OFF THE SCENT.
The Admiral and the Lieutenant met face to face in the Army and Navy
Club at Washington, and each looked as if he were a rogue about to
tumble into the clutches of the law. After a moment of mute inquiry of
each other's faces the Admiral asked:
"Jermyn, how on earth did you reach here? I thought I left you at Fort
Monroe?"
"And I," said Jermyn, "supposed I had left you at Old Point, when I
suddenly ran up here on a matter of personal business."
"Ah! Trying to be transferred to some other branch of the service,
where there's more chance of promotion? Well, I can't blame you. In
time of peace a man must wait a long while for his just deserts, and in
time of war he may be killed before they can reach him. 'Tis a queer
world."
"It certainly is, or some things in it are very queer."
"Excuse a plain question, please. That letter upon which you and I
sketched a day or two ago at the club--was it----"
"Bless my soul, Jermyn, is that letter on your mind too? My dear
boy, my sole purpose in hurrying off to Washington last night was
to recover that letter. I can't imagine where it is unless our
enterprising friend Blogsham took it with him."
"You knew its contents?"
"Yes--unfortunately for my peace of mind since I was asked to read it.
But you----"
"I," said Jermyn, "glanced at it, supposing it to be memoranda about
the property you were discussing; I had no idea that it could be a
private letter. You will understand why I would like to know something
further about it, principally to save one woman, possibly two women,
from great mortification should the letter itself fall into the wrong
hands."
"Possibly two women?" repeated the Admiral. "Do you mean to say that
you don't know who the writer was?"
"I've not the slightest idea."
The Admiral knocked the ashes from his cigar, and took several puffs,
regarding Jermyn quizzically in the meantime, before he replied:
"Dear boy, you've a powerful friend at court, if your interests are
what they might be. The writer of the letter, who I assure you is not
a member of my own family, was writing to some one to whom she has
an entire right to open her mind freely. If that little scamp Trixy
hadn't--"
"Aha! Mrs. Highwood was the writer, eh?"
Jermyn seemed greatly relieved by his discovery, but the Admiral said
indignantly:
"Jermyn, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for entrapping an old
friend in that way--you really ought. Beside, you ought to be
grateful that so good a woman is taking so great interest in you.
As to the lady whom she named, any man alive ought to be glad of an
opportunity to make love to her, and marry her, but if you don't think
so----"
"I fully agree with you, Admiral, but if the lady herself chances to
hear of it--if our mining acquaintance chances to be one of the fellows
who sees a joke in everything, and doesn't care to whom he tells it,
and if he has the letter, and shows it to mutual acquaintances--well,
you know how a story gains by being passed from man to man."
"Quite true, quite true," assented the Admiral with a groan. "We must
look the fellow up, and at once. Bless me! To think that all this
trouble came about through a child asking me to finish a letter to her
father. If I could lay my hands upon that youngster at this moment
I'd--I'd----"
"You'd probably romp with her as pleasantly as if nothing had occurred."
"Yes, probably."
Trixy would have been glad of some one to romp with at that moment,
for she was very unhappy. Her mother seemed utterly wretched; at other
times when Trif was troubled in mind, Trixy had been quick to note it
and to be very affectionate, and had been so successful as to be called
her mamma's greatest comfort. Fenie, too, was miserable, for Trif
had told her what was in the missing letter, and Fenie was sure that
if the letter itself fell into improper hands, and Kate should hear
about it, and learn who was the writer, there would be another danger
of coolness between the two families, for Kate was too proud to endure
any interference with her own affairs. Fenie had her own reasons for
objecting to any such trouble, for she was very happy with Harry; there
had been no talk of love, but none was necessary. Young people have
ways of understanding each other quite independently of words; do not
even deaf mutes fall in love?
Now, however, even Fenie's pleasant chats with Harry might have to be
suspended, for Trif was in such abject fear and mortification that
she would scarcely leave her room, and Fenie did not like to appear
entirely unattended and unwatched by her sister. No one would talk if
she were seen with Kate and Harry together, but Fenie herself, like
Trif, had imagined all sorts of possible and impossible ways by which
that dreadful letter, or some garbled report of it, might reach Kate.
So, the sisters sat in their room, and feared, and felt like a
couple of criminals to whom the worst might happen. They exchanged
forebodings, all of which were overheard by Trixy, who received a
reproachful look with each, and did quite a lot of silent weeping on
her own account, and neither her mother nor her aunt dried her eyes
with kisses, as they usually did at home after she had done something
wrong, and repented.
But the kind power that looks after children and fools came finally to
Trixy's relief, for Trif suddenly said:
"Surely the mail is distributed by this time, and I can have at least
the consolation of a letter from dear Phil. Trixy, go down to the
office and ask for letters for our room."
Trixy flew away like a bird from an opened cage, and no sooner did she
reach the lower floor than she dashed through one of the exits to the
beach. How delicious the sunlight was, after part of a morning in a
half-darkened room!--the child felt as if she were bathing in it. And
the beach, too, with its long edging of smooth, hard sand,--she must
have just one run on it, from pier to pier, and back again.
It was a merry run, but it put her out of breath, so she threw herself
down upon the sand to rest for a moment, and the warm-hearted sand
welcomed her so pleasantly that she waited a moment longer, and then
another, and soon she began to doze, for contemplation of other
people's troubles had wearied her early in the day.
Suddenly she was roused by the touch of a parasol-tip. Looking up, she
saw Kate Trewman, who said:
"Trixy, is your family ill, or merely sleepy? They usually are down
early to breakfast."
"Oh, they're bothered. My what a fuss! Say, you won't get angry at 'em,
will you?"
