"I MUST GO!"
Janice awoke after a very uneasy and depressing night with the phrase "I
must go" written so plainly upon the mirror of her mind that it might as
well have appeared across the pretty wall paper at the foot of the bed.
"I must go!"
No matter what other people said--no matter what they thought. At this
juncture the young girl was fain to believe her own wisdom superior to
that of all her friends.
Of course, daddy had sent her here to be in Uncle Jason's care. She was
really supposed to be under his domination. If Uncle Jason said "No!"
Janice was presumed to obey, just as Marty had to obey.
And Uncle Jason had uttered his refusal quite distinctly. He could not
see the need for Janice to go to the Border when not a thing was yet
known regarding Broxton Day's situation save that he was wounded and was
held prisoner far beyond the lines of the Mexican army.
"Why, Janice," he told her at the breakfast table, "I ain't got any
money to spare jest now, for a fac', as ye well know; but if I thought
for a minute 'twould do your father a mite o' good, I'd take what I have
and go down there myself to look for him. Sartain sure I would!"
"You jest trust to your uncle, Janice," said Aunt 'Mira, once more on
the verge of tears. "He knows best; don't ye doubt it."
Janice did doubt it. She did not wish to say so, but no matter what her
friends said, or how wise they might be in other matters, the girl's
intuition told her that beyond peradventure there was something for her
to do for her father if once she could get to Mexico.
She saw it was of no use to talk about it, however positive she might be
that she was right. She could not convince Uncle Jason and Aunt 'Mira.
Indeed, she could not even change Nelson Haley's opinion. Everybody
seemed to think it was an unheard-of idea for a girl to go alone on such
a journey for any reason.
Janice had traveled East alone to Polktown when she was only a young
girl, and nobody, save Mrs. Scattergood, criticized that fact. It was
because there seemed to be danger threatening along the Border--the
possibility of actual war between the United States and Mexico--that
they all considered her desire so extraordinary.
To Uncle Jason, too, in his personal difficulties over the Tom
Hotchkiss notes, the money for such a trip as Janice wished to make
seemed a big item. It was, of course; that truth the girl admitted. It
was a big item for her to contemplate. Although the bank at Greenboro
sent her aunt each month a check to cover Janice's board there was no
hope of the girl's getting other money from that source. The board
matter was an agreement Mr. Broxton Day had entered into with the bank
before he went to Mexico. Janice did not really understand how her
father stood financially with the Greenboro bank. She did not know
whether or not he had money on deposit there. His recent profits from
the mine she actually knew nothing about. He was always liberal with her
regarding spending money when he had any money at all. She had never
asked him for a penny, for that was unnecessary.
Just now her funds chanced to be very low. Some repairs on the Kremlin
car had been necessary; and then there was her fall outfit which had
just been paid for.
Janice counted her loose cash and looked up her bank balance. The latter
was down to fifty dollars; she had not much more than ten dollars in her
pocketbook.
She could not ask Uncle Jason for money. Nor Nelson. She could depend
upon nobody to help her in this emergency, for they were all against
her.
Those words were ever before her mental vision; "I must go!"
Determination grew hourly in her heart. No matter what others thought or
said her duty lay far off there to the southwest--over the Border in
battle-ridden Mexico!
Her main trouble was the fact that she must keep her intention secret
from her friends--from those whom she loved and who loved her. Janice's
nature was naturally the opposite to secretive and this course was
particularly distasteful to her.
She had, however, come to that point where she must decide for herself,
and she refused to be influenced by her advisers. Had their objections
been based upon anything better than a feeling and belief that the
Border "was no place for a girl," Janice would have hesitated to follow
her determination, so opposed to the consensus of Polktown opinion. But
she felt that her friends failed to see the matter in the right light.
Daddy was wounded--a prisoner--perhaps dying! He needed her! It seemed
to the troubled, anxious girl as though his dear voice, so well
remembered, rang continually in her ears. He called for her!
She could not tell her friends this. They would not understand it--not
even Nelson. Janice felt that although the schoolmaster sympathized with
her in every fiber of his being, he was bound by his very love for her
to oppose her desire in this matter.
He of course could not go with her to Mexico. Uncle Jason would not if
he could. Who else was there to take the lead in such a venture?
"Why," thought Janice Day, "I've just got to go, and go alone! That's
all there is to it. And the less I say about it before I'm ready to
start the better."
She thought she saw a way to her end--a financial way, at least. She had
offered to sell her car to aid Uncle Jason in his trouble. She would
sell it now for funds with which to make her determined journey, for
Uncle Jason did not need her proffered assistance at present, while her
father's need was much the greater.
Every hour that passed increased Janice's anxiety. What if daddy died
down there in Mexico--all alone among strangers, without ever seeing his
daughter again?
This thought was too dreadful for Janice to mention aloud to anybody. It
was in her mind continually; she could not escape it.
That very day--the one following her discovery through Mrs. Scattergood
of the truth about Broxton Day as known to so many Polktown folk--Janice
set about carrying out her plan. She drove around to Mr. Cross Moore's
instead of going directly to Middletown and the seminary.
