In Search of Veve
By the time Connie reached the bend, Veve and the car were out of
sight. For a minute she was so frightened she couldn’t think what to do.
Miss Gordon once had told the Brownies that whenever anything went
wrong, the important thing was to remain very calm.
Connie felt anything but calm now. She was so excited she trembled all
over. But she knew she had to think clearly or Veve might never be
saved.
“I’ll call the police,” she thought.
At the next to last Brownie meeting, Miss Gordon had shown the girls
how to dial police and fire department numbers in an emergency. Only
Connie had no nickel and the nearest telephone was at the drugstore a
block away.
Well, she had to do something quickly. Even if Veve were lucky enough
not to be thrown from her sled, the driver was almost certain to take
her far away without knowing it.
Dragging her sled, Connie ran all the way to the drugstore. The
druggist was there, waiting on a customer who wanted a box of cough
tablets.
“Please,” said Connie breathlessly, “will you lend me a nickel?”
The druggist looked so surprised she realized that the request must
seem an odd one. So she added quickly:
“Veve was carried away on her sled by an automobile! I must call the
police station.”
“The police station!” exclaimed the druggist.
He didn’t understand what Connie meant about Veve and the sled, but he
could see from her worried look that something was wrong.
He gave her a nickel and showed her where the telephone booth was
located.
“Can you dial the numbers yourself?” he asked.
Connie nodded. The telephone directory hung on a hook, and on the front
cover in large print were the instructions:
“In case of Emergency Dial Police--Adams 1234.” The number was an easy
one to remember.
A light flashed on as Connie stepped into the booth. She dropped the
nickel into the coin box and waited for the clear dial tone. When she
heard it, she carefully whirled the numbers.
Almost at once a gruff voice barked in her ear:
“Police station!”
Connie was a trifle nervous, for she never before had talked to anyone
at the police station. However, she forced herself to speak slowly and
relate exactly what had happened.
“Please come as fast as you can,” she urged. “Veve McGuire and I
were coasting at Kelly’s Hill. She hooked a ride with her sled on an
automobile--and was carried away.”
The police sergeant seemed to grasp the situation instantly. He barked:
“Did you get the car license number?”
“No-o,” Connie admitted, trying hard to remember. “The first two
letters were EB--the same as Edith Bailey’s initials. But I can’t
remember the numbers. It was a large gray sedan.”
“Going what direction?”
“West.” Of this Connie was certain. “It was headed up the hill and went
on toward the country.”
“Highway 20,” said the police sergeant, making notes on his pad. “The
girl’s name is Veve McGuire. Address?”
“2179 Kingston Drive.”
“Right-o. And your name?”
Connie gave that too and then asked the sergeant if he thought Veve
could be found. The officer promised to do his very best. He told her
the information would be broadcast over the police shortwave radio
system and picked up by all cruising police cars.
Connie hung up the telephone receiver and thanked the druggist for the
nickel.
“I’ll pay it back tomorrow,” she promised. “Brownie Scout’s honor.”
“Don’t give it another thought,” he replied. “I only hope you find your
little friend.”
Both he and the lady customer asked many questions about how Veve had
been carried away on the sled.
Connie answered them all as fast as she could and then hurried away
home to tell her mother and Mrs. McGuire what had occurred.
She was quite breathless by the time she burst into the kitchen where
her mother was getting the evening meal.
“Why, Connie,” said Mrs. Williams in surprise. “Is anything wrong?”
“Veve’s been carried away in a car, Mother!”
Again Connie told about the coasting mishap.
“Oh, Connie!” exclaimed Mrs. Gordon in a frightened voice. “Does Mrs.
McGuire know?”
“Not yet, Mother. I haven’t had time to tell her.”
“We must, at once. Though I’m afraid she still may be at work. Oh,
dear!”
Veve’s father was dead, and the little girl’s mother worked part-time
in a downtown office. During the afternoon Veve’s grandmother usually
came in to stay with her, but on this Saturday no one had been at the
McGuire home.
Connie had never seen her mother look more worried. She hastened to the
telephone and, after making several calls, reached Mrs. McGuire. Next
she called Connie’s father, asking him to pick up Mrs. McGuire at her
office and bring her home.
“Will Veve be hurt, do you think?” Connie asked anxiously.
Mrs. Williams did not answer. She was in the front hallway putting on
her hat and coat.
Ten minutes later Connie’s father drove up in the car. He had made a
very fast trip home.
With him in the car was Mrs. McGuire, her hat at a rakish angle. She
asked Connie to tell her exactly what had happened at the hill.
“Veve is so reckless,” she said when she heard the story. “Oh, I’m
afraid she may be badly hurt.”
“Now don’t worry, Mrs. McGuire,” said Connie’s mother kindly. “Connie
telephoned the police and already they are searching for the car.
We’ll start out too.”
Connie could tell by the tone of her mother’s voice that she was proud
of her for having called the police station so promptly.
“We’ll want you to go with us, Connie, because you may be able to
recognize the car,” said her mother, motioning for her to get into the
Williams’ automobile.
Connie rode in the front seat beside her father. At Kelly’s Hill she
pointed out the bend in the road where she last had seen the gray sedan.
Driving quite slowly, Mr. Williams watched both sides of the road. He
was afraid Veve might have been thrown from her sled into a snowy ditch.
For nearly an hour, the car went up one street and down another. Mr.
Williams drove far out on Highway 20, stopping at two filling stations
to ask the attendants if they had seen a little girl in a red snowsuit
being pulled on her sled by a gray car. No one had.
Connie sat with her face pressed against the car window, watching and
hoping. Twice she thought she saw the gray car. But always it proved to
be a different automobile.
Soon it was so dark she scarcely could see the road. Lights winked on
inside the houses. Mr. Williams had to turn on the car headlights.
“We may as well return home,” he said at last.
“By this time, the police may have found Veve,” said Connie’s mother.
She spoke as cheerfully as she could because Mrs. McGuire looked as if
she were about to cry.
“Let’s go back as quickly as we can,” agreed Mrs. McGuire.
Soon the car turned down the familiar, winding street, but Connie saw
that the McGuire house was dark. Veve’s grandmother had not returned.
Veve couldn’t be home either, or the lights would have been turned on.
When Mrs. McGuire looked at the dark windows, she began to cry. She
couldn’t help it because she was so very worried. Connie’s mother held
her arm as she helped her from the car.
“Now we’ll soon find Veve,” she reassured her. “Do come in while I
telephone the police station. They may have news for us.”
Mrs. McGuire started with Mrs. Williams into the house. Connie intended
to go with them, but as she cut across the yard past the half-melted
snowman, she noticed a car coming slowly down the street.
At first she couldn’t even guess at its color because of the darkness.
However, the automobile looked very much like the one that had carried
Veve away.
“Oh, Mother!” she cried. “See that car! I think it may be the one!”
Now Connie had made that very remark several times during the search
for the gray sedan. Upon each occasion, she had been mistaken.
So, although her mother and Mrs. McGuire turned quickly to gaze down
the street, they held little hope that she could be right.
Nearer and nearer came the automobile, passing directly under a bright
street light.
“Oh, it _is_ a gray sedan!” shouted Connie, fairly beside herself with
excitement.
She tried to read the license number but could not make it out. The
driver seemed to be alone in the car. He kept peering at the house
numerals along the street.
“Mother,” cried Connie, “the car is slowing down!”
Even as she spoke, it stopped directly in front of the McGuire house.
“It’s the same car!” shouted Connie. “But where is Veve?”