IRENE’S BIRTHDAY
Unexpectedly, the next day Jasper Crosby came into the office with
another lot of his sister’s poems. This time they were in a tin box
with padlock attached.
Judy listened in silence as the earlier manuscripts were discussed,
wondering how Emily Grimshaw would break the news of their
disappearance. Presently she realized that the poet’s brother was being
kept in ignorance of the whole affair. Worse than that, he was being
deceived. What did the agent mean by saying the publishers were
considering Sarah Glenn’s work?
Thinking there might be some mistake, Judy refrained from asking
questions until she and her employer were alone again. Then she
expressed herself frankly.
“It isn’t right,” she declared, “not to tell him the truth about those
poems. We can’t publish them when they’re lost.”
“Tut, tut, child,” Miss Grimshaw reproved in a patronizing tone that
always annoyed Judy. “You must never correct your elders. Haven’t you
heard that there are tricks to all trades?”
“Not dishonest tricks.” Judy’s scruples about deceit and treachery had
made her over-bold.
“Look here, Miss Bolton,” her employer cried. “If this position means
anything to you, learn to keep a civil tongue in your head. I have
evidence enough against you right now to place the blame on your
shoulders if I wanted to. The idea! Talking about dishonest tricks!
Wasn’t it a dishonest trick that somebody played on me?”
“Yes, Miss Grimshaw,” Judy answered penitently. “I shouldn’t have
spoken so hastily, and if you blame me....”
“But I don’t blame you, child. You’re as innocent as I am. That’s why I
hired you—because I knew I could trust you.”
This unexpected praise brought a flood of color to Judy’s cheeks. She
mumbled something intended for an acknowledgment. Not hearing the
interruption, her employer went on talking.
“I know we can’t keep putting Jasper Crosby off forever, but, don’t you
see, we must do it until the poems are found? I’m ruined if we don’t.”
“I suppose he would hold you responsible,” Judy ventured.
“He would exactly,” the agent declared. “He’d charge me with gross
negligence or something of the kind and sue me for more money than
Sarah Glenn’s royalties would bring in a lifetime. He’s just crooked
enough to get away with it. And,” she finished tragically, “all our
time and work will go for nothing. Oh, Miss Bolton, if you can help me,
won’t you do it? You’re clever. Perhaps you can figure it out. My mind
gets all befuddled of late—ever since Joy Holiday came back. Find her.
She’s got the papers.”
“I’ll do my best,” Judy promised, genuinely moved. She resolved to
tackle this new task her employer had given her with all the
seriousness it demanded. But whom was there to suspect? Joy Holiday, as
far as she could figure out, was a creature of Miss Grimshaw’s
imagination, a ghost. Judy refused to believe in ghosts or be
frightened by them. That angle of the mystery she dismissed as wholly
implausible. She had proved Dale Meredith’s innocence to her own
satisfaction, and Irene hadn’t taken the poetry. Judy felt sure of that.
She was still sure the following Thursday when she and Pauline planned
a birthday party for her. Dale happened to come in the office, and Judy
told him. Together they arranged a surprise dinner. At first he wanted
to take them to an exclusive restaurant but was soon won over when Judy
suggested a meal served out on the roof garden. Pauline liked the idea,
too, and found a great deal of pleasure in planning the menu. She
telephoned to the market and ordered a good-sized capon; nuts, celery
and raisins were to go into the dressing. There would be fruit cups and
salads, and ice cream for dessert and, of course, a cake with candles.
Judy came home early to make the cake. While Pauline helped Mary put on
the roast she continued fixing things, waiting for Dale who expected to
arrive ahead of Irene.
“It looks great!” he exclaimed as soon as he opened the door and saw
the table set in the center of the roof garden. It was decorated with
yellow candy cups and tall yellow candles. “And isn’t it lucky that I
brought yellow flowers?”
“You knew we’d be decorating in yellow,” Pauline charged as she took
the flowers and buried her face in their fragrance. Then, while Dale
stood admiring the tasteful arrangement of the table, she placed them
as an appropriate centerpiece. Everything was ready, and it was after
six o’clock.
“Irene ought to be here,” Judy said anxiously. “I wonder where she
went.”
Pauline had seen her go out early that morning, carrying a borrowed
book.
“She’d stop in on her way home to return it. Dale, why don’t you and
Judy go down to the bookstore and meet her?”
“Can’t you leave the dinner long enough to come with us?”
Pauline laughed. “I guess I could if you want me. There’s a chance of
missing her, though. She may come from another direction.”
Dale helped Judy and Pauline with their wraps, and together they walked
toward the bookstore. It was only a short distance, but the cool air
felt good to Judy after having spent all afternoon over the cake. As
they walked they watched for Irene. She would be wearing a brown suit
with a close-fitting brown hat to match, Pauline said. The outfit was
new and she wondered if, for that reason, they had missed her.
At the bookstore, however, the girl who took care of lending out books
from the circulating library told them that Miss Lang had not been in
since morning when she returned a book.
“What could have happened to her?” Judy exclaimed in real concern.
“Perhaps she went out shopping to celebrate. I’ve seen girls shop
before. They never leave the stores until closing time.”
“It’s closing time now.”
“And she’ll probably be waiting for us back at the house,” Dale
prophesied cheerfully.
“Oh,” exclaimed Judy, “I hope she doesn’t peek in the ice box and see
her cake. I do believe I forgot to put Blackberry out, and if he smells
that chicken....” She finished the sentence with a gesture of
hopelessness.
Blackberry was out—out on the roof garden—when they returned. Sensing
a party in the air, he had taken advantage of his mistress’ absence and
upset the vase of yellow flowers. There were bits of chewed flower
petals and ferns scattered all about.
“You bad cat!” cried Judy, shaking him. “Just look what he’s done. And
Irene isn’t here yet! Let’s hurry and put the place in order before she
comes. Collect the flowers, Dale, won’t you? I think I can save a few
of these ferns.”
She was on her knees, hunting for pieces of them as she spoke.
“And I’ll get Mary to wipe up the water and put on a clean cloth,”
Pauline offered.
Soon everything was in order again.
Oliver had hung a string of Japanese lanterns all the way across the
roof garden. They were a little too low, and for a few more minutes
Dale and the girls busied themselves with a pole, raising them to a
higher level.
Meanwhile it had grown dark, and Judy suggested lighting the candles on
the table so that Irene would see them the moment she opened the door.
Then they planned to call out, “Surprise!” all at once. Judy could
imagine the rest—Irene laughing, exclaiming, her two eyes like stars
as she enjoyed her very first birthday party.
In the kitchen below a sizzling noise called Mary to the oven. The
roast needed basting again. It was too brown already, but she couldn’t
take it off and let it get cold. The potatoes had cracked open and
their jackets were done to a crisp. She turned the flame as low as she
dared and faced about to see Dale and the girls standing in the doorway.
“Getting hungry?” she asked.
“A little. Irene ought to be here by now.”
“I know it,” the housekeeper replied, “and the dinner will be spoiled
if we let it wait much longer.”
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