NEWS OF ELSIE.
It was truly a jolly party that sat down to the table when it was spread
and everything prepared. Ephraim, Frank and Hans talked over old times,
spoke of the jolly days at Fardale, where they had attended school,
recalled the struggles, sports, jokes, night raids and hazings.
All too soon the time came when Jack was forced to leave in order to get
back to his shop in time to let Bob return to his duties.
“I just hate to go!” he exclaimed. “It seems good to hear you talk about
those times. I never had any chance to go to school like that. It must
have been such heaps of sport!”
“Say,” cried Ephraim, “looker here, can’t yeou take yer sister an’ go to
the show this evenin’?”
“Both of us cannot go, for the shop must be kept open in the evening the
same as any other time. Nellie can go.”
“Gosh all hemlock! can’t the thing be fixed somehow so ye kin go
together? I’ll see to it that yeou git the best seats in the haouse. Yes
by gum! I’ll git one of the boxes fer ye if yeou’ll go.”
“Oh, Jack!” broke from Nellie. “You know I’ve never been to see a real
theater show, but now I think my eyes are strong enough to stand the
light. Can’t we go?”
“I don’t see how,” answered Jack, regretfully.
“You can fix it with Bob,” said Frank.
“He doesn’t have to work evenings, and you can get him to keep shop.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands. “Try it, Jack—do!”
The face of the lame lad brightened.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll ask him.”
“And you will go with us, won’t you, Frank?” asked Nellie.
“Oh, I think so.”
“If Inza were here now we’d have a splendid party.”
“Inza!” gasped Ephraim. “Inza Burrage? Has she been here?”
“All the winter. She was visiting a friend. Left a little more than a
week ago.”
“Dot vos too pad!” murmured Hans. “She vould haf been deekled to seen
me.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t git here afore she went,” said the Vermonter; “but
we had the fun of seein’ Elsie Bellwood abaout a month ago, though it
wasn’t much fun, come to think of it, she was feelin’ so darn bad.”
Inza Burrage and Elsie Bellwood had been two dear girl friends of Frank
in his college days.
Frank sprang to his feet, his face working with excitement.
“Saw Elsie?” he cried, amazed.
“Yaw,” nodded Hans.
“Where?”
“In Bittsburg.”
“Pittsburg?”
“Yaw.”
“Impossible!”
“It’s true,” declared Ephraim.
“But—but I don’t understand it.”
“Whut’s the matter?”
“Why—why, I heard she had sailed with her father for a long voyage.”
“She did.”
“But now she is in Pittsburg? Why, how can that be? It was not many
months ago they sailed—some time last fall, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And they were to be gone a year?”
“Yes.”
“Then something happened?”
“Sure thing.”
“What?”
“You ain’t heered abaout it?”
“Not a word.”
“Justin Bellwood died the second day out from New York.”
Frank gasped for breath, caught hold of the back of his chair, and stood
staring at the Vermonter.
“Justin—Bellwood—dead?”
He spoke the words slowly, as if he did not quite realize what they
meant.
“Yaw,” said Hans, “he vos a gone case.”
“Then—then Elsie is left all alone in the world. Poor little Elsie! I
supposed she was far away on the ocean. What was she doing in
Pittsburg?”
“She was living there with some of her folks or some of her friends, I
dunno which. Didn’t git much chaince to talk with her.”
“But you found out her address—where she was living?”
“No.”
“Too bad! I must know where she is—I must communicate with her as soon
as possible. This is terrible news!”
Merry sat down weakly, and his manner showed how he was affected.
Little Jack whispered something to Nellie, and then slipped out of the
room.
A sudden gloom had come over the merry gathering. Hans and Ephraim
looked at each other dolefully. Little Nell got up and came round to
Frank, putting an arm about his neck.
“Dear Frank,” she whispered, “you know Heaven orders everything for the
best. You must have perfect trust.”
He put his arm about her slender waist, drew her to him and kissed her.
“Yes, dear little comforter,” he said, in his low, musical voice, “I am
sure Heaven orders everything for the best, for many a time I have seen
apparent misfortune prove a blessing in disguise. For instance, your
falling downstairs. But this separation from Elsie is hard. Before I
became a day laborer, forced to depend on my hands for a living, I could
have spent money freely in tracing her and finding her. Now that is an
impossibility. We separated for a year, neither dreaming of the changes
a few months would bring about. I fear those changes, instead of
bringing us nearer together, have torn us further apart.”
Nellie was surprised.
“Why, Frank!” she exclaimed, “you are seldom this way. You are so
light-hearted and hopeful. Nothing seems to daunt you.”
“That is true, but things have been going against me for some time now,
and it is but natural that I should not feel as cheerful as usual. The
railroad strike came just when my prospects were brightest, and then, at
the very hour when it seemed certain everything would be settled and I
should go back to my old job, the railroad went to the wall and the F.
B. & Y. swallowed it. Now comes the news of Elsie’s misfortune, and I
cannot extend to her a helping hand. I cannot even write to her, for I
do not know her address.”
“Trust in Heaven. All will come right in the end. That is the lesson you
have taught me, Frank. You say justice always triumphs. Remember the
case of Darius Conrad.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I will have perfect trust, little girl. But I must do
something—I must find work right away, for I have been idle too long. If
I cannot get back onto the railroad, I must do something else.”
“Why don’d you gone der show pusiness indo?” asked Hans. “I pet me your
life you vould like him.”
“That’s raight,” drawled Ephraim. “Gosh! I wish yeou was in our company.
It would be great.”
“Does the ghost walk regularly?” asked Merry, with a slight smile.[1]
Footnote 1:
Among theatrical people the “ghost walks” when salaries are paid.
“Waal, purty much so,” answered the Down Easter. “There was a time when
we run ag’inst mighty hard business, an’ Haley got three weeks behind;
but we’ve been doin’ tarnal well lately, an’ ev’rybody’s flush ag’in.”
“Oxcept me,” said Hans, ruefully. “Mein salary’s peen so schmall dot id
nefer missed me ven I don’d got him.”
“Well,” said Merry, “I hardly think I’ll go into the theatrical
business; but we’ll come and see the play to-night, if you get that box
for us, Ephraim.”
“Oh I’ll git it, yeou bet!” assured the Vermonter. “I’ll git right arter
it fust thing this afternoon afore rehearsal.”
“Yaw,” assured Hans. “Uf he don’d done dot, I vill got after him.”
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