the door? I’m
sure I heard something.”
They all listened. There was certainly a sound like knocking.
“She’s come back!” Terry declared and once more opened the door. The
storm by this time had abated a bit, although the rain still lashed down
in lordly fury.
As Terry flung back the door, the girls gasped, for there stood their
“handsome stranger” of the lift-ride, soaked thoroughly, with a
shivering, bedraggled dog huddling close to him.
“Oh-h-h-h!” faltered Terry in her surprise. “Won’t you come in?” she
continued, recovering her composure.
“I’m afraid I am too wet,” answered their strange caller, pushing a damp
strand of hair back from his face. “I am sorry to trouble you——” A sudden
gust of wind fury almost pulled the door from Terry’s grasp.
“Come in, come in,” interrupted Terry’s mother coming forward. “We don’t
mind a little water; and the poor dog!”
She stooped to pet the cringing animal and then drew back in alarm as a
snarl greeted her.
“Tania!” called the man in rebuke, and then to Terry’s mother he said:
“You must forgive her, she is not used to strangers, but she will not
harm you. Tania,” he said again, “these people are friends.” It was his
voice, apparently, not his words, the dog understood.
Arden and Sim had pressed nearer to witness the little drama of the
storm. The man and his white wraith of a dog now stood dripping puddles
of rain water on Mrs. Landry’s spotless floor. He looked shyly down at
the widening pools at his feet, smiled, and said:
“I wonder if you could give me a few matches? I have not been very
practical, for I neglected to buy some. And the old ones I have are all
like this.” He held up a soaked cardboard clip-container, soft from the
rain. There was just a hint of a foreign accent as he continued: “I am,
in a way, a neighbor, and, though I fear I am making a great deal of
trouble for you, I cannot light my lamp without matches.” He made a
helpless gesture.
“Neighbor?” questioned Mrs. Landry. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh, yes!” Arden exclaimed, recognizing the visitor. “You are the
gentleman we drove into town this afternoon. He lives on the houseboat
down the bay,” she quickly whispered to Terry’s mother. Then to the
caller: “Will matches be all that you need?”
“I think so, yes; thank you. But please allow me to introduce myself and
beg pardon for intruding like this. I am Dimitri Uzlov. I have rented the
houseboat for the summer while I do a little painting and sketching. This
is Tania, my faithful dog. She is not as savage as she appears. This
afternoon your daughters were kind enough to——” He looked at Mrs. Landry
and bowed formally. But she interrupted:
“Only one daughter, Mr. Uzlov,” and she indicated Terry by putting a hand
on her shoulder. “My other daughters are not here now. These young ladies
are Terry’s guests—her college chums.”
Dimitri Uzlov bowed in acknowledgment. In so doing he turned the hat he
was holding upside down, and water began dripping and splashing from the
curved brim.
“Oh!” he exclaimed in some confusion.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Terry.
“Thank you. But the young ladies were very kind to me this afternoon. No
doubt they have told you.” Another bow to Mrs. Landry. “But I must not
stand here dripping like this. If I could have a few matches for my
lamps——” His slow, ingratiating smile came out again.
Terry hurried to the kitchen and returned with matches and candles as
well. Mrs. Landry always kept a supply of both in stock, knowing, from
past sad experiences, that the electric current at Marshlands was not
always entirely dependable during severe storms.
Terry held out the matches, long wooden ones with blue heads, and several
candles.
“You are very provident,” said Mr. Uzlov, smiling once more as he took
them, again bowing and splashing more water from his hat to the floor. “I
must be wise in this same way. I thank you a thousand times! You are so
kind!”
The rain-soaked visitor turned to go.
“Won’t you wait a little longer,” Mrs. Landry asked, “until the storm
lets up a bit?”
“Thank you, but I must get back. I have stayed away too long already. My
humble houseboat is alone. Come, Tania,” he replied and, giving them all
a shy smile, he stepped out on the porch.
“But you’ll catch cold—the rain——” Arden began.
“It has almost stopped,” Dimitri Uzlov smiled. “We must not stay any
longer. I am a solitary person. But thank you.” And he was gone, leaving
only the telltale puddles behind him.
As they watched from the window they could see him walking down the damp
sand in the direction of the houseboat with Tania, the Russian wolfhound,
at his heels, looking thinner than ever because of the way her silk hair
lay matted with the rain.
Like a character from the “King of the Golden River” he looked, getting
farther and farther away until a sand-dune suddenly cut off their sight
of him.
Only the footsteps were left, big ones for Dimitri and a series of small
holes where the dainty Tania had followed him.
“What a strange man!” Mrs. Landry exclaimed.
“I think he’s just awfully shy,” Arden said. “I suppose he couldn’t bear
to come in with all us women staring at him.”
“Perhaps you’re right, my dear,” Terry’s mother answered and once more
turned to the window.
A big storm, a wild wraith of a girl, a real hermit, and a majestic
wolfhound! What more could the girls have expected?