WE'RE OFF!
Nan could not help laughing at this speech of her chum's, and she turned
her chair about to face Bess. Nan did not like riding backward in a
train very much herself, but as Bess had declared she "simply couldn't
stand it," it was unselfish Nan, as usual, who did the unpleasant thing.
But, the chair turned, as she sank down into its luxurious depth she
looked across gravely at her friend.
"I don't see why you say that Linda did that awful thing up at school,"
she said. "We haven't the slightest proof in the world that she was the
guilty one. That handkerchief you found didn't really prove anything."
Bess sniffed as she reached over to open her bag and get out from among
its heterogeneous contents a box of sweets she had thoughtfully
remembered to slip in before she started.
"Of course we don't know that she did it," she said, opening the box and
offering it to Nan. "But you know very well there isn't another girl in
the school who is mean enough to think of such a thing."
"Y-yes," answered Nan doubtfully, as she pushed the candy over toward
its owner. "But on the other hand, I never thought Linda had nerve
enough to do anything like that. Why, she might have been dreadfully
hurt herself!"
"Of course she didn't know that she was in danger," retorted Bess, with
a scornful little toss of her head. "She didn't have brains enough."
"Just the same," said Nan decidedly, "I don't think we ought to accuse
her until we have something definite to go on."
"Isn't that just like Nan Sherwood!" cried Bess, regarding her chum with
a mixture of fondness and irritation. "Always making excuses for
everybody! I suppose if we had caught Linda in the act, you would still
say it must have been somebody else."
"Hardly as bad as that," said Nan, with a little laugh, adding, while a
cloud passed over her face: "Goodness knows I have more reason than any
of the rest of the girls for disliking Linda. She never accused any one
but me of stealing. I only hope," she added, "that we don't meet her
somewhere on this trip."
"Goodness gracious, Nan!" cried Bess, fairly jumping from her seat in
surprise, "you don't expect to meet her, do you?"
"If I did," said Nan ruefully, "I would get right off this train and go
back to Tillbury, much as I have counted on this trip. No, honey," she
added, laughing at her own extravagance, "there's no need of your
getting excited, for I have no idea that we shall meet Linda at Palm
Beach. Only she has the most disconcerting way of popping up in places
where you least expect her."
"Well, all I have to say," returned Bess, biting fiercely into a fresh
chocolate and wishing it were Linda instead, "is that I wish you
wouldn't put such uncomfortable ideas into my head. Here I was just
about forgetting Linda, and you have to lug her into the limelight
again."
Nan laughed merrily and helped herself to another of Bess's chocolates
without even so much as a "by your leave."
"Cheer up," she said, with a chuckle, "I've done all the 'lugging' I'm
going to for a little while. And in the meantime," she added, her voice
thrilling with anticipation, "let's think of something really
pleasant--Palm Beach, for instance."
"Now you are talking!" cried Bess approvingly. "I have to pinch myself
about every five minutes to realize that I'm really going there. I
wonder if it is really as gay as people say it is. That's where all the
actresses go, you know. And millionaires and authors----"
"And bald-headed business men and fussy, over-dressed women," added Nan
demurely, her eyes twinkling at the look of horror that Bess turned upon
her.
"Nan, how can you?" Bess burst out, as Nan had fully expected her to do.
"Bald-headed men, indeed! Do you suppose I have come all this way just
to see a lot of old bald-headed men?"
"You haven't come yet," Nan reminded her, her eyes sparkling. "I didn't
say _all_ the men were bald-headed," she added, in an attempt to soothe
her outraged companion. "But dad says most of them are--especially the
millionaires."
"Oh, how--how--dreadful!" stuttered Bess. "Why, all the millionaires I
ever saw had beautiful, leonine heads with shaggy manes of thick white
hair and strong, clearly cut chins----"
"That's in the movies," Nan interrupted with a chuckle. "Papa Sherwood
says that if all the men had hair like the movie heroes they would have
to spend all their energy growing it and wouldn't have time to attend to
their brains. And then where would their millions be?"
"Well," said Bess, unable to find an answer to this queer question, yet
still indignant, nevertheless, "you needn't go to work to spoil all my
illusions. I don't believe you have a speck of romance anywhere about
you, Nan Sherwood."
"Maybe I haven't," Nan admitted cheerfully, without looking the
slightest bit worried about it. "But I expect to have lots of fun, just
the same. Oh, Bess, look out!"
Bess, who had stood up to pull down the shade, jumped and looked about
at Nan wildly.
"What's the matter?" she gasped. "Train on fire?"
"No. But you almost sat on a chocolate," said Nan calmly, as she removed
the large and luscious sweet from Bess's seat. Bess stared at her
reproachfully and sank back into the chair.
