THREE QUESTIONS
"He's coming round all right." It was the house doctor of the hotel who
spoke. Lucile was still bending over Patrick O'Hara. "He's regaining
consciousness. It's only a scalp wound. A narrow squeak. An inch to the
right, and it would have got him. He'd better go to the hospital for a
little extra petting and patching, but he's in no danger--not the least.
And as for your friend Laurie--he's got a bump on his head that'll do to
hang his hat on for a day or two. But outside of perhaps a bit of a
headache, he's O. K. Your friends are riding under a lucky star, I'd
say."
"A lucky star," thought Lucile. Again she was free. Had the Lady of the
Spirit of Christmas vanished? No. For once fortune was with her. As if
fascinated by the scene, the lady still stood there, looking down at
Patrick O'Hara.
Twenty seconds later this lady felt a tug at her arm as a girl in a low
but excited whisper said: "You are the Spirit of Christmas."
"What?" the lady stared at her for a second, then a smile lighted her
face. "Oh yes, why to be sure! So I am. In the excitement of the moment I
had quite forgotten. Surely I am. So it is you who win? I am glad, so
very, very glad! I do believe you recognized me five minutes ago, and
that you've been working over that brave young policeman ever since, when
I might easily have slipped away. What wonderful unselfishness! Here is
the gold!"
Lucile felt a hard lump of something pressed into her hand and without
looking down knew that it was ten double eagles. A warm glow crept over
her.
"I did see you," she said, after murmuring her thanks, "but you see
Patrick O'Hara was wounded trying to rescue a friend of mine. So how
could I desert him for gold?"
"Yes, yes, how could you? Who was your friend?"
"Cordie."
"Oh! Cordie? Was she in danger?" the lady exclaimed excitedly. "Where is
she? I must go to her at once!"
"Here! Here I am, Auntie!" cried an excited and tremulous young voice.
The next moment little Cordie was enfolded in the arms of the Mystery
Lady, Spirit of Christmas. And this lady was also Miss Diurno, the great
virtuoso, and Cordie had called her Auntie!
* * * * * * * *
At exactly a half hour before midnight on this most exciting Christmas
Eve, four people sat at a round table in the Butler House. There was a
distinguished looking lady, a young man with a bump on his head that made
his hair stand up in a circle, a young lady of college age, and a girl in
her teens. They were the Mystery Lady, Laurie Seymour, Lucile and Cordie.
Ice cream and cakes had been served; coffee was on the way. Laurie had
finished explaining to Miss Diurno the ancient custom of some long
forgotten land, that of answering, truthfully, three questions round.
"But Laurie, old dear," she protested, "why should I ask three questions
of you? I already know far too much about you for my own good peace of
mind; and as for Cordie, I fancy I know more about her than she knows
about herself. I move we amend the custom a little. How would it do to
allow our friend Lucile to ask all the questions--three around for each
of us?"
"Oh! That would be darling!" exclaimed Lucile, fairly leaping from her
chair. "You are all so very, very mysterious. There are so many, many
things I'd like to know."
"Agreed!" exclaimed Laurie.
"I don't mind," smiled Cordie.
"Good. That's settled," said Miss Diurno, whose very greatness as a
musician so affected Lucile that she found it very difficult to be her
usual frank and friendly self. "Miss Lucile, you may have ten minutes for
thinking up questions. Then, over our coffee, we will answer them. But
remember, only three questions, three around."
"Only three," Lucile whispered to herself. "And there is so much I want
to know! So much I just _must_ know!"
As she sat there, with her head all in a whirl, trying in vain to form
the questions she wished to ask, one conviction was borne in upon her.
She had been the center of a plot, a very friendly plot, she was sure of
that, and one that had been entered into the truest of Christmas spirit.
Cordie had known Miss Diurno all the time, in fact had only a short time
ago called her Auntie. Miss Diurno had called Laurie by a familiar
name--she had said "Old dear." She must have known him a long time. Then
surely, to be a friend to such an one, he must be something rather great
himself. And Cordie? She could scarcely be the simple little country girl
she had thought her. Lucile's mind was in such a daze that when the great
pianist tapped her wrist watch and said: "Time's up. Who's the first?"
she had not formed one question.
"Age before beauty," laughed Cordie.
"Well, that's me?" smiled Miss Diurno. "I am ready to be questioned."
"Why--er--" stammered Lucile. "Why did you, who are such a very great
musician, undertake the humble task of assisting in a newspaper stunt?"
