THE MYSTERIOUS CAR.
The night before the party was to start upon the excursion, the rest of
the girls arrived at Mrs. Hadley’s. Their hostess had insisted upon
entertaining them all at her house, and had prepared a dinner worthy of
the occasion. With the exception of her son John, none of the boys was
invited until later in the evening.
As soon as the others—including Daisy Gravers, Florence Evans, Ethel
Todd, and Mrs. Remington—put in an appearance, Marjorie led them out to
examine the new car. Lily’s, too, was there, all ready for the journey,
in the best of shape, both inside and out.
“It just seems as if nothing could go wrong,” said Mrs. Remington, as
the party turned back into the house. “The cars are in A Number One
condition. Now, how about the drivers?”
“We three have been driving all week,” replied Alice; “so we’re quite
experienced by now. And you’ll find both cars easy to manage.”
“How much equipment have you bought?” continued Mrs. Remington.
Marjorie opened up the rear of the cars where most of the things had
been packed in readiness for the morrow, and displayed their purchases,
talking enthusiastically on their merits until the dinner bell summoned
them into the dining-room. Then she began on the trip, and mapped it out
to the new-comers as she and her committee had planned it.
“It certainly sounds wonderful,” remarked Florence Evans. “But I wonder
how nearly we shall follow your schedule.”
“Why shouldn’t we?” asked Marjorie. “What do you mean, Flos?”
“Nothing special—only I have a presentment that things aren’t going so
smoothly as you have planned.”
“Oh, nonsense!” laughed Alice, lightly. “Don’t be pessimistic. Besides
we have twelve extra days, not counting the three we expect to spend at
Mae’s, in case we are delayed by storms and flat tires.”
“I dare say we’ll need them,” concluded Florence, determined to have the
last word.
The boys too showed the same spirit of doubt. One and all they announced
that they did not believe the scouts could make the trip on scheduled
time. Perhaps this was because they hated to admit their ability to get
along without masculine assistance, and perhaps it was because they did
not want the girls to go. It was Jack who finally came forth with a
suggestion.
“Why not show your good sense, Sis,” he began, addressing Marjorie,
although he meant his remarks for all the scouts, “and give the thing
up! Really, it’s wild; you’ll tire yourselves all out, and won’t win
your reward in the end—or anything else for that matter. It was lots
more fun to have you running a tea-room, and hunting spooks. Why not do
that again, and buy your own cars with the proceeds?”
“But we’d never have the good fortune to find another haunted house,”
returned Marjorie. “And think how dull it would be without the spooks!”
“Good fortune?” repeated Lily. “Dull without them! Now, Marj, you know
it kept us in a constant torment. No, thanks; I for one prefer the calm
of a motor trip.”
“Wait till you’ve had your motor trip,” said Jack, significantly. “Then
maybe you can talk more about the calm of it. From what I hear, it’s
anything but calm.”
“But think of the reward!” Marjorie reminded him.
“You mean meeting those cousins of Alice?” asked John, jealously.
“Mercy no! I mean the motor-cars we’re to get and the fun of seeing
California, and the chance to be together as Girl Scouts—when we’re so
nearly grown-up.”
“But we’re not going to act grown-up this summer,” protested Alice.
“Except where strangers are concerned. We’re just going to be the same
Girl Scouts of dear old Pansy Troop—”
“Who don’t care about meeting wealthy young men or—” began Dick, but he
was stopped by a protest from Marjorie.
“Enough of that!” she commanded. “The time is too short to waste. We
must plan our visit to Mae’s. Now tell me which of you boys are
expecting to go.”
As it was a subject in which the boys and girls alike were interested,
for they were all hoping to go, they were willing to discuss it as long
as the party lasted. Their conversation, however, was cut short; at ten
o’clock Mrs. Hadley served light refreshments and informed the boys that
they were expected to leave immediately afterward, to allow the girls to
get some rest for their early start in the morning.
It seemed indeed a good omen that the following day was bright and
clear, and the scouts, true to their resolution, arose early and made
their final preparations. They lingered awhile over breakfast, making a
hearty meal of it, so that they would be satisfied at noon with a light
luncheon. They kept rehearsing their program for the day, and talking
over their schedule as to drivers and stops and mileage. Marjorie
reminded Lily to turn her speedometer back to zero, because, as she
said, they wanted to be very exact about their trip.
