THE FORD TO THE RESCUE
Ever since his return from Princeton in June, Harold Mason had spent
part of each day with his fair neighbor, Ruth Henry. More or less of
a stranger in town, and having been away at college for four months,
he had not formed any deep friendships with the young men of his own
age. It was true that Jack Wilkinson had been fairly chummy with him,
including him often among his crowd, in which Harold had always had
a good time; but he had singled out no individual for his especial
friend. Perhaps Ruth Henry was largely the cause of this.
For the young people had spent as much time together as Mrs. Henry
would permit, and as Ruth would spare away from Jack Wilkinson, with
whom the old boy and girl friendship still persisted, in spite of the
many disturbances between the former and Jack’s sister, Marjorie.
Ruth and Harold had played tennis together almost every day, had
sometimes gone for walks, and had taken a “spin” almost every evening
after supper. The boy was deeply infatuated with his spirited young
companion; now that she was away, he missed her most frightfully. He
sometimes thought of looking for a summer job, but the hope that Ruth
might telegraph to summon him to her aid prevented him. He wanted to
be free to go the instant he received word. It was his dream day and
night that she would want him, that he would be able to carry out
the plan they had secretly plotted and that Ruth would win the meet
at Silvertown. Perhaps she would be so overjoyed with his cleverness
that she would obtain permission to invite him to Silvertown over the
week end! He would take his Ford Sedan, and it would be the only car
among the crowd; he would be the most popular of young men, and Ruth,
seeing how the others admired him, would be proud to claim him as her
particular friend!
It was, therefore, with a thrill of joy that he received the telegram
and opened it to read the brief message. His eyes lit up instantly;
then, glancing at his father who was awaiting the news, he stuffed the
yellow paper into his pocket.
“A peach of an invitation from Miles Carter!” he exclaimed. “A stag
house-party! By Jupiter, I’m glad I’m not working--and have to miss it!”
The explanation was, of course, made up on the spot; even the name
was fictitious. Harold had just finished reading a book with such a
character, and it was the first name that popped into his head.
“When does it begin?” asked Mrs. Mason, who had just entered the room
in time to hear the story.
“Tomorrow, in time for dinner; Miles said last May that this might come
off, if he could get a certain bungalow. But he said he wouldn’t know
ahead of time, so he’d have to wire.”
The boy smiled in satisfaction at his ingenious explanation; it
certainly was not a bad extemporaneous one. He was trying to decide
where to locate the party, when the very question was put by his father.
“Where is it to be?”
“Atlantic City!” he replied without the slightest hesitation.
“Can I help you pack?” suggested his mother.
“No, thanks,” said Harold, hastily, rather alarmed at the idea. His
plan necessitated a complete disguise, and he had no desire for his
mother to catch a glimpse of it.
“Going in the car?” asked his father.
“Sure, Mike!”
Once in his room he bolted the door and unlocked a big wooden chest
which was beneath his bed. Then he drew out a bedraggled grey wig, with
a beard and mustache to match, a complete make-up outfit, a mussed
shirt and celluloid collar, a red necktie, a suit with baggy trousers,
and a pair of old man’s shoes.
“Pshaw, I forgot a hat!” he muttered. “Wouldn’t my spick and span
Panama look ridiculous with this rig!”
He sat down on the edge of the bed to think. At last he decided upon
his own grey felt, which he thought he could twist so out of shape as
to make it look appropriate.
Next he packed these things, and locking all his dress and sport
clothing in the wooden chest in the effort to deceive his mother into
thinking he had taken them, he began to count his money. Fortunately,
Harold Mason had his own bank account; for he could not guess just how
much money he might need, and it would have been embarrassing indeed to
have to ask his father for some, and have to make up other fictitious
explanations.
He made all his preparations, for he intended to start early Thursday
morning. And by six o’clock he was on his way, his disguise in the
suitcase in the back of the machine, and his copy of the map in his
pocket. The road was good, and he knew the country well; there was no
cause for delay. The distance covered by the canoes, slowly following
the winding course of the stream, was made with great rapidity in the
car. By noon he had reached the town from which Ruth had sent the
telegram.
Although Harold’s mother had packed him some sandwiches, the boy was
almost starved, and he made immediately for the only hotel in the
town--the little Green Tree Inn.
He had hardly entered the door, when a servant approached him.
“Mr. Harold Mason?” he inquired.
Harold stopped, amazed. How could anyone here know his name?
“Yes,” he replied.
“One of the young ladies left a letter here for you,” the boy said,
producing an envelope from his pocket.
