MR. GOUPIL CALLS
After practice that afternoon Laurie returned to the room to find Ned
engaged in sorting things out preparatory to packing up. When Laurie
entered, however, the other paused in his effort to stuff more rubbish
into an already overloaded waste-basket and announced in triumph, “We
had it right, partner!”
“Elk Thurston?”
“Elk and Jim Hallock. Elk’s just left here.”
“Left here? You mean he was in to see you?”
Ned nodded. “Yes. It was rather decent of him, I think. Take that
idiotic expression from your face and sit down. This is how Elk tells
it. He and Jim were looking out of their window that night and saw
the lights of Mr. Wells’s car on the other side of the hedge. One of
them said something about Mr. Wells always leaving his car around and
what a joke it would be if it wasn’t there when he came back for it.
Well, that idea sort of stuck, and after a while Elk suggested that
they sneak down and run the car off around the corner. Elk says that
Jim usually wouldn’t have gone in for anything like that on a bet, but
there’d been some tough exams that day, and Jim was sort of keyed up.
Anyhow, they sneaked down-stairs after a while and got out by one of
the windows in the recreation-room. They didn’t dare try the front way,
for Cornish had his study door open. They put the brakes off and tried
to push the car toward Washington Street, but it was heavy, and after
they’d got it a little ways they decided to start it and run it around
the corner. So they did, pretty sure that it was too far off for Mr.
Wells to hear. Elk took the wheel and they went to Washington Street.
Then, he says, the thing was working so pretty they thought they’d
go on further. When they got to where Washington joins Walnut it was
pretty dark, and he swung to the right too soon.
“That’s when they hit the hydrant. Of course, they were scared pink,
and Elk shut the motor off and they beat it as fast as they could. When
they got back here they found that some one had been prowling around
and had locked the window. Then they saw our windows open and decided
to climb up by the ivy. Elk says they hoped we’d be asleep. If we waked
up they meant to tell us and ask us to keep mum. Jim climbed up first
and made it all right, but Elk had hurt his wrist when the car struck
the hydrant, and he had a hard time of it. They didn’t either of them
know that Cornish had seen them. For that matter, he only saw one, I
guess, and that one was probably Elk, for he says it took him two or
three minutes to get to the window because his wrist hurt him so. Seems
that Jim left the hall door open after him, but the draft closed it,
and that’s what woke us up, I guess. Well, what Elk came for was to
say that neither of them knew they’d been seen and that they hadn’t
meant to throw suspicion on us. He says if they’d known that Cornish
was prowling around they wouldn’t have entered our window. He was very
particular about making that clear. Guess he thought you might think he
had done it on purpose to get even with you. And that’s that, old son.”
Laurie nodded thoughtfully. “Kind of too bad,” he mused. “I suppose
they didn’t intend anything but a sort of joke on Mr. Wells. Did he
tell you what they were going to get?”
“Get? Oh, they’re suspended, he says. He seemed to feel worse about
Jim than about himself. Do you know, old son, after all Elk isn’t such
a bad sort. At least, that’s the way it strikes me after hearing his
spiel. He says he’s not coming back next year. He’s going to tutor this
summer and try and make college in the fall.”
“Yeah,” said Laurie abstractedly. “Well, I’m sort of sorry for him. And
of course he didn’t mean to get us in wrong.” He lapsed into silence.
Then, abruptly, “Cas Bennett split his finger with a foul tip about
half an hour ago,” he announced.
“He did?” exclaimed Ned. “Gosh, that’s tough luck! Will it keep him out
of the game?”
“Yes,” replied Laurie.
“That _is_ tough! Say, what are you looking so queer about?”
“Just thinking,” answered Laurie. “You try it.”
“Huh?”
“Use the old bean, son. Cas has split his finger, Elk’s suspended――”
“Great jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Why, then, you――you――”
“Correct,” said Laurie. “I’ll have to catch to-morrow, and――and at the
present moment, Ned, I’m scared to death!”
* * * * *
That had been a day of events, and it was not yet over. Attic Society
was giving its usual end-of-the-term blow-out that evening, and
both Ned and Laurie were invited. The affair began at eight, and at
half-past seven they were in No. 16 putting the finishing touches to
their toilets. Although it was a stag-party it called for best clothes
and polished shoes and carefully brushed hair, and Laurie was trying
hard to subdue a rebellious lock on the crown of his head when there
came a knock on the door. Both boys shouted “Come in!” simultaneously.
