THE FAMILY COUNCILS
Uncle Johnny laid Peter Westley's letter down. A silence held them all;
it was as though a voice from some other world had been speaking to
them. Mrs. Westley shivered.
"How I hate money," she cried impulsively. Then, the very comfort and
luxury of the room reproaching her, she added: "I mean, I hate to think
that wherever big fortunes are made so many are ground down in the
process."
Graham was frowning at the letter.
"Of course you're going to hunt up this fellow?" he asked, anxiously, a
dull red flushing his cheeks. "Wasn't that as bad as stealing?"
"Maybe he's dead now and it's too late," cried Gyp, who thought the
whole thing full of intensely interesting possibilities.
"Uncle Peter cannot defend himself, now, Graham, so let us not pass
judgment upon what he has done. And I don't suppose I can act on this
matter until your father comes home."
"Oh, John, I know he will want to carry out his Uncle Peter's wish! You
need not wait; too much time has been lost already," urged Mrs. Westley.
Graham was standing in front of the fire, his back to the blaze. It
struck Uncle Johnny and his mother both that there was a new manliness
in the slim, straight figure.
"_I_ want to help find him. It's when you know about such tricks and
cheating and--and injustice that you hate this trying to make money. I
think things ought to be divided up in this world and every fellow given
an equal chance."
John Westley laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Real justice is the
hardest thing to find in this world, sonny. But keep the thought of it
always in your mind--and look out for the rights of the other fellow,
then you'll never make the mistakes Uncle Peter did."
"Poor old man, all he cared about in the world was making money, and
then in his old age it gave him no joy--only torment. And he'd killed
everything else in him that might have brought him a little happiness!
I'm glad you and Robert aren't like him," Mrs. Westley added.
"I am, too," cried Gyp, so fervently that everyone laughed.
"How do you find people?" put in Tibby, who was trying very hard to
understand what it was all about.
"It _will_ be somewhat like the needle in the hay-stack. Boston is a big
place--and a lot can happen in--let me see, that must have been fifteen
years ago."
"Will you hire detectives?" Gyp was quivering with the desire to help
hunt down the mysterious Craig Winton.
"I don't want to; I've always had a sort of distrust of detectives and
yet we may have to. We have so little to start on. I'll get Stevens and
Murray together to-morrow--perhaps they can tell me more about the
buying of the patent. And I'll have Watkins recommend some reliable
Boston attorney." Uncle John's voice sounded as though he meant
business.
Isobel had said nothing during the little family council. She suddenly
lifted her head, her eyes dark with disapproval.
"Won't giving this person all that money make _us_ poor?"
Something in her tone sent a little shock through the others.
"My dear----" protested her mother.
"Oh, _you'd_ go on cheating him--just like Uncle Peter! That's like
you--just think about yourself," accused Graham, disgustedly.
"Do you _want_ tainted money?" cried Gyp grandly.
Isobel's face flamed. "You're hateful, Graham Westley. I don't like
money a bit better than you do--_you'd_ be squealing if you couldn't get
that new motorcycle and go to camp and spend all the money you do. And I
think it's _silly_ to hunt him up after all this time. He's probably
invented a lot of things since and doesn't need any money, and if he
hasn't--well, inventors are always poor, anyway." Isobel tried to make
her logic sound as reasonable to the others as it did to her.
"Bonnie, dear----" That was the name Uncle Johnny had given to her in
nursery days; he had not used it for a long time. "There are two reasons
why we must carry out the wish Uncle Peter has expressed in this letter.
One is, because he _has_ asked it. He thought he would have time to give
the letter to us himself--perhaps tell us more about it; he did not
dream that it would lie for two years in that Bible. The other reason is
that it is the honorable thing to do--and it not only involves the honor
of Uncle Peter's name but your father's honor and mine--your mother's,
yours, Graham's--even little Tibby's. We would do it if it took our last
cent. But it won't----"
"Oh, Uncle Johnny, you're great----" Graham suddenly turned his face to
the fire to hide his feeling. "When I'm a man I want to be just like
you--and father."
Isobel would not let herself be persuaded to accept her family's point
of view. In her heart there still rankled the thought that Uncle Johnny
had taken Barbara Lee with him to Highacres and had made _her_ stay at
home. And it had been silly for them all to get so excited and make such
a fuss over Gyp and Jerry--they might have known that they'd turn up all
right. When she had seen Uncle Johnny pull Jerry down to a seat beside
him on the davenport she had hated her!
Mrs. Westley followed John Westley to the little room that was always
called "father's study."
"Won't it be exciting hunting up this Craig Winton?" Gyp asked the
others. "Isn't it an interesting name? Maybe he'll have a lot of
children. I hope there'll be some girls." Gyp hugged her knees in an
ecstasy of anticipation. "If they're dreadfully poor it'll be like their
finding a fairy godmother. Think of all they can have with that money!"
"All _I_ hope"--Isobel's voice rang cruelly clear--"is that Uncle Johnny
won't want to bring any more _charity_ girls here!" She rose, then, and
without looking at any of them, walked from the room.
Gyp opened her lips to speak, then closed them quickly. Whatever she
might say, she knew, instinctively, would only add to the hurt Isobel
had inflicted. She could not even throw her arms around Jerry's neck and
hug her the way she wanted to do, because the expression of Jerry's face
forbade it. It was a very terrible expression, Gyp thought, a little
frightened--Jerry's eyes glowed with such a fierce pride and yet were so
hurt!
After a moment Jerry said slowly, "I--I am going to bed." Gyp wished
that Graham would say something and Graham wished Gyp would say
something, and both sat tongue-tied while Jerry walked out of the room.