"Dear little girl," said Miss Diurno, a very mellow note of kindness
creeping into her voice, "there are no great people in the world, and
there are no truly humble tasks. All people who are truly great are also
very humble. Tasks called humble by men may be truly great.
"But you have asked me a question. The reason I accepted that newspaper
task was this: Marie Caruthers, my very best school chum and lifetime
friend, went in for newspaper work. She was to have done the stunt, but
just when the time came she was taken to the hospital. So I volunteered
to take her place. And it was fun, heaps of it! Just imagine having the
whole city looking for you and yet to be walking in and out among the
people every day and not a single one of them recognizing you at all.
"But there were times enough when I got into plenty of trouble. That
night in the department store was a scream!"
"Not so much of a scream for me," grumbled Laurie. "I gave you my
pass-out. Then after knocking nearly all the skin off my hand going down
the bundle chute, I had to sleep in the basement, with corrugated paper
for mattress and covers."
"Poor old Laurie!" smiled Miss Diurno. "But you deserved all you got.
Think of the role you have been playing! Think! Just think!" laughed the
pianist.
"You see," she said, turning to Lucile to explain her presence in the
store that night, "I had promised to be in the store six hours that day.
Then I allowed myself to become absorbed in some new music, and the first
thing I knew it was getting late in the afternoon and my six hours not
yet begun. Of course there was nothing for it but to remain in the store
after closing hours. I hid in that long narrow place, wedged myself
between book shelves and stands, then stuck there until the clock struck
ten.
"I hadn't realized that it would be hard to get out. When I did think of
it I was terror-stricken. To think of remaining in that great vault of a
store all night! Ugh! It gives me the shivers to think of it, even now. I
haven't the least notion what I would have done if I hadn't come upon
good old Laurie. He gave me his pass-out. You saw him do it. I knew this
at the time, and I think you were a great little sport not to raise a big
rumpus, especially after I took your coat."
"Why did you take my coat?" asked Lucile.
"I was afraid I couldn't get out in that fur cape. And besides, I wanted
just such a coat as yours for the next day's stunt. So I traded with you.
That was fair enough, wasn't it?"
"Traded? What do you mean?"
"Just what I said, just traded, and thanked you for the opportunity. And
now, my dear, that makes three questions."
"Three," Lucile cried excitedly. "Why no, I've only asked one."
"Leave it to the crowd," beamed the great little lady.
"Three! Three!" agreed Laurie and Cordie with one voice.
"Why--why then I shall be obliged to take up someone else."
"Heads I'm next, tails I'm not," said Laurie, tossing a coin in air.
"Heads! I'm it. Do your worst."
"Who is Jefrey Farnsworth?" Lucile asked.
"See!" exclaimed Laurie. "See what I get into right away! Well, since it
is Christmas Eve, I dare not tell a lie. I am forced to inform you that
the only gentleman at this table was given that name at his birth."
"You--you are Jefrey Farnsworth?"
"Quite right."
"Be careful," warned Cordie, "You've used up two questions already."
Lucile was silent for a moment, then with a smile she said:
"Why did you take an assumed name, and who was Sam, and did he have
anything to do with your selling books, and why were you afraid of him?"
"That business of hanging your question on a string is great stuff,"
laughed Laurie. "I recommend that you try it out on Cordie."
Then in a more sober tone, he said:
"You see it was this way: My publishers saw that my book was going to go
across rather big and, since I was to benefit financially in its success,
they thought it would be nice for me to have a part in making it a still
greater--um--um, triumph. So they cooked up that idea about my speaking
to ladies' clubs. I knew I couldn't do it, but I knew also that Sam would
make me do it if I stuck around. Everyone does what Sam wants them to do;
that is, they do if they stay where he is.
"So I said to myself, 'If I must help sell my books, I'll do it in a
straightforward way right over the counter. I'll get a job.' I did. And
just so Sam couldn't find me and drag me away, I came to this city and
took an assumed name.
"Sam's a sort of salesman for my publishers; that is, he sells books when
he isn't promoting authors. When I saw him in the store that time I just
naturally had to disappear.
"I think, though," he added, "that even Sam is satisfied. We sold two
thousand copies of 'Blue Flames,' you and Donnie and Rennie and all the
rest.
"As for my knowing the lady of the hour," he smiled, touching the arm of
Miss Diurno, "I've known her for some time. And on some future lovely day
in June, when my income has come to be half as much as hers, we're going
to move into a certain lovely little vine covered cottage I know about
and set up a nest all for ourselves."
"Good!" exclaimed Lucile. "Can't I come to see you?"
