COMPLICATIONS
“Ten yards—nine yards—two—he made it! He’s over! We win!” Jubilantly
Janet threw her arms about Carol and the two danced in glee.
The occasion was the opening game of the football season. The Marchton
High School had come through with flying colors, having three touchdowns
to their opponent’s two.
As they walked homeward through the early twilight Janet demanded of the
other girls:
“Wasn’t Mark Sherwin wonderful?”
Valerie winked at Gale. “Why Mark Sherwin particularly when there were
ten other boys on the team?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Carol pounced on Valerie, eager to impart her bit
of friendly gossip. “He is Janet’s latest crush. He took her to the
movies the other night and since then——”
“So that is the way the wind blows,” Madge laughed.
“I haven’t a crush on him,” Janet said with dignity. “Crushes are for
children.”
“Is he going to take you to the Senior Prom?” Gale asked.
“If he asks me I shall die of joy!” Janet declared ecstatically.
“Then you wouldn’t be able to go,” Madge said smiling. “I think you will
rally sufficiently to accept.”
“I shall say I would!” Janet declared. She turned in at the gate to her
front yard as her younger sister called a greeting to the others. “See
you tomorrow, gals!”
“Sweet dreams!” Carol bid her.
Carol and Madge were the next to depart. Slowly the other three walked
homeward.
“Have you seen the pilot any more?” Phyllis asked of Gale.
“Not since yesterday,” was the answer.
“How is his ankle?” Valerie wanted to know.
“Getting better,” Gale said. “He can hobble about a little now without
much pain.”
When Gale left Phyllis walked beside Valerie in deep thought.
“Do you think Gale likes Brent Stockton?” she asked at last.
Valerie smiled. “She must. She goes over to the island a lot. I think he
is nice, too,” she declared. She had journeyed to the island one
afternoon with Gale.
“Oh he is nice,” Phyllis said hastily. “What I mean is, do you
think—Gale really likes him? An awful lot I mean?”
Valerie regarded her friend silently, puzzledly for a moment. “How do
you mean?”
“Well,” Phyllis coughed embarrassedly and wished she had never mentioned
the subject. “He is young, handsome, and quite charming. Gale might——”
“You mean Gale might fall in love with him?” Valerie asked aghast.
“Well—yes,” Phyllis said in confusion. “Do you suppose she might?”
Valerie laughed. “But she is still in High School!”
“That doesn’t make any difference,” Phyllis assured her.
“No,” Valerie said after a moment, “I don’t suppose it does. But Gale
isn’t any older than we are. Seventeen! He must be—oh, well, in his
twenties. Whatever gave you such a crazy idea?”
“I don’t know,” Phyllis said hurriedly. “Forget I said anything.”
“Have you said any more to your Aunt about Briarhurst?” Valerie wanted
to know.
Phyllis shook her head and snapped her history book open and shut.
“No, I’m half afraid to.”
“We will keep our fingers crossed. She may come around to your way of
thinking yet,” Valerie said cheerfully. “So long, Phyl!”
Phyllis watched Valerie’s form retreating along the stone flagged path
to the Wallace house, a house where Valerie was free to come and go as
she pleased, where she was assured of warmth and love and laughter.
Phyllis went more slowly on her way. All that was waiting for her in the
house at the top of the hill was a cold bedroom where she would study
her next day’s lessons in silence and then eat a silent dinner sitting
opposite her Aunt. After that, there was nothing for her but to retreat
to her own room with her books and to bed, to wait for the next morning
when she could again escape from the cold, old house.
* * * * *
After dinner Gale stepped out onto the porch and viewed the sky
overhead. It was studded with stars and high in the East rode a giant
yellow moon. She looked out over the lawn to where deep shadows lay
thick beneath the trees and about the shrubs. There was a decided tinge
of early winter in the air. The football game this afternoon had been
another hint that winter was officially on the way. It had been an
exciting game! A thrill every minute. She lived over again the exciting
last touchdown.
Gale had been leaning idly against the white porch pillar but suddenly
she straightened up with a jerk. A shadow had moved stealthily from the
street through the gateway to a position under the linden tree. Gale
could not see the identity of the intruder but it was someone she did
not expect, of that she was sure. None of her friends would come
silently, like a thief. Any of the Adventure Girls or the boys with whom
they associated always descended much like pirates besieging a treasure
ship, with whoops and plenty of noise. Not so this person, whoever he
was.
Gale considered shouting for her father, when she remembered he had gone
out to see a client. Her father conducted a successful law practice and
often made trips out at night to interview his clients.
Gale decided to stay where she was and watch. She did not want to alarm
her mother, and besides the person had not done anything yet. Perhaps it
was just someone who had made a mistake in the houses. It might be a
respectable visitor of one of the neighbors.
She had held her position for about five minutes, her eyes never
wavering from the spot under the linden tree where the shadow had
stopped, when she saw a white hand beckoning to her. Should she go down
and see who it was? Very clearly she remembered the night when she and
Bruce had almost lost Brent Stockton’s plans for his airplane engine.
