SOMETHING!
“There’s to be a Venetian fête on Lake Worth on Thursday evening. Would
you like to attend it?”
Mr. Carroll made this announcement at the breakfast table one Monday
morning to an interested group of listeners. A week had elapsed
since the eventful morning on which Patsy had made the acquaintance
of Dolores and the Wayfarers had returned from the beach in time to
witness the departure of ghost-ridden Mammy Luce.
On the following morning they had gone, accompanied by Miss Carroll,
to keep tryst with their wood nymph at the spot she had designated. As
Patsy had predicted, her chums immediately succumbed to the charm of
the little Spanish girl.
Even Miss Martha had no fault to find with her so far as behavior
went. She found the young girl neither ill-bred nor uncouth. Instead,
Dolores exhibited toward stately Miss Carroll a shy deference that
would have impressed in her favor a far more critical judge.
What Miss Martha did not quite like, however, was Dolores’ wistful but
absolutely firm refusal to reveal where she lived or with whom she
lived.
“I would to answer and thus please you,” she had sadly said, lifting
bright, brave eyes to meet squarely those of her dignified questioner.
“I would to make you the visit to Las Golondrinas and thus be made so
happy. I cannot. It is forbidden.”
At the conclusion of the interview they had left her standing under the
fronded green of the palmettos, hands crossed over her breast, dark
eyes eloquent with longing. Before they parted from her, however, Patsy
obtained her reluctant promise to come to them on the beach for a few
minutes, at least, whenever she chanced to see the Wayfarers bathing
there.
Two mornings afterward she had kept her word. With her she had brought
the blue book, voicing eager praise of the “very sweet story” and her
thanks for the “_simpatica_” letter. Though the Wayfarers had pressed
her to stay, she remained with them but a few moments. During that
time she had cast frequent timid glances toward the jungle as though in
lively fear of something or someone known to herself alone.
Unable to withstand Patsy’s coaxing plea of: “Come again to-morrow
morning and I’ll have another nice story book here for you,” she had
paid them a brief call on the next day. Since that time she had not
again appeared on the beach at their bathing hour, and the Wayfarers
did considerable wondering as to what had become of her.
The past three days having, therefore, been particularly uneventful
beyond the healthy pleasures of outdoors, the four girls now hailed Mr.
Carroll’s proposal with acclamation.
“What is a Venetian fête?” inquired Bee. “It’s held on the water. I
know that much. What do we have to do? Do we dress in fancy costumes?”
“Only the boats dress up in fancy costumes at Venetian fêtes, Bee,”
informed Patsy, laughing. “We wear our best bib and tucker, of course,
and sail around in a motor launch or some kind of boat that’s all
decorated with Chinese lanterns, colored lights, etc. Am I right, Dad?”
“Right-o,” smiled Mr. Carroll. “As it happens, your fairy bark awaits
you. I’ve engaged a power boat for the evening. Had a hard time
getting hold of it, too. We’ll run the car down to the beach during the
afternoon of Thursday. I’ll have the lanterns and festoonings aboard
the launch and you girls can spend the time before dinner decorating
it. How will that suit you?”
The loud babble of appreciation that arose caused Mr. Carroll playfully
to put his hands over his ears.
“My, what a noisy crowd!” he exclaimed.
“We’re only trying to express our all-around joyfulness,” Patsy
defended. “You wouldn’t have liked it a bit if we had just said primly,
‘How nice!’ We believe in noise and lots of it.”
“So I’ve noticed,” was the pertinent retort. “Well, I’m glad you’re
pleased. You’ll have to excuse me now. I’ve an engagement with a man at
ten at the Ponciana. I must be hiking.”
“Really, Robert, I haven’t had a chance to utter a sound since you told
us about the fête,” came plaintively from Miss Martha, though her eyes
twinkled. As a matter of fact she had purposely kept silent, allowing
the Wayfarers to bubble forth their jubilation uninterrupted. “Do you
consider this boat you’ve engaged perfectly safe? I hope you know how
to run it.”
“Oh, I sha’n’t run it. The man from whom I rented it will be on hand
to do that. It’s absolutely safe, so don’t worry, Martha, but make up
your mind to enjoy yourself.”
With this assurance, Mr. Carroll hastily departed. After he had gone
the others lingered at table, further to discuss the prospective
pleasure in store for them.
“I wish we could take Dolores with us,” Patsy said generously. “She’d
love the fête. If only we could coax her to go she could wear one of my
gowns. Maybe she’ll be at the beach this morning. If she is, I’m going
to tease her good and hard to go with us. You wouldn’t mind, would you,
Auntie?”