Then the door was opened, revealing Mr. Cornish, the hall master, and a
stranger. The boys grabbed for their coats, Laurie dropping a military
brush to the floor with a disconcerting noise. Mr. Cornish ushered the
stranger in but himself came no further than the door-sill.
“Here is a gentleman to see you, Laurence,” said the instructor. “I was
quite certain you were in, and so I brought him up.”
Mr. Cornish smiled, nodded to the guest, who bowed impressively, and
departed, closing the door behind him.
“Very glad indeed――” began Laurie.
“Have a seat, won’t――” supplemented Ned.
“Thank you.” The stranger again bowed and seated himself, placing a
cane across his immaculately clad legs and balancing a somewhat square
derby hat perilously atop. “I begin by offering you my apologies for
this intrusion,” he continued.
“Not necessary,” mumbled Laurie, his gaze busy with the guest. The
latter appeared to be about fifty, was under rather than over average
height, and was very broad and thick and, like his derby, rather square
of contour. He even had a distinctly square face which began very high
up, because of the disappearance of what hair may have adorned the
front of his head at one time, and ended in an auxiliary chin. He wore
a very black mustache whose ends were waxed to sharp points. His eyes
were quite as black and almost as sharp as his mustache. He looked
foreign, and, indeed spoke with more than a trace of accent, but he was
evidently a gentleman, and he impressed the boys very favorably.
“With your permission,” he continued, “I will introduce myself.” He
regarded Laurie. “I have the honor of addressing Mr. Laurie Turner?”
Laurie nodded. The guest carefully secured hat and stick, arose, and
bowed deeply. “I,” he announced then, “am Mr. Goupil.”
For an instant silence ensued. Then, “Mister――I beg your pardon,” said
Laurie, “but did you say _Goupil_?”
“Goupil,” confirmed the gentleman, bowing again and smiling very nicely.
“You mean,” stammered Laurie, “_the_ Mr. Goupil? Of Sioux City? Miss
Comfort’s Mr. Goupil?”
“Surely.”
“Why――why, then,” exclaimed Laurie, “I’m mighty glad to meet you, sir.”
He stepped forward with outstretched hand, and Mr. Goupil enfolded it
in a far more capacious one. “And this is my brother Ned.” Mr. Goupil
then shook hands with the amazed Ned. After that they all sat down. Mr.
Goupil arranged stick and hat with precision, cleared his throat, and
began:
“My dear sister-in-law has told me of your most kind efforts in her
behalf, and I have presented myself to make explanation and to add my
expressions of gratitude.” Mr. Goupil spoke rather deliberately and
seemed to choose his words with care. “That your telegram received
no response is a matter of extreme regret. Yet, when I inform you
that it never reached me, you will, of a certainty, exonerate me from
discourtesy, Mr. Laurie.”
“Why, surely,” agreed Laurie eagerly. “We had already found out that
the telegram was delivered to the wrong person, sir.”
“Ah! Is it so? But doubtless!” Mr. Goupil paused and nodded
several times. “Allow me, please, the explanation of certain
ever-to-be-regretted circumstances. You must know, then, that after
the death of my excellent and never-to-be-forgotten wife I was plunged
in sorrow. You, sir, have never lost a beloved wife――but, no, no,
of a certainty you have not!” Mr. Goupil laughed at himself heartily
before he went on. “Very well. To pursue. In my sorrow I returned to
the country of my birth for a visit, to France, to Moissac, where live
many of my relations. But, sir, one does not elude Sorrow by crossing
the ocean! No, no, it is here!” Mr. Goupil struck himself twice on the
chest. “Soon I return, sir, yet in the brief period of my absence the
harm has been done!” He paused with dramatic effect.
“Indeed,” said Ned sympathetically, yet puzzled.
“Yes, sir, for although I am absent but five months, yet when I return
a so horrible deed has been perpetrated in my name.”
“Indeed.” It was Laurie’s turn this time. Mr. Goupil’s large countenance
depicted the utmost dejection, but only for a moment.
“In my absence,” he went on, brightening, “my lawyer, in whose hands
all my affairs of person were left, learned of the terms of the will of
my late wife’s mother. The will says that at the death of my late wife
the property in this so quaint town occupied by my dear sister-in-law
shall revert. Thereupon, stupid that he was, my lawyer proceeds to
write to my sister-in-law to that effect. The rest, sir, you know. Yet
this lamentable news reached me but three days ago! ‘What,’ asks this
lawyer, ‘will you do with this property in Orstead, New York?’