"My dear," said the great musician, "you may come and live with us, both
you and Cordie, live with us forever."
"Cordie, your turn to be questioned," said Laurie.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cordie, throwing her arms about Lucile and hiding her
face in the folds of her dress. "I don't want you to ask me questions. I
don't! I don't! I just want to confess how mean I have been and what an
unkind trick I have played on you."
"Why Cordie!" Lucile consoled her. "You've not been mean to me at all.
You--you've been the dearest kind of a little pal!"
"Oh, yes I have! I let you think I was a poor little girl from the
country, when I wasn't at all. I allowed you to spend money on me and pay
all the room rent when I just knew you thought you were going to have to
live on milk toast all next term of school. And I never even offered to
do my share at all.
"But if you only knew," she raced on, "how good it seemed to have one
friend who wasn't one bit selfish, who didn't want a lot of things for
herself and who was willing to do things for other people when she really
needed just plain ordinary things for herself. If you only knew! If you
only did!" Cordie's voice rose shrill and high. She seemed about to burst
into tears.
"There, there, dear little pal!" whispered Lucile. "I think I understand.
But tell me, why did you take a job as wrapper when you really wasn't
poor and didn't need the money?"
"Money!" laughed Cordie, now quite herself again. "I've never had to ask
for any in my whole life! My father owns a third of that big store we
worked in, and a lot besides."
"But Dick?" said Lucile.
"I rode Dick on my father's estate. It nearly broke my heart when they
sold him. My father gave up his stables."
"But you haven't told me why you wanted to work in the store."
"Well, you see that day, the first day you ever saw me, just for fun I
had dressed up in plain old fashioned clothes and had gone downtown for a
lark. Then I did that foolish fainting stunt. I really, truly fainted.
And that man, that hawk-eyed man--" she shuddered, "must have recognized
me. He must have known he could get a lot of money from father if only he
could carry me away. Anyway he tried it and you--saved me!" She paused to
give Lucile another hug.
"You are coming to my house for Christmas dinner, and I've kept track of
everything in a little book and I'm going to pay you every cent, truly I
am, and we'll have the best time.
"But I was going to tell you," she paused in her mad ramble, "I was----"
"Listen!" Miss Diurno held up a hand for silence, "Cordie, someone is
paging your name. Here! Over here!" she called to the bell boy.
"Telephone," said the boy.
The three sat in silence until Cordie returned.
"What do you think!" she exclaimed as she came bounding toward them. "It
was James, my friend the bundle carrier at the phone. They've worked
fast. They raided the room of--of the hawk-eyed man and they found James'
silver fox skins. And Auntie, I'm going to have father buy them as a
present for you. Won't that be g-grand!"
"I should think it might," smiled her aunt, giving her arm an
affectionate squeeze. "But, my dear, you hadn't finished telling Lucile."
"Oh! That's a short story now. When I saw how good and kind you were,"
Cordie said, turning to Lucile, "when I saw the work there was to do and
everything, I was fascinated. I just wanted to play I was just what you
thought me to be. So I called up my father and made him let me do it.
That was all there was to it.
"But Auntie!" she exclaimed, turning to Miss Diurno. "Why did you steal
my badge of serfdom?"
"Your what?"
"My badge of serfdom, the iron ring. In olden days serfs wore iron
collars; now it's an iron ring."
"Oh, your iron ring!" laughed her aunt. "I needed it for my stunt. But
here it is; you may have it and welcome, diamond and all."
"I shall keep you ever and always," murmured the girl, pressing the ring
to her lips. "I shall cherish you in memory of a grand and glorious
adventure."
"Of course you understood," said Miss Diurno, turning to Lucile, "that
you are to keep the fur lined cape."
"No, I----"
"Oh yes, you must! It was the one extravagance that I made the paper pay
for. I traded with you, and have lost yours, so there is really no other
way out. Besides," her voice softened, "I want you to accept it as a gift
from me, a little token of appreciation for your many kindnesses to my
little niece."
Lucile's head was in a whirl. She found herself unable to think clearly
of all her good fortune. A great musician, an author, and a very rich
girl for her friends; a magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox skin,
and two hundred dollars in gold! Merry Christmas! What a Christmas it
would be indeed!
"Listen," whispered Miss Diurno. From some distant room there came the
slow, sweet chimes of a clock.
"Striking midnight," she whispered. Then from far and near there came the
clanging of church bells.
"Christmas morning!" exclaimed Miss Diurno, springing to her feet.
"Merry, Merry Christmas to all!"
"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" they chorused in return.