"You might just as well kill me as scare me to death," she said
reproachfully.
For a while after that the happy girls forgot to talk and sat staring
contentedly out at the flying landscape while the train pounded on
heavily over the rails, singing its everlasting "catch 'em up, catch 'em
up, catch 'em up."
Then suddenly Bess spoke, taking up the conversation where they had left
it.
"If all we are going to find at Palm Beach is bald men and fussy women,"
she said, "I must say I don't see how we are going to have much fun."
"Oh, don't be such a silly," laughed Nan. "Of course we are going to
find something else. There's the ocean and the palm trees. They say the
scenery is perfectly gorgeous and the two big hotels wonderful, and
there'll be the crowds and crowds of people. And then we shall meet
Grace and Walter----"
"And Walter," repeated Bess teasingly, then laughed at the other girl's
quick blush.
"Now I know you are silly," said Nan crossly. "You know you are glad
Walter is going to be there."
"Of course I am," admitted Bess with suspicious promptness. "Walter is
jolly good fun, especially when he has his _Bargain Rush_ with him. But
lately the rest of us girls--even Grace--have to hang on to his
coat-tails to keep him from going off alone with you. He doesn't seem to
know there's any one else around. Oh, you don't need to look so
surprised, Miss Innocence," she added, as Nan regarded her with
wide-open eyes. "You know it just as well as the rest of us."
"Oh--oh--I never heard of such a thing!" cried Nan, and her amazement
was unfeigned. "I think you are perfectly horrid. Why, Walter has always
been lovely to all of us. And as to his going off with me alone--why,
that's nonsense, and you know it, Bess Harley!" Nan's amazement was
rapidly giving way to indignation. "Walter has never gone off anywhere
alone with me, never!"
"I know he hasn't," admitted Bess, with a chuckle. "And for a very good
reason. We wouldn't let him."
Nan stared for a minute. Then something surprisingly like tears filled
her eyes and she turned quickly to the window.
"I don't think you are nice," she said in a low voice. "If Walter has
been any nicer to me than he has to any one else, I surely haven't
noticed it. And now you've gone and spoiled everything. I won't want to
go anywhere with him now just because I will be afraid you girls are
saying silly things. And Walter's such awfully good fun!" The last was
very much in the nature of a wail, and Bess's heart, which was never
very hard at any time, softened and she slipped over to Nan's chair and
put an arm about her chum.
"Move over," she commanded. "It's lucky neither of us is very fat or we
couldn't both sit in one chair. That's right," as Nan obediently "moved
over" but still kept her face to the window. "Now say you forgive me for
being such an old bear. After all, honey," and she patted Nan's shoulder
soothingly, "I suppose it isn't your fault if Walter likes you best."
Nan's shoulder moved impatiently.
"But he doesn't," she insisted, staring out of the window. "It isn't
so."
"All right," agreed Bess soothingly. But it was lucky Nan could not see
the twinkle in her eye. "Have it your own way, Nan. Only stop turning
your back to me. It isn't polite. And, oh!" she added, with a little
sigh, "I'm hungry."
At this sudden and very unromantic change in the subject Nan laughed.
And as laughter and ill-temper never go hand in hand, it was not long
before Nan had forgotten all about Walter--almost.
She produced the lunch box, and for once Bess was too ravenously hungry
to protest at the "commonness" of it, and they set to at its delicious
contents with a will.
It was eight o'clock when they went into the sleeping car, as they had
been unable to secure a berth in Tillbury, and had had to telegraph
ahead to have one reserved on a coach which was attached to the train
further along the line.
"This is more like it," said Nan, as they entered the sleeping car.
"I'll be glad enough to go to bed just as soon as we can see no more of
the scenery we are passing."
"Who is to take the upper berth, you or I?" demanded her companion.
"Maybe we had better toss up for it," said Nan.
Just then the girls observed a lady on the opposite side of the aisle
telling the colored porter not to fix the upper berth at all, that she
and her daughter would both sleep below.
"Let's do that," suggested Nan.
"By all means," answered Bess; and so it was settled.
"Lots o' folks don't use dat dar upper berth," explained the porter as
he fixed the lower bed only. "They leaves it up and dat gives 'em so
much more room to stand up an' dress an' undress."
"It will just suit us," declared Bess.
Soon the berth was ready and a little later the girls retired.
Being together they had thought to have a good "talk-fest," as Bess
called it. But alas! both were so tired out that they fell asleep almost
before they knew it. And neither woke up until morning, when they were
rolling into New York City.
"Gracious; time to get up!" and Nan lost no time in dressing and Bess
followed her example.
The first part of their momentous journey had come to an end.