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DREAMY HOLLOW
TO THE GIRL OF MY DREAMS
--F. A. B.--
[Illustration: SHE GAZED UPON HIS KINDLY FACE, AND THEN WITH THE JOY OF
YOUTHFUL SPIRITS, PLACED HER HANDS OVER HIS EYES.]
DREAMY HOLLOW
by
SUMNER CHARLES BRITTON
A Long Island Romance
[Illustration: Decoration]
New York
World Syndicate Company, Inc.
Copyright, 1921,
By World Syndicate Company, Inc.
Printed in the U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY 1
II WILLIAM PARKINS ARRIVES 19
III A MESSAGE FROM WINIFRED 40
IV A SUDDEN DEPARTURE 49
V THE HAWK SEEKS ITS PREY 61
VI SECRET SERVICE 77
VII THE NEW WINIFRED 96
VIII HENRY UPDYKE DROPS IN 115
IX FORCES BEYOND THE SKIES 133
X THE NURSE TAKES A CHANCE 144
XI MARY JOHNSON 166
XII THE THIRD DEGREE 188
XIII WINIFRED MEETS UPDYKE 216
XIV GEORGE CARVER'S BRIDE 242
XV PARKINS RUNS AMUCK 259
XVI THE HUT ACROSS THE BAY 279
XVII THE WOLF HOUND 288
XVIII FLIGHT OF A SOUL 301
DREAMY HOLLOW
CHAPTER I.
THE HOUSE OF MYSTERY
Dreamy Hollow may be reached three ways--by automobile, aeroplane or
boat through Great South Bay. But to go there without invitation would
have spoiled the welcome, for, at the time of which we write, the master
of this magnificent acreage was a man of square jaw, protruding
forehead, and very punctilious. He also possessed two deep blue eyes
that set far back under brows of extra overhang--eyes that reflected the
soul when tranquil, but in heat of passion, turned to lead.
A forest of trees and kindred foliage protected his gleaming villa from
the prying gaze of curious tourists. Only from the water side could it
be seen at all. When it was learned that the great concrete walls topped
by heavy iron pickets admitted of no entrance except by invitation, the
sight-seeing tourist scorned the gatekeeper's apology and scurried away
along the gasoline trail.
For quite a long period much mystery existed as to the ownership of the
magnificent estate, but this much was known: that for five straight
years the great house stood empty. No one was seen to come or go, save
the watchman at the ornate iron gates opening upon the motor parkway,
and his fellow guardsmen in charge of the estate far in behind the trees
and bushes,--out of sight. It was built by a trust company, and whoever
might be the owner, he came by sea at rare intervals and sailed away at
night. Only a chosen few had visited him there, but they came as he
came, and departed with him as he went away. Thus the wondrous white
home with its wealth of trees and shrubs came to be known to the
families of neighboring estates as "Spooky Hollow."
Drury Villard, after amassing a most prodigious fortune, suddenly
appeared before his directors one bright June morning, and announced his
retirement forthwith, whereat there was great consternation. For a time
the silence following his announcement became so tense that, as
President, he felt it necessary to say something more definite. Gathered
about him were men who had carried his message all over the world and
had sold it for cash. Never had they known a human specimen of such
overwhelming energy of body and mind. Although strong in themselves,
individually, and as a group, they knew they were merely "spokes in the
wheel" of a giant intellect. They had carried his banner into every
port, and that banner had spelled prosperity for every agency that held
it aloft. But the Master Mind would quit! Now he would lay aside his
life work and "desert" the greatest organization of its kind in the
world! It amounted to just that--desertion--to those who had grown up
with the business--their all was involved.
The stern faces of the strong men about him finally brought President
Villard to his feet and caused him to walk nervously to and fro across
the room. Every eye was upon him, and he knew in advance each man's
thoughts, so intimate had his relations been with them. It was his
intention to be frank. He meant to tell them everything about his
future plans, but he who had always dominated now halted, ill at ease.
For once in his life he exhibited a diffidence of speech in the presence
of his directors. They would most likely think his reasons
silly--perhaps they would think him crazy! Above all else he wanted, as
he well deserved, their lasting good will. Under no circumstances would
he forfeit that; but there were certain men in the organization who
might feel that he was in the act of jeopardizing their future welfare.