“We must never be willing to turn in at night,” she added, “unless we
have covered our one hundred miles.”
“And yet,” put in Lily, “you decided that we wouldn’t travel at night!
Now how can you make those two rules consistent?”
Marjorie smiled good-naturedly at the other girl’s logic, admitting that
perhaps she had been a trifle inconsistent.
“It’s ten minutes to eight,” interrupted Florence; “don’t you girls
think we had better start?”
“No,” replied Marjorie, thoughtfully. “It would never do to start at ten
minutes of the hour. Let’s leave on the very stroke of eight.”
“Then we ought to get our hats on and be all ready—and give Mrs. Hadley
her good-bye kisses.”
“And don’t forget mine!” added John, hopefully.
They were off at last, Marjorie at the wheel of the big car, and Lily in
the driver’s seat of her own, directing their course through the Park.
Here they followed the Wissahickon, past all the spots where Marjorie
had looked so eagerly for a location for the tea-room the year before;
and as they saw it in all its natural loveliness more than one girl
experienced a passing sensation of homesickness at the thought of
leaving so much beauty behind.
But by the time they left the Park at the City Line, and climbed the
long steep hill over the river, the joy of travelling, the lure of the
open road had taken hold of them, and made them anxious to press on.
Both machines took the sharp incline on high, and sped on to the
succeeding hills; then, when they came to the church at the cross-roads,
where they met the Lincoln Highway, both drivers stopped for a minute.
“Here is the red, white, and blue mark!” cried Marjorie. “The mark that
we’ll be looking for all the way out to the coast.”
“Here’s hoping we never miss it!” exclaimed Alice, fervently.
“Shall I continue to lead?” asked Marjorie, turning to Lily.
“Yes, yes, go on,” urged the other. “The large car ought to go first.”
“That it can see that all is well for the little one!” explained Daisy.
Marjorie released her brakes, and again both cars made a start. They
were on a beautiful road now shaded by tall trees, and lined with
imposing dwellings.
“If it’s all like this, the trip will be more than delightful!”
exclaimed Alice, as she shifted her gaze from one side of the road to
the other, in admiration of the beautiful lawns and lovely houses. “Why,
I’d be satisfied with one of the lodge-keepers’ houses to live in!”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s not all quite so nice as this,” replied Marjorie.
“You know Pennsylvania is one of the states that is noted for its
wonderful scenery.”
“That reminds me,” said Daisy, “don’t we pass through the town where
Ethel’s college is located?”
“Bryn Mawr? I should say we do. You know the town is called by the same
name. It’s right after we pass through Haverford—”
“Where the men’s college is?” inquired Alice.
“Yes; the Quaker college. We’ll keep a watch out for it.”
The girls were reducing their speed now in compliance with the fifteen
miles an hour regulation enforced in the towns, and they found ample
opportunity to look about them. It was no wonder, therefore, as they
were just about to enter the most congested part of Haverford, that they
noticed a small, bright red racing car flash by them at a prohibitive
pace.
“I wonder what their hurry is,” remarked Marjorie. “I noticed that car
behind us quite a while ago.”
“Maybe they are college students,” said Alice, “out for a joy ride. They
looked young.”
“My gracious, Alice, did you even notice their ages,” teased Florence.
Then, turning to their chaperone, “Mrs. Remington, I see you will have
to keep your eye on this young lady during the trip.”
“Now, Flos, that isn’t fair!” protested the accused. “You know there was
something unusual—likely to attract attention—about that car. You girls
probably all noticed it, and most of you would look at the young men
too, if you got the chance!”
“Guilty!” admitted Marjorie, in self-accusation.
“Well, it serves them right if they get arrested,” said Alice. “I only
hope they don’t have any accidents.”
She spoke lightly, and yet she could not dismiss the young men from her
mind. They really were very striking looking—almost distinguished—and
they had looked at the girls as they passed them. Indeed it seemed to
Alice that they had given her in particular an especial amount of
attention.