“‘What property do you speak of?’ I ask him. He tells me then. I am
overcome. I am frantic. ‘Imbecile!’ I shout. ‘What have you done?’ I
come at once by the fastest of trains. I am here!”
“That――that was very nice of you,” faltered Laurie, keeping his eyes
carefully away from Ned.
“Nice! But what else to be done? For nothing at all would I have had
it so happen, and so I hasten to make amends, to offer apologies to my
dear wife’s sister, to you, sir, to correct a so great mistake!”
“Certainly,” assented Laurie hurriedly. “Of course. But what I don’t
understand is why the letter that Miss Comfort wrote to you didn’t
reach you, sir.”
Mr. Goupil made a gesture of despair. “I will explain it also. My
dear sister-in-law made a mistake of the address. I saw the letter. It
was wrong. I――but wait!” Mr. Goupil drew forth a handsome card-case,
selected of the contents, and reached forward. Laurie took the card and
read:
Chicago Sioux City Des Moines
GOUPIL-MacHENRY COMPANY
Stocks Bonds Investments
514–520 Burlington Bldg., Sioux City, Ia.
Members of the
Chicago Stock Exchange
“You see?” pursued Mr. Goupil. “My dear sister-in-law made the mistake
regrettable. She addressed the letter to the ‘Goupil Machinery
Company.’ There is none.”
“I see,” said Laurie, enlightened, as he passed the engraved card to
Ned. “This MacHenry is your partner, sir?”
“Of a certainty. Adam MacHenry he is, a gentleman of Scottish birth,
but now, like me, William Goupil, a citizen of the United States, sir.”
“Oh! Well, but look here, Mr. Goupil. Miss Comfort must have had your
initials wrong, too, then, for――”
“Ah, another misfortune! Attend, please. My name is Alphonse Guillaume
Goupil. Yes. Very well. When I am in this country but a very short
time I find that Alphonse is the name of all waiters in all hotels
everywhere I go. I put aside Alphonse then. I am Guillaume Goupil. Then
I become prosperous. I enter into business. Many do not know how to
pronounce my first name, and that is not well. So I then spell it the
American way. To-day I am William Goupil, American citizen!”
“That explains why the telegram didn’t get to you,” said Laurie. “Well,
the whole thing’s been a sort of――of――”
“Sort of a comedy of errors,” suggested Ned.
Mr. Goupil seized on the phrase with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes, a
comedy of errors! You’ll say so! A comedy of errors of a certainty,
beyond a matter of a doubt! But now, at last, it is _finis_. All is
satisfactorily arranged. You shall hear. First, then, I offered my
dear sister-in-law a nice home in Sioux City, but no, she must stay
here where it has been her home and her people’s home for so long a
time. Also”――Mr. Goupil laughed enjoyably――“also, Mr. Laurie, she fears
the Indians! But at last it is arranged. In the fall she will return
to her house. By then it will be a place worthy of the sister of my
dear and greatly lamented wife. To-morrow I shall give orders, oh,
many orders! You shall see. It will be――” Mr. Goupil raised his eyes
ecstatically――“magnificent!”
“Well, that certainly is great,” said Laurie. “I can’t tell you how
pleased I――we both are, Mr. Goupil.”
Mr. Goupil bowed again, but without arising, and smiled his own
pleasure. “I shall ask you to believe, Mr. Laurie, that never did I
suspect that my dear sister-in-law was in any need of assistance. But
now I understand. It shall be arranged. From now on――” He waved a hand
grandly. Words would have said far less.
He arose. Laurie arose. Ned arose. Mr. Goupil bowed. Laurie and Ned
bowed.
“Once more, Mr. Laurie, I thank you for your kindness to my dear
sister-in-law. I thank also your so noble brother. I shall be in
Orstead for several days and it will give me great pleasure to see you
again. We shall meet, yes?”
“Of a certainty,” answered Laurie, with no thought of impertinence.
“To-morrow, perhaps, at Miss Comfort’s, sir. We are going there in the
morning to say good-by to her.”
“Excellent! Until the morning, then.” Mr. Goupil bowed. Laurie bowed.
Ned bowed. Mr. Goupil placed his derby in place, gave it an admonishing
tap, smiled pleasantly once more, and was gone.
Laurie closed the door after him and leaned weakly against it.
“If anything else happens to-night,” he sighed, “I’ll go batty!”