Each was a special partner and entitled to the truth, therefore he
determined to put his case squarely up to them as a group, regardless of
their attitude toward himself. With his hands clasped behind him he
finally came to a standstill before them and dreamily peered into their
faces.
"Boys," said he, his lips curving into a queer little smile, "I've got
to quit--but I won't desert you. I shall do nothing that will subtract
from what you have, nor will I retard your progress in pursuit of your
goal. I have enough--more than I ever wanted--more than is good for any
one man to possess. But for you, untiring faithfuls that you are, I
should have said 'good-bye' to this great business five years ago."
Being a man of few words he stopped short and leaned back against the
wall where he stood as one at bay until the silence became awkward. Then
in a soft sympathetic voice a member of his board of directors spoke.
"Why, Mr. Villard--why would you have done this, when at that time your
zeal was at its height?"
Vice-President Parkins asked this question in all good humor.
"Because I feared to lose my soul in pursuit of riches that I did not
need. Besides, I was building my future home at Dreamy Hollow. I felt
that I should need one as I was on the point of marriage. None of you
know that, however," concluded the President, with a far-away gleam in
his eyes.
Man of silence and strength, he paused for a moment and again paced the
floor. Finally he said, simply, a whimsical expression lighting up his
face: "She died--but I went ahead and built a home for her just the
same. It has taken years to make it into a place she would have loved.
Now, at last, it is ready. Maybe she will hover about it some of the
time, so I want to be there. I want to be near at hand, so that----"
President Villard stopped suddenly and looked helplessly about him, for
there were strange lights in the eyes of more than one member of the
board, and by each man's sobered face was shown a deep sympathy. He
looked upon them in amazement, and, suddenly taking his seat at the head
of the directors' table, broke out in his accustomed voice.
"Gentlemen," said he, "we must now come to order and proceed with
matters to be passed upon by the Board. The first thing is my
resignation. In support of that I most earnestly bespeak your hearty
concurrence. I must be relieved. Parkins is the man. He has been the
real head of this corporation for years--yes, you have Bill," said he,
insistently--"and all of us know it. You are the 'System Sam' of the
concern, and I won't desert you by any means. Make me Chairman of the
Board, if you think best, and I'll come to the annual meeting, or any
time you really want me, but I trust that you will find my presence
unnecessary. There need be no outside talk. Just say that I am playing
with my new home, but am still in the ring. Go on with the business,
boys. It's yours from now on. I'll gradually draw out and let go of some
stock from time to time in equal shares to you who have carried the hod.
I shall keep some of it always just to be one of you, but at my death my
executors will find advices from me to dispose of any remaining interest
equitably between you. Also allow you time to work it out, if need be.
It's all up to you."
What the retiring president had to say was so entirely unexpected that
no member of the board found words for reply, although it was patent to
all that a great good fortune had been handed them in a fashion never to
be forgotten. After a tense period of silence Vice-President Parkins
arose from his seat and, walking forward, grasped the hand of the
retiring president. A look into each other's eyes told of their mutual
trust and esteem; and then one by one, the directors passed in review,
several of whom put an arm about Villard's broad shoulders and peered
through the mist of their own eyes into his serious face. It was plain
that he wanted to be sure that each man was satisfied, and when all had
paid their tributes of respect he stood before them irresolutely for a
moment--then, without looking back, walked out of the room.
Drury Villard carried no heart upon his sleeve. His was a vigorous
nature and he was determined that his first real attempt at home life
should light his path toward contentment. No one could have dreamed that
this indefatigable specimen of the strenuous life could so easily adjust
himself to the new order of things. The usual servants, male and female,
amply vouched for by expert agencies, had entered quickly and at once
became a part of his orderly household. There had been no fussy
superintendence on the part of any one, each member of the menage
quietly walking into an appointed place, to take up the duties belonging
thereto.