By the time they had been riding for an hour or two longer, and had seen
hundreds of machines, Alice had almost forgotten them, and probably
would never have thought of them again, except for an incident which
occurred while the girls were eating lunch. They drew up in front of a
little tea-room, and were just preparing to get out when Alice caught a
glimpse of a bright red car, coming from the opposite direction. She
grasped Marjorie’s arm.
“Look, Marj! That must be our friends!” she exclaimed.
“What friends?” demanded Marjorie, who had totally forgotten the
incident of the morning.
“Why, the young men you people teased me about. Don’t you remember?”
The car was in full sight now, and was slowing down in front of the
tea-room. It was evident that Alice’s surmise was correct.
“They’re coming in here to lunch, too!” whispered Marjorie. “I believe
you did make a hit, Alice!”
But Alice shook her head.
“No, Marj; I have another idea.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you after lunch. Only—watch them!”
“You sound mysterious! What—?”
“Sh! I’ll explain later.”
The scouts were no sooner seated at two tables by the window than the
young men entered with an air of unconcern. Without apparently noticing
the girls, they selected a place on the opposite side of the room. While
the girls gave their order, and later when they were eating their
luncheon, they ventured now and then a casual glance at their neighbors;
but never once did they catch the young men looking at them.
“I wonder which one of you is the attraction,” muttered Lily, looking
around the party.
“Notice she says ‘you’ and not ‘us’!” remarked Florence. “Of course you
consider yourself out of it, Lil! But remember, they don’t know you’ve
already found the ‘_one and only man_’.”
“Nonsense, Flos! You talk as if I were engaged—and I’m far from it. But
I don’t think I am the attraction.”
“Well, I hope not. And I hope it isn’t Marj, either, for they’d be sadly
disappointed after they found out about John Hadley.”
“Girls,” put in Marjorie. “You better be careful about what you say.
Let’s save our discussion till we get out of here.”
In accordance with her wish, Alice let the matter drop until they were
on their way again. Then she expounded her theory.
“Girls,” she began very solemnly, in a tone loud enough for the other
occupants of the large car to hear, “I think I know who our mysterious
friends are—and what they are doing!”
“Who? What?” demanded Marjorie and Florence at once.
“Are they bootleggers?” asked Daisy, with an involuntary shudder at the
idea of meeting with trouble again.
“No,” replied Alice. “Hasn’t anybody guessed it?”
“No! No!” said Marjorie. “Do tell us, Alice!”
“I’ll wager Ethel has guessed,” said Alice, enjoying their curiosity.
“She has such a good detective mind.”
“But Marj has too, and she doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” said
Florence. “So you might as well take us out of our agony!”
Alice made her statement slowly: “_I think those two young men are my
cousins_, sent by my Aunt Emeline to spy on us, and see whether we
fulfill all our conditions!”
The girls simply gasped at the novelty of the idea; involuntarily
Marjorie slowed the car so that they could talk more easily.
“But why would they make themselves so obvious?” she asked. “Spies
usually work in secret—”
“No, Aunt Emeline wouldn’t stoop to that sort of thing,” replied Alice.
“Do you know your cousins’ names, Alice?” asked Daisy.
“Yes: Milton and Vaughn Crowell.”
“Not the same last name as your aunt?”
“No, Aunt Emeline is a Miss Vaughn. The younger nephew took his mother’s
maiden name for a first name.”
“Have you ever seen their pictures?” asked Florence.
“No, never.”
“Then how shall we know whether you are right?”
“We can’t know—till we get to California.”
“Oh, I simply can’t wait all that time,” said Marjorie, impatiently.
“Let’s make a vow that if they pass us once more, we’ll lay a trap for
them to discover their identity.”
“All right. But how?”
“We’ll think of something later. Somebody will probably get an
inspiration.”
“But do wait, girls, and be sure,” urged Mrs. Remington. “After all, the
chances are small—”
“Only that my aunt knows our exact route—and—well—she seems to be that
sort of person.”
Late that afternoon when their speedometers registered the required
hundred miles, and the girls had stopped at an attractive spot for their
camp, the bright red car with its two young occupants passed by them
twice. But on neither occasion did the young men make any attempt to
establish an acquaintanceship.