“No. Invite her if you choose. I don’t doubt she would behave as well
as the rest of you,” Miss Carroll placidly opined. “If she should
accept (I doubt it), you must make her understand, Patsy, that she will
have to appear in one of your gowns, not to mention pumps and hose. We
shall probably meet a number of persons we know at Palm Beach.”
“Oh, that part of it will be all right,” Patsy answered with the
supreme confidence of one who can remove mountains. “It’s whether
she’ll promise to go that’s bothering me.”
Greatly to the disappointment of the Wayfarers, Dolores did not appear
on the beach that morning. Nor did they see any signs of her on the
next day or the next. Thursday morning did not bring her to the sands.
On the way back to the house from the beach the party even went so far
as to visit the spot in the jungle which Dolores had claimed as her own
special nook. But she was not there. Though the girls called out her
name repeatedly in their fresh young voices, only the twitter of the
birds and the sighing of the light breeze among the leaves answered
them. Dolores had evidently forsaken her forest haunt for a time at
least.
“Very likely that horrible ‘she’ is keeping Dolores in and making her
work,” grumbled Patsy to Bee when the party finally returned to the
road and started for the house. “You know, Dolores told me that she had
had to do very hard work ever since she came here to live after her
father died. It’s too bad Dad has been so busy lately. We can’t go to
see those fisher folks until he can find time to go with us. I do wish
Auntie would allow us to go there by ourselves. We could walk straight
up the beach and never come to a bit of harm.”
“Well, she won’t, so we might as well be resigned,” replied Bee
ruefully. “She’s right, of course. My mother would feel the same about
it; so would Mrs. Perry.”
“I know it. I’m not complaining of Aunt Martha. She’s as good as gold.
She’s been perfectly angelic about Dolores. Auntie isn’t the least tiny
bit snobbish. She and Dad are alike in that.”
Returned to the house before noon the Wayfarers lunched early. Luncheon
over, they dutifully obeyed Miss Carroll’s mandate to retire to their
rooms for a brief siesta before dressing for the fête. Mr. Carroll’s
parting injunction to them that morning had been:
“I’ll have the car at the door at three-thirty sharp. Be ready to hop
into it, girls. The earlier we arrive at Palm Beach, the more time
you’ll have before dinner to decorate the launch.”
Three-thirty not only found the car on the drive at the entrance to the
patio, it also saw Miss Martha being helped into it by her brother.
She was followed by the Wayfarers, all looking their best in their
smart summer finery. The four girls were in exuberant spirits as one
after another they skipped nimbly into the automobile. The Venetian
fête promised to be an item of pleasant variation on their program of
enjoyment.
The drive to Palm Beach was, as always, a delightful one. Coming at
last to the famous shell road the car followed it for a short distance.
Presently the yachting party arrived at the point on the lagoon where
their boat was docked.
Boarding it in a flutter of happy anticipation, the Wayfarers
temporarily hid the glory of their dainty frocks under substantial
gingham pinafores which they had purposely brought along.
Then the engrossing occupation of dressing-up their boat began. What
seemed to the girls an unlimited supply of gay Chinese lanterns and
bright-hued bunting had been brought aboard for them to dispose as they
fancied. Fore and aft the enthusiastic toilers strung the lanterns, and
hung the bunting in graceful festoons, until the trim craft blossomed
into a rainbow of color.
“I can hardly wait for it to get dark!” exclaimed Mabel. “With all
these lanterns glowing and those strings of little electric lights
winking all colors, our boat’s going to be simply gorgeous.”
“I hope we’ll have some simply gorgeous eats for dinner,” was Patsy’s
unaesthetic but heartfelt yearning. “I’m terribly hungry. I hope, too,
that we sha’n’t bump against a lot of people Auntie and I know the
minute we walk into the hotel. I want to gobble my dinner in a hurry
and get back here before dark so as to see everything that goes on.”
Patsy’s fervent hopes met with a realization that pleased her not a
little. The “eats,” which consisted in an elaborate course dinner,
were quite “gorgeous” enough to evoke her pronounced approval. More,
the diners encountered none they knew among the endless succession
of people strolling in and out of the vast dining-room. Neither in
the imposing foyer of the great hotel, on the veranda or under the
colonnade did they spy a single familiar face. It was as though
they had stepped into a world of easy-going strangers, all bent on
extracting the same amount of pleasure out of life as themselves.