"Not I! Why should I? I shall be very sorry, though, if they remain in
their rooms all morning, for I miss them greatly. I don't find any of
my acquaintances this morning."
"Don't you? Well, I know where one of 'em is. He's gone to Washin'ton,
Lieutenant Jermyn has."
Kate said nothing in reply, but Trixy exclaimed, "Goodness gracious!
How bad you do feel about it! So do I. But he's comin' back--comin'
to-morrow, 'cause he said he'd be gone only a couple of days. Oh, how
quick you do get glad again!"
Kate abruptly turned her face aside, hid it in her parasol, and thanked
herself that she had no little sister or niece, to be always observing
her--and so exasperatingly correctly, too! At that moment her brother
joined her, and asked Trixy if she would give his card, on which he
had pencilled a line or two, to her Aunt Fee. This reminded Trixy that
she had been sent for the mail, so she danced off in the direction
of the office, while Harry and Kate walked to and fro, and talked of
everything but what was uppermost in their minds.
Trixy found additional causes of detention. The mail was late, and a
throng of people were at the desk awaiting the distribution, so Trixy
went to the front door to look at the flowers which colored people
brought every morning to sell to the guests. Then she strolled toward
the fort, to look at an old colored beggar, whose raggedness was so
picturesque that it fascinated her. As she stood staring at him, a
servant from the fort accosted her with,
"Little girl, you know Adm'ral All'son, don't you?--the old gen'leman
that bosses all you young ones when you digs sand-wells?"
"Of course I do; he's one of my best friends."
"Well, I've got lots to do this mornin', an' I don't see how I'm goin'
to git through. Don't you want to give this letter to him for me?"
"Certainly."
"You won't forgit it, will you?"
"Oh, no; I'm not of the forgettin' kind." And Trixy took the letter,
forgetting for the moment that the Admiral had gone to Washington. Then
she hurried back to the hotel, got the mail, and went into her mother's
room, saying:
"Let me open the letters for you, won't you, like papa does?"
"Yes, but do it quickly," said Trif, first selecting one from her
husband, which she quickly read and re-read. Then she took the others,
after Trixy had cut the ends of the envelopes, and glanced over them,
commenting as she read:
"H'm--nothing unusual. Mrs. Poynce's cards, the Misses Brimling's tea,
on Thursday next--I shall be sorry to miss it; invitation to a spring
opening, and--oh!"
Trif fell back in her chair, as if in a faint. Fenie hurried to her,
exclaiming:
"Trif, dear! What is the matter? Speak to me, quick!"
"That letter! That awful letter that I began for Trixy! Here it is!"
"Dear me! Where could it have come from?"
"I can't imagine. Why--the envelope is addressed to Admiral Allison!
How could it have got among our letters?"
"Oh," said Trixy, as excited as anyone, "a man gave me the letter, a
few minutes ago, to give to the Admiral, and I forgot all about it,
and I've gone and cut the end of it, with the others!"
"But who can it have come from?" persisted Trif, looking into the
envelope. "There is nothing else with it, and some one had drawn
pictures on blank parts of the sheets."
"He must have lent it to someone, who is returning it to him,"
suggested Fenie.
"I've always supposed naval officers the soul of honor?" sighed Trif.
"Won't you give me the drawing on the back of it for my scrap-book,
mamma?" asked Trixy. No objection being made, Trixy tore the Admiral's
sketch of the gold placer and vicinity from the sheet, and pasted it
into a fearfully and wonderfully made book of pictures, which she had
brought from home. She looked at Jermyn's sketch a moment, thought
it very like the other, and cast it aside. Her mother picked it up,
read the page which she had written, and then she and Fenie devised
wildly improbable theories of the history of the letter. The conclusion
finally reached, greatly though they regretted it, was that the
letter had been lent by the Admiral to someone in the fort, with the
impression that there was some fun in it. If army and navy officers saw
jokes in such things, of course Jermyn would soon hear of the letter
itself, to his great discomfort; for the sisters agreed that he was
too much of a gentleman to laugh over such a matter. Suddenly Fenie
exclaimed:
"There's something more dreadful still. You'll have to return the
letter to the Admiral."
"Never," Trif replied. "I shall mail it to Phil this very afternoon."
Suiting the action to the word she enclosed it in an envelope,
addressed it, and affixed a stamp to it.
"But," remonstrated Fenie, "when the Admiral returns he will want to
know where the letter is, and he will speak to the man to whom he lent
it, and the man will say that he sent it back, and the servant will be
questioned and say he gave it to Trixy, and then--"
"Probably the messenger doesn't know Trixy by sight or name," said Trif.
"Oh, he knows me well enough," said Trixy. "He's servant to somebody
in the fort, and the somebody's little girls play with me on the beach
sometimes, and he comes for 'em at dinnertime and lunch time."
"I see nothing to be done, then," said Trif, "but for me to return to
New York at once. We certainly owe neither courtesy nor explanation to
the Admiral, whom we won't have the embarrassment of meeting if we are
not here. Why, Fenie, you're crying. What is the matter, dear?"
"I should think you might know, without asking," sobbed the girl, "you,
who have been in love, and----"
"You poor, dear child. Your sister is a thoughtless, heartless brute.
Still, the Trewmans themselves will not remain here long; Kate said
they had dropped over here only for a day or two, to see what the
place----"
"Oh, that reminds me," said Trixy. "Harry gave me a card for Aunt Fee a
few minutes ago. Here it is."
Fenie read the message on the card, and looked pleased, although she
said:
"Oh, Harry thinks they too will have to go to New York, this very
evening. He--that is, Kate, is waiting for me down stairs. You won't
mind my joining her, will you? She does so dislike to be kept waiting."