While Harold ate his dinner he read Ruth’s letter, which went into the
minutest details. It was a friendly, intimate letter, telling just
where they expected to camp that night--which was in reality by the
old mill, just opposite to the farm where, according to old Michael’s
rumor, the weak-minded woman lived by herself.
After Harold had paid his bill, and sat smoking, he counted the money
in his pocket. Besides his bills and usual currency, he had been
careful to bring along two gold pieces, for he knew that gold, above
all other kinds of money, would prove attractive to ignorant people.
Consulting his map, and comparing it with the details in Ruth’s letter,
he saw he had only about seven miles to go. He was therefore in no
hurry; there would be no action until the following morning. Indeed, he
finally decided to spend the afternoon at Rikers and to get his supper
there, and not start for the farm house until after seven o’clock.
He would proceed leisurely until within five miles of the farm; then
stop, pull down the curtains of the car, put up his mirror, and don his
disguise. Then he would go on to the farm.
It was nearly nine o’clock when an old man, with shaggy grey hair
and beard, and a dingy suit covered by an old dust-coat, arrived at
the farm in his machine. He found the woman alone, just as Michael
had said, but she did not appear feeble-minded. Though ignorant and
uneducated, she seemed to possess all of her faculties. She was large
and stout, and looked quite capable of taking care of a small farm with
her own hands. And, as far as he could tell in the dark, the place
seemed well kept.
Harold got out of his machine slowly, as he thought a man of his years
should walk, and lifted his hat. The woman was seated on the porch,
rocking and resting.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he drawled, in a disguised voice, “but hev you
happened to see a bunch of gals about yere any place?”
The woman looked him all over before replying. Deciding that he was
evidently from the country--one of her own kind--she answered:
“Yes, sir; they’s a bunch of them acrost the stream yonder, campin’ out
in tents. They come before sundown this evenin’.”
“Sho! Hev any of them been over yere yet?”
“No. I ain’t seen them close.”
“Wal, listen,” said Harold, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Here’s a
piece o’ news! one o’ them gals has run away--from her pap! And he’s
a rich man, and has offered a good reward to them as ketches ’er. The
gal’s name is Margie Wilkison. If you and me could ketch ’er--see--” he
jingled his money in his pockets--“we’d go fifty-fifty! Huh?”
The woman regarded him for a moment distrustfully. “I don’t know about
that,” she said doubtfully. “How can I believe you?”
Harold took a five dollar gold piece out of his pocket, and held it
alluringly close to her, so that she might see it in spite of the
darkness.
“This is yours--and more later,” he said, “if you promise to help me
all you can. I don’t mean to harm the gal in any way; I jest want ’a
keep ’er a prisoner yere till we get word to her pap. Then--maybe--five
hundred a piece fer you and me!”
The woman could not resist such a tempting offer; her eyes sparkled in
the darkness, and she seized the gold piece with greedy hands.
“Sure you ain’t doin’ no kind o’ kidnappin’?” she asked sharply.
“I give you my word of it!” he replied solemnly. “But remember,
whatever I say, you must pertend to her is true. For instance--you and
me pertend to be married. You treat me like your old man! And can I
sleep in the loft of your barn?”
“I reckon!” answered the woman. “Want sumpthin’ to eat?”
“No, thanks; I had my supper.”
“How ’bout a nice ripe peach? My peaches is supposed to be the best in
this here township.”
“Don’t care if I do,” replied Harold, and he followed her into the
kitchen.
They sat for a while, talking, Harold leading his accomplice to tell
him about the farm and the surrounding country. After about half an
hour’s chat, they came back to the subject in question.
“And how do you expect to get the girl over here?” asked the woman. “Go
across and steal her?”
Harold laughed unguardedly, showing his regular, white teeth, which
would have been almost a miracle for one of his assumed age. However,
the oil lamp gave a dim light and the woman was unobserving; the
incident passed without any notice. But the boy realized that he must
take more precaution in the presence of the young people.
“I expect her to come over yere,” he explained, “probably for milk, or
butter, or something. And if she does, you invite her into the kitchen,
and I’ll bolt the doors. Get an upstairs room ready, and of course I’ll
continue to occupy the barn as long as the gals stay. There will be no
scandal, no danger; you can assure yourself o’ that. All I want is the
money. And remember--if we get it, it’s half yours!”
Not long afterwards, he pumped himself a bucket of water, put his car
into an unoccupied part of the barn, and crept up to his straw bed.
Though the floor was hard, Harold slept well; he was having a great
adventure; and best of all, he was going to make it possible for Ruth
to win her heart’s desire.