Dinner eaten they lingered for a while on one of the hotel’s many
verandas which overlooked magnificent gardens, aglow with fragrant
tropical blooms.
Just before dark they drove again to the lagoon and were presently
aboard their launch, watching with eager eyes the beauty of the scene.
Everywhere the scented dusk was pierced by winking, multi-colored
lights. They dotted the wall of the lagoon and sprang up from hundreds
of craft, large and small, which plied the lake’s placid waters.
From off shore came the singing overtones of violins, proceeding from
an orchestra stationed under the colonnade of a not far distant hotel.
Now and then their ears caught the tinkle of mandolins mingled with
care-free voices raised in song. Across the still waters occasional
shouts rose above the harmony of sound, as gay occupants of boats
hailed passing craft and were hailed in return.
As it grew darker, rockets began to hiss skyward, lighting up the
lagoon into greater beauty and revealing white-clad groups of
spectators sauntering along the shell road or resting on the sea wall.
With the ascent of the first rocket, boat after boat rushed off across
the water to join the rapidly forming carnival procession which would,
when completely formed, circle the lake. Presently came a fan-fare of
trumpets, a burst of music from many bands playing in unison, and the
procession started on its way around the lake, gliding along like a
huge, glowing serpent.
The Wayfarers thought it great fun to be an actual part of that
fairy-like pageant. As the majority of the occupants of other boats
were lifting up their voices in song, the four girls sang, too.
Patsy’s clear, high soprano voice led off in a boat song with which her
companions were familiar. After that they sang everything they could
remember from “Sailing” to “Auld Lang Syne.”
Later, when the boats began dropping out of line, their launch also
left the procession and scudded farther out on the lake to a point from
where its lively passengers could obtain a more satisfying view of the
gorgeous spectacle.
There they lingered for some time, well content to breathe in the
flower-perfumed night air, listen to the frequent bursts of harmonious
sound that drifted to their ears, and watch the firefly boats as they
darted here and there on the bosom of fair Lake Worth.
It was well toward eleven o’clock when the launch docked at her pier
and the voyagers went ashore to where their automobile awaited them.
Followed a short drive to one of the great hotels, where the party
stopped for a late supper, then took the homeward road through the
balmy darkness of the tropical night.
Midnight came and went and one o’clock drew on before a happy but
sleepy company made port at Las Golondrinas.
“Go straight to bed, girls,” commanded Miss Martha as she marshalled
the small procession of drowsy revelers down the echoing corridors to
their rooms. “Don’t sit up to talk. You can do that to-morrow morning.”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to sleep,” assured Eleanor with a yawn.
“If Mab tries to talk to me after I’m in bed, I’ll rise in my might and
put her out of the room.”
“See that _you_ don’t talk to _me_,” warned Mabel. “If you do, _you_
may find yourself wandering around in the corridor until morning.”
“Glad we’re of the same mind,” giggled Eleanor. “Our chances for sleep
seem to be good.”
“Don’t worry about _me_, Aunt Martha,” Patsy declared, as, her arm in
Bee’s, the two girls halted at the door of their room. “You won’t hear
a sound from Bee or me after we’ve put out our light. Here’s my very
nicest good-night kiss, dear. We’ve all had a wonderful evening and
we’re ready to subside until morning without a murmur.”
Shut in their room, Patsy and Bee beamed sleepily at each other and
went about their preparations for bed in commendable silence, broken
now and then by a soft exchange of remarks pertaining to the evening’s
entertainment.
Lights out shortly became the order of things with them. Almost as soon
as their heads touched the pillow they were off and away to dreamland.
* * * * *
There comes sometimes to a peaceful dreamer a curious sense of
impending danger which breaks through the curtain of slumber and
arouses the sleep-drugged faculties to alert wakefulness.
Just how long she had slept, Patsy had no definite idea. She knew
only that she was sitting up in bed, broad awake, her horrified eyes
staring at something tall and white which stood in the center of the
moonlight-flooded room.
She tried to cry out, but her voice was gone. She could only gaze, half
paralyzed with terror, at the fearsome white shape. For a moment it
remained there, a shapeless, immovable thing of dread.
Suddenly, it raised a long, white-swathed arm in a menacing gesture
toward the trembling girl in the big four-poster bed. It took one
sliding step forward.
Patsy succeeded in uttering a desperate, choking sound, intended for a
shout. One groping hand reached over and found Bee.
The dread apparition came no nearer the bed than the length of that
one sliding step. It halted briefly, turned, then glided to the
half-opened door and vanished into the corridor.