"Do you think we ought to tell mother?" Gyp asked, in a hushed voice.
"N-no," Graham hated the thought of tale-bearing. "But Isobel's an awful
snob. It's her going around with Cora Stanton and Amy Mathers." To think
this gave some comfort to Graham and Gyp.
"Well--I don't know what Jerry will _do_," sighed Gyp forlornly.
The door of Jerry's room was shut and Gyp had not the courage to open
it. She listened for a moment outside it--there was not a sound from
within. She went into her own room and undressed slowly, with a vague
uneasiness that something was going to happen.
There had been no sound in Jerry's room because she had been standing
rigid in the window, staring with burning, angry eyes out into the
darkness. Her beautiful, happy world, that she had thought so full of
kindness and good-fellowship, had turned suddenly upside down! "Charity
girl----" She did not know just what it meant, but it made her think of
homeless, nameless, unloved waifs--motherless, fatherless, dependent
upon the world's generosity. Her hand went to her throat--_charity
girl_--was not her beloved Sunnyside, with Sweetheart and Little-Dad,
richer and more beautiful than anything on earth? And hadn't she always
had----Like a flash, though, she saw herself in the queerly-fashioned
brown dress that had seemed very nice back at Miller's Notch, but very
funny when contrasted with the pretty, simple serge dresses that the
other girls at Highacres wore. Perhaps they had all thought she _was_ a
"charity girl," a waif brought here by Uncle Johnny. To be sure, her
schoolmates had welcomed her into all their activities, but perhaps they
had felt sorry for her and, anyway, it _had_ been after Uncle Johnny had
given her the Christmas box----
She looked down at the dress she wore--it was the school dress that had
been in the box. Perhaps she should not have taken it--taking it may
have made her a charity girl. She should never have come here. It was
costing someone money to send her to Highacres and to feed her; and
often Mrs. Westley gave little things to her--and none of this could she
repay!
With furious fingers Jerry unfastened and tore off the Christmas dress.
From its hook in her clothes closet she took down the despised brown
garment. Her only thought, then, was to sort out her very own
possessions, but, as she collected the few things, the plan to go
away--anywhere--took shape in her mind. She would go to Barbara Lee
until her mother could send for her!
Then her door opened slowly. On the threshold stood Gyp in her red
dressing-gown. It was not so dark but that Gyp could see that Jerry wore
her old brown dress and that she held her hat in her hand. With one
bound she was at her friend's side, holding her arm tightly.
"Jerry, you're _not_ going away! You're _not_----"
"I've--got--to. I _won't_ be----"
"You're _not_ a--whatever Isobel said! She's horrid--she's jealous of
you because Dana King and--and _everybody_ thinks you're the most
popular girl at Lincoln. Peggy Lee said she heard a crowd of girls
saying so--that it was 'cause you're always nice to everybody and 'cause
you like to do everything--I won't _let_ you go!" There was something
very stubborn in Gyp's dark face; Jerry wished she had not come in. Just
before it had seemed so easy to slip away to Barbara Lee's and now----
"I never should have come here. I never should have let you all----"
Gyp gave her chum a little shake.
"Jerry Travis, Uncle Johnny brought you 'cause he said he knew you could
give Lincoln School and Isobel and me a lot--oh, of something--mother
read it in his letter--I remember. He said it was like a sort of
scholarship. And I heard mother tell him the day I was teasing her to
let me cut my hair short like yours, that she'd be willing to let me do
anything if I could learn to be as sunny as you are--I heard her, 'cause
I was listening to see if she was going to let me. So you've _more_ than
paid for everything. There's something more than just _money_! _You're_
too proud; you're prouder than Isobel herself----"
Jerry dropped her hat on the bed. Gyp took it as a promising sign and
she closed her arms tight around Jerry's shoulders.
"If you go away it will break my heart," she declared. "I love you
more'n any chum I ever had--more than _anybody_--except my family, of
course, and I love them differently, so it doesn't count. And mother
loves you, too, and so does Tibby, and so does Uncle Johnny. And if you
don't tell me right off that you won't go away I'll go straight to
mother and then we'll have to tell her how nasty Isobel was, and that'll
make _her_ unhappy. And I mean it." There was no doubt of that.
Gyp's concluding argument broke down Jerry's determination to go. No,
she could not; as Gyp had said, if she went away Mrs. Westley and Uncle
Johnny must know why. She could not do a single thing that would make
either of them the least unhappy. That would be poor gratitude. Perhaps
Gyp was right, too--that _she_ was too proud! Surely her mother would
never have let her come if it was going to bring the least humiliation
to her.
Gyp with quick fingers began to unbutton the brown dress. "Let's just
show Isobel that we don't care what she says. I think it's that horrid
Cora Stanton and Amy Mathers that makes her act so, anyway. They're
horrid! Amy Mathers puts peroxide on her hair and Cora Stanton cheated
in the geometry exam--everyone says so--I know what let's do, Jerry,
there were some cup cakes left; I saw them in the pantry--let's go down
ever so quietly and get them--and we'll have a spliffy spread." As she
spoke she caught up Jerry's warm eiderdown wrapper and threw it around
her.
Gyp's devotion was very soothing to poor distraught Jerry--so, too, was
the suggestion of the cup cakes. But half-way down the stairs Jerry
stopped short and whispered tragically in Gyp's ear:
"Gyp--_we can't eat them_! Our school record--no sweets between meals!"
And at the thought of school Jerry's world suddenly righted again.
"Oh, well----" Gyp would have liked to suggest missing a point. "We can
eat crackers and peanut butter--instead."