All this was to the liking of the master, whose "stock" was soon "taken"
by the experienced coterie of servants who forthwith gave him their
approval. Thenceforward his time was his own. He would lead a new life;
he would make it his sole business to solve the problem of the real
gentleman of leisure. To accomplish this he must discard by degrees all
superfluous endeavor. Every habit of haste and impatience must be thrown
overboard. Tranquillity of mind and body must be transplanted in their
stead. He had a vague notion that his loneliness would soon vanish and
that certain seeds of contentment implanted by fixed habits, together
with forces not hitherto encountered, would, in time, lead him "beside
the still waters,"--away from the storms of life. He welcomed the
thought. It stood out as a rainbow of promise before his mind's eye, and
took root within his bosom.
As days followed his occupancy of the great home he had builded, he
became aware of the perfect solace which now permeated his inner being.
Although assured that he had control of his every faculty he did not
gloat over his sudden surcease from sorrow. There was a reason for
everything and consequently no need of haste in forming "half-baked"
conclusions. He had been helped along by a process yet to be
fathomed--most probably _the will to do_. His great homestead, a marvel
of exquisite taste, also performed its part in the transformation. But
there was something deeper still, an underlying cause, that mystified
him. Then, all at once, a great thought crept forward--was _she_ near?
Did _she_ know _all_--everything about his great longing for _her_? His
heart seemed to stand still!
He gazed out of the window; evening shadows had fallen. He had been
seated in a huge cushioned chair seemingly for a long time. The room was
noiseless but for the deep moaning of the waters of Great South Bay
lapping at the beach. Then--vaguely--he thought he heard a voice;
"Drury!" it seemed to call.
Villard roused himself and stood upon his feet. He wondered at the calm
within him, and with glad voice shouted back: "Winifred! you have called
to me! Speak again, dear one! I----"
"_There is no death!--There is no death!_" came the answer clear and
joyous--and then a stillness fell upon the room, so intense that through
a heavy metal door could be heard the ticking of a clock in an adjoining
room.
Shaken by the experience Drury Villard fell back into the soft
upholstery from which position he had heard the voice. He must have time
to think! What did it all mean? How much was fact--how much was fancy?
Had he been asleep? Would it not be best to walk out along his private
beach and breathe the salt air of the evening tide, thus to tranquilize
his mind? There was nothing to brood about--that was his thought. He had
witnessed a certain phenomenon, the secret of which time must disclose
to him. He would wait, "patiently and without stress of mind," was his
sober conclusion. In fact, as he walked out along the sandy path leading
to the water's edge he found himself supremely happy over his wonderful
adventure. His Winifred had kept the tryst!--such was his impression.
From within the great obscuring veil she had spoken, had called his
name,--had fulfilled the promise she had given while in the life!
"'Tis naught for Sun to shine," he quoted. "God works in a mysterious
way His wonders to perform. There is no death, says my Winifred. Then
must I strive with all my soul to meet her in the great beyond! But I
must not brood over this matter. I feel the need of fellowship. I'll
send for Parkins and put my story before him. I must have some one in
whom to confide," and forthwith he put his plan into action.
Never was a man more seemingly delighted than William Parkins when a
"long distance" call from the Master of Dreamy Hollow invited him over
for the week-end.
"I'm just beginning to want to pal with somebody I know. Five weeks is a
long time to wait for friends to invite themselves, so I'm going to
start in from my end. You're first on the list, and the first invitation
is yours. I won't take _no_ for an answer."
"You will not have to, my dear fellow. I'm most happy to have the
opportunity. Which way shall I go out?"
"My boat will take you on board at your pleasure any time after noon on
Friday, and will land you back at the same Forty-second Street Pier at
such time as you suggest."
"Well, now, that would be perfectly bully! Let's see--your estate joins
the Sawyer Place, does it not?"
"Yes--on the east. His hedgerow is the dividing line between us."
"Then I know exactly how to get to you, so I shall taxi over," replied
Parkins with enthusiasm. "You see I can kill two birds with one stone by
stealing away Friday afternoon and motoring over to my fishing hut at
Patchogue--wonderful flounders down there! I have my own boat and I want
to see what condition she's in, so I'll get over to your place by noon
on Sunday. How does that suit your convenience?"
"Nothing could be better."
"Then it's a go--and many thanks. Bye, sir," concluded Parkins, in his
usual courteous way.
"Bye, old boy. I await you with great impatience. Speed the
day--S'long--keep yourself good."
