Downhearted; Not Discouraged
Spellbound they gazed at the revelation.
It was a large picture, almost finished, and its bold strokes had been
laid on with a sureness that told of the joy the artist had put into his
work.
But the subject was what held them so amazed. For there, instead of the
usual landscape, was a portrait of Arden, sitting on a mound of
warm-colored sand with Tania at her feet. One slim hand was almost buried
in the white fur. The sky back of her hinted at an approaching storm, and
a portion of sea showed the ocean that peculiar color which comes just
before a change. Arden in the picture was gazing wistfully out to sea,
her eyes dreamy yet questioning, as though she were wondering what life
held in store for her.
“Oh, Arden,” gasped Sim, the first to speak. “How lovely!”
“And to think we never knew or even guessed,” Terry added. “He must be in
love with you,” she finished softly.
“Don’t be silly, Terry,” Arden scolded, her face crimson with blushes.
“He just happened to use my face. It doesn’t look much like me, anyway.
I’m not that pretty.”
“It looks exactly like you,” Sim insisted. “There’s no use being falsely
modest about such things. You know you’re pretty.”
“Oh, stop!” Arden begged, and her friends saw that her eyes were filled
with tears. “He’s gone now, and whatever happened to him, I’m afraid to
guess. But I know one thing. He never would have gone away without
leaving some word unless he was taken against his will.”
“What shall we do?” Sim asked, coming as usual straight to the heart of
the matter and for the moment disregarding the portrait.
“I don’t know,” Arden replied helplessly. For a time the girls listened
while the storm howled outside and the waves slapped harder against the
fat sides of the _Merry Jane_.
“We can’t stay here very much longer,” Terry reminded them. “The tide is
coming in, and there won’t be any place left to walk on back home.”
Arden nodded grimly; then, without a word of explanation, she went out
the door and back to the stern of the houseboat. She returned as quickly
as she had gone.
“I just wanted to see,” she explained, “if Dimitri’s rowboat was still
tied up. It is, and his old car is there, too.”
“Then, of course, wherever he went or was taken, he didn’t go in his own
boat or car,” Terry reasoned.
“I don’t know what we can do,” Arden said again. “But I think we should
wait a little while before we spread an alarm. After all, he may have
stayed in town because of the storm.”
“Of course. Why didn’t we think of that before?” Sim agreed, sighing with
relief. “We’d better lock Tania in and get back ourselves. Then we can
drive to town and look around for him there.”
They were relieved at having something definite to do, some real plan to
work upon. Terry with difficulty closed the open window. Arden coaxed
Tania out to the kitchen and left water for her to drink, besides two dog
biscuits she found in a box. Sim carefully covered the picture again,
still conscious of the thrilling surprise it had given them.
Finding they could not lock the door from the outside, they pulled it
shut and, after one more look around the old boat, they wrapped their
coats tightly about them and set out for “Buckingham Palace.”
The discovery of Arden’s portrait under such almost terrifying conditions
left the little group frankly bewildered.
“How could he have drawn so well from memory?” Arden wondered.
“What will Arden say or do about it?” Sim reflected.
“Anyhow,” Terry was deciding, “it’s a perfectly swell picture.”
Then, as if voicing the unspoken words of her companions, Arden said:
“Please don’t let’s say anything about—the picture—now.”
“All right,” replied her companions, and they certainly meant it would be
“all right” to keep their newest secret.
“I can’t understand it,” Arden remarked as they plodded along.
“Especially about Tania. He _was_ so fond of her.”
“_Was?_ Oh, Arden!” Sim wailed at the slip Arden had made.
“Everything will be all right. I’m sure there is some simple
explanation,” Terry said soothingly.
“I hope so,” Sim murmured, not quite so sure.
They could still hear Tania howling mournfully at being left alone, but
Arden insisted they should not go back, for Tania was safe, she declared.
Soon the dog’s howls could be heard no longer, with the noise of the wind
and the endless slashing of the breakers on the shore.
The tide had risen just as Terry said it would, and in some places the
girls had to wade in water up to their knees as they trudged along. When
at last they reached Terry’s house they were indeed a woebegone little
band, and there was no use denying it.
Mrs. Landry was shocked when she saw them and sent them to change into
dry things at once. After which they gathered in the living room and told
Terry’s mother all about their disheartening adventure, not, however,
mentioning the surprise portrait.
“And, Mother,” Terry pleaded, “can’t we go to town at once to see if he
has been there?”
“Terry, dear, you always rush so,” Mrs. Landry reminded her. “Don’t you
think the weather is too bad to go all that way now? Why not wait——”
“We’ll be all right,” Terry interrupted. “I’m sure none of us could sleep
a wink if we didn’t at least do everything possible to find out what has
happened to Dimitri.”
“Well——” Mrs. Landry was weakening. “If you dress warmly and promise to
be back before dark, I guess you may go. But drive carefully, and don’t
do anything foolish.” The vague warning meant more than the words which
conveyed it.
They were not long in getting ready after receiving that permission. In a
surprisingly short time the little car was bouncing up the road with the
three girls huddled together in it bound for the village.
“Where shall we go first?” asked Sim as they neared town.
“We can get some gas and sort of ask Reilly,” Terry suggested. “He’s
always friendly and sees everything.”
“Of course, that’s what we’ll do first,” Arden agreed.
But when they had jokingly asked the Chief how his tenant was getting
along, he replied crisply:
“I should think _you’d_ know about that. I haven’t seen him in more’n a
week. Takes more’n two cats t’ make a coop of chickens,” he added. Mr.
Reilly’s proverbs were sometimes queer. “Nope, ain’t seen him.”
“You haven’t!” Terry droned.
More than a week! Disheartened, they tried to smile at the obliging
Reilly, but the attempt was by no means a success.
He looked after them quizzically as they left.
In the little drug store where they bought postal cards and stamps they
did not need nor even want, they asked the girl clerk if she had seen
“the artist” lately.
She gave them a silly grin and shook her head.
“Not him. He only came in here once for some stamps, weeks ago, but not
since. Queer duck. Friend of yours?”
“Sort of,” Arden replied indifferently, and they left the store with
their heads up but their spirits down.
“Well, that exhausts the village, except for the food store. We can buy
some oranges and ask Mr. Gushweller,” Terry suggested.
The combination grocery and butcher store was without customers when the
girls entered, and the beaming owner, Mr. Gushweller, came forward
rubbing his hands and remarking how glad he was to see them.
Arden looked expertly at the oranges, critically “weighing” them in her
hand. How should they ask about Dimitri without exciting Mr. Gushweller’s
curiosity?
But Sim saved the day. “Say, Mr. Gushweller,” she said brightly, “what
kind of meat is good for a dog—that Russian wolfhound, you know? The one
that artist owns? He asked if we’d pick up something for her.”
“Wall, he gen’ally gits these.” Gushweller indicated a prepared dog food
in cans. “I thought it was about time he got a new supply. He ain’t
bought none for a couple weeks now.”
“I’ll take three cans,” Sim replied automatically, while one half of her
brain registered the disappointing fact that Dimitri hadn’t been in that
store either.
Loaded again with unwanted stuff, although Tania could use the dog food,
they were a serious threesome as they drove homeward in the early
evening. The storm continued violently to tear things up, and all were
thinking the same thing. Dimitri hadn’t been to town even to get food for
Tania. Where was he in this awful storm?