MARJORIE’S WARNING
After the boys’ report of their unfruitful night at the tea-house,
Marjorie felt less desirous of making the experiment herself. When she
had called up the newspapers and explained to them that she now
considered herself in possession of conclusive proof against the
existence of anything unusual at the tea-house, she found them
singularly indifferent. The reporters had been only too ready to print
the story Marie Louise had given them over the telephone—_that_ made
good copy—but Marjorie’s account of the boys’ experience was too
uninteresting and common-place to merit attention. She was disappointed
to meet with such apathy; she felt that in failing to get the desired
publicity, the boys’ efforts had been partially wasted.
And yet their