A delightful sense of anticipation came into the mind of Drury Villard
as he hung the receiver. He felt the need of fellowship and upon
Parkins' acceptance his great frame took on a certain vigor that called
for action. He must hurry the time away that intervened before Parkins
should arrive on Sunday. He must make plans. Perhaps Doctor Sawyer of
the adjacent estate would join him in a dinner of welcome.
Such a plan would brush away all business talk, sure to take place if
Parkins and himself were left alone the first evening. His idea was to
dodge business altogether. Parkins needed a rest, and, as for himself,
he had no heart for ordinary commercial chit-chat. He held a great
secret in his bosom, a precious secret, and even with so good a friend
as Parkins he would be chary of sharing it. For the present, pending the
arrival of his visitor, he had much in mind with which to occupy
himself. Parkins must find an improvement in him, therefore he would
hasten his plan of mastering the secret of composure. His great
experience of the afternoon might be repeated if he could but put his
mind in condition to receive it. Wonderful thought!--and he would strive
to bring it about.
First of all, for the sake of health, another walk along the beach
seemed practical, and obeying the impulse, Villard soon found himself
strolling leisurely over the path leading to the waters of the bay. He
could hear the heavy intonation of the milling tide as it broke upon the
sands, long before he reached his destination. Its deep muffled roar was
not unlike the reveille of a drum corps in a far-away encampment. As he
neared his destination, such was his serenity of mind that he felt
himself in tune with all nature from earth to sky. His whole being
thrilled at the wonderful message from his dead love.
"There is no death!" he murmured--and then, in lower tone, almost a
whisper, he repeated--"there is no death--my beloved knows the truth!"
"Oh, Winifred," he cried aloft, "speak again to me! Tell me that you are
near--that I may hope--that I may----" and then a chilling blast swept
over the sands that sent a shiver through his body. A voice shouted--a
voice he knew and loved so well. It seemed to say--"Life never
dies!"--as clear as ever a human tongue could bear a message. It was the
same sweet voice as of old, but all-pervading, seeming to completely
encompass the eager man on all sides--and from below, and from above.
His eyes opened wide in amazement as he put forth his whole strength to
control his senses. A man of iron will, he would not fail himself at
such a supreme moment! Near unto him was the spirit of his dead, the
soul of his loved one--a second visitation.
"Speak on, my Winifred!" he whispered hoarsely, while attempting to
shout his words.
"Life, itself, is everlasting!" rang out the voice once more. "The body
dies when the soul takes flight--it is no more in being."
"Yes, go on, my loved one! Tell me----"
"Life is a common fund--endless--vast as the heavens--encompassing all
space. Life is universal--it permeates, and through constant vibration
animates all living things, from the blade of grass to the human
soul--but the body dies, and returns to earth."
"And of the soul, my Winifred? Tell me all that I should know, that
I----"
"Within the last moment of your life, when your soul prepares to take
its flight, all shall be revealed to you. Your soul is the mentor of
your brain, and the master of your conscience. By virtue of its quality
will its destiny be governed.... So live, my Drury, that when your body
dies your soul shall take the flight which leads to everlasting life."
"And we shall meet again, Winifred?--and know each other----"
"The test lies with you. I'll be waiting, Drury--waiting----"
The voice ceased, and Villard, startled by the unfinished sentence,
heard a faint sound as if a silken kerchief had fluttered forth upon the
breezes. At once the air seemingly regained its usual warmth, the
chilling blast following along in the wake of the departing spirit.
Greatly agitated the astonished man looked about him as one who had but
just awakened from a dream. Nevertheless he nerved himself into a full
control of his faculties as one of his great mental poise is ever
capable. He felt sure that his sanity was perfect. He had experienced an
extraordinary visitation, but it had left no uncanny feeling within his
bosom. His real anxiety, if any, was the fear that the spirit of his
loved one had revealed too much--such was her love for him--and that
future visitations might thereby be thwarted. Against that possibility
he compelled himself to concentrate every force of his intellect and
every ounce of his soul--and with that resolve he turned his footsteps
toward his home, his body erect, his face illumined--his heart
enraptured.
"Winifred!" he whispered, over and over again, and, as he neared his
stately mansion--all quiet, serene, and beautiful to look upon--a great
wave of regret seized him because _she_ had never crossed its threshold
"in the life."