There had been a time not so very long before when Janice and the
president of the town selectmen had been at variance. Mr. Cross Moore
had desired the Polktown hotel to retain its liquor license while the
girl had championed the dry cause. The latter had won; but Cross Moore
was a good loser. Mrs. Moore might be angry with Janice Day; but her
husband had always held what he termed "a sneaking fondness for that Day
girl" and no matter how much they might conflict in politics or opinion,
the man respected Janice's earnestness and appreciated her
unselfishness.
Coming down the hilly street, guiding her car skillfully around the
"hubbly" places, Janice saw Mrs. Beaseley out sweeping the narrow brick
walk laid in front of her gate. The tall and solemn-looking woman, still
dressed in mourning for the husband dead now many years, and whose
memory she worshiped, gave the girl a frosty smile, although Janice knew
there was an exceedingly warm heart behind it.
"You air late going to school, Janice Day," she said. "Mr. Haley went an
hour ago."
"I am not going to the seminary this morning," the girl replied,
stopping her car. "Everything is all right with you, I suppose, Mrs.
Beaseley?"
"Oh, yes," the widow said, sighing mournfully. "I have my health, and
should be thankful for't I s'pose. My sainted Charles useter say that
health was ev'rything in this world--an' 'twas to _him_. When he lost
his health he lost all his zest for livin'. He had allus been a robust
man up to his sickness. He was a heavy feeder and as long as he eat his
victuals with guster I felt he was all right.
"Now, Mr. Haley, he ain't never jest suited me regardin' eatin'. It does
seem as though a young man like him should put away more victuals than
he does."
"Well, I'm sure he never gets up from your table hungry, dear Mrs.
Beaseley," laughed Janice. "And some of the doctors say that one should
do that to insure a long life."
"What! go hungry?" gasped this scandalized housewife.
"Not eating quite all we think we want at each meal," explained Janice.
"Wal! for the good Land o' Goshen! I hev said--an' I stick to it--that
doctors is given more nowadays to change in styles an' fashions than
what silly women air--even that Bowman gal that cut up such didoes in
Polktown last winter.
"Fust they believe in stuffin' a body; then it's the fashion ter starve
folks. One doctor says meat victuals is the only fit eatin' for human
bein's an' the next one wants you should put on a nosebag an' eat horse
feed. Humph! Reminds me of silly George Putnam and his pig."
"What about them, Mrs. Beaseley?" asked Janice, who was always amused by
the widow's speeches.
"Why, George had a right likely shote give to him one year, but it
turned out a runt, he fed it so queer. The critter seemed allus
squealin' for something to eat, an' my Charles asked him:
"'George, how d'you feed that critter?'
"'Why,' says silly George, 'I kalkerlate ter feed him ev'ry other day.'
"'Ye do?' says Charles. 'What's that for? Don't you suppose the pig gits
hungry jest as often as _you_ do?'
"'Ye-es--that may be,' says George. 'But I like my side-meat 'ith a
streak o' lean an' a streak o' fat.'
"Why, goo' mornin', Mr. Cross Moore! How's your lady this mornin'?"
concluded the widow as the selectman, whom Janice had seen coming up the
hill, stopped beside the car.
"She's 'bout the same, Miz' Beaseley. Morning, Janice! Which way you
going?"
"I am going your way, Mr. Moore," the girl said with a sudden feeling of
timidity. "I--I was coming to see you."
"Well, turn right around and drive up toward--well, toward
Concannon's--and you can see me all you want to. I don't want mother
should see me drivin' off with you in this car," and he chuckled. "She
thinks she's taken a gre't dislike to this sort o' locomotion; but I'm
going to have a car of some kind, jest the same."
Janice made no reply until she had turned the automobile and was headed
uptown. Then her first words were:
"Mr. Moore, I want you to buy _this_ car."
"Ahem! you mean one like it--a Kremlin?" he said, eyeing her curiously.
"No. This very car. It's all right and I will sell it to you cheap."
"You goin' to get a new one, Janice?"
"Oh, Mr. Moore! I'm not thinking of motor cars. I'm in great trouble.
Perhaps you know? My father----"
"I heard something down to Massey's drugstore about his being hived up
somewhere in Mexico by them insurrectionists," replied Cross Moore,
still watching her countenance.
"Well, I want to go to him. You know how Uncle Jason is fixed just now."
"Yes, Janice. Jase is in a hole."
"So you see, I've _got_ to sell my car."
"Mebbe I could git the money for you--ye can borry it of me," suggested
the selectman.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Moore! That's more than kind. But I wouldn't know
when or how I could pay you back. And Uncle Jase can't possibly help
me--if he would. I am going to tell you frankly, Mr. Moore, the folks
don't approve of my going down there to find father."
"No? Wal, it's not to be wondered at."
"But, don't you see? I've just _got_ to go, Mr. Moore. And I must sell
my car to get the money to pay my fare. You can have it for----" she
pondered and then mentioned a sum that she thought was a bargain price
indeed, even for a car that had been run as far as this Kremlin. "You
can have it for that--and for one other thing."
"Huh? A string to it?" he demanded.
"Your silence is involved. You must not tell anybody you have bought the
car till I get out of town. I am going to run away, Mr. Moore, and you
must help me if you wish to own this automobile."