Suppose this was another thief who had learned that she knew where the
pilot was! What would he do?
Almost imperiously this time the hand beckoned again. There seemed a
suppressed urgency about it. She decided to throw caution to the winds
and go down to the linden tree. As she stepped from the porch she
shivered with excitement. It was all so thrilling! She would keep the
girls spellbound with a recital of this tomorrow. She walked swiftly
across the lawn. Now that she had decided what to do she wanted to hurry
before caution changed her mind. She parted the low hanging branches and
stepped into the shadow beyond.
“Did I scare you?”
Gale almost laughed aloud. It was Stubby, Brent Stockton’s mechanic.
“You did!” she declared. “What do you want? How did you know where I
lived?”
“It was easy to discover that,” he said brushing her question aside.
“You have to take me to Brent. Where is he?”
“He is——” Gale stopped herself. She remembered how firmly Brent had
said the mechanic was not under any circumstances to communicate with
him. “Why do you want to see him?” she asked. “He said you shouldn’t.”
“I’ve got to see him,” Stubby said firmly. “Something has gone wrong
with the plane and he is the only one who can fix it. He knows his
engine backwards.”
“But——” Gale hesitated, torn between Brent’s wishes and this new
emergency. If something really were wrong with the engine he would want
to see the mechanic, wouldn’t he?
“Where is he?” Stubby persisted.
“On the island,” she said slowly. “In our clubhouse.”
“Can you take me over in a boat? Or how can I get there alone?” Stubby
asked quickly.
“I’ll take you,” Gale said. “We can use Bruce’s—that’s my friend—he
lets me use his boat.”
“Fine!” Stubby rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Let’s go.”
“Wait until I get my coat,” Gale said.
She ran back to the house. In the hall she slipped into her light sports
coat and called in to her mother in the living room.
“Going out for a while, Mother. I won’t be late!”
A minute later she was walking swiftly down the street beside the thick
figure of Stubby. It took them only a few minutes to reach the shore and
with Gale at the wheel, Stubby crouched low in the stern, holding his
hat for there was a stiff breeze on the water, the boat shot toward the
island.
Gale was feeling a little nervous. Brent Stockton had been so insistent
that they bring no one to see him, that they should reveal his
whereabouts to no one, that now she felt afraid he might be angry that
she was bringing Stubby. Still it was important she argued with herself.
He wanted his airplane in shape for the races and every day was
precious.
She led the way up the beach to the cabin. There the pilot met them at
the door. He greeted Stubby as an old friend and some of Gale’s fears
were allayed. The two men talked long and earnestly but most of their
conversation was so complicated and technical that Gale could not grasp
the full significance of it. She waited patiently until they were
finished so she might take Stubby back to the mainland in the boat.
“Then if everything isn’t all right by Saturday I will come over
myself,” Brent said in conclusion.
“You are leaving the island?” Gale asked. Somehow the thought alarmed
her.
“Perhaps,” Brent smiled. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t want to leave until
the day of the races but I might have to.”
“Are you perfectly comfortable?” Gale asked eagerly. “Can I get you
something?”
“You might bring some books for me the next time you come,” he said. “I
don’t know what to do with myself all day long.”
“I’ll bring some over tonight,” Gale promised.
“There is no need for that,” he said. “Wait until tomorrow.”
But Gale did not want to wait. Immediately the boat nosed into the
wharf, Stubby departed as silently and mysteriously as he had appeared
in the Howard yard. Gale went home and into her room. Books overflowed a
large bookcase against one wall and peeped from under the window seat.
She chose four volumes she thought he would like and decided to find out
his favorite authors and take more on the morrow.
She peeped into the living room before she went out again. Her mother
was asleep. Gale smiled softly and closed the door behind her.
Brent Stockton accepted the books eagerly. It seemed she had brought
just what he would like.
“Then you aren’t angry?” she asked when he was walking slowly, with the
aid of an improvised cane, beside her to the boat. “You aren’t angry
with me for bringing Stubby over?” she insisted, stopping and looking up
at him, young and slight in the moonlight.
“Angry?” His free hand fell lightly upon her shoulder. “My dear child, I
couldn’t be angry with you.” Suddenly he leaned over and kissed her
lightly on the forehead. “Now run along home, youngster!”
Gale tried to say something but words stuck in her throat. Silently she
climbed into Bruce’s boat. Her hand shook as she snapped the motor on.
All the way across the bay she seemed wrapped in a vague, glorious
dream.
Later as she buried her hot cheeks in her cool pillows and tried to stop
thinking about Brent Stockton she could feel a thrill run all through
her. She had not been like the other girls, Carol and Janet. She had
never had a—as they called it—crush on any boy before. She admitted to
herself, but to no one else, that she thought Brent Stockton was pretty
grand. He was everything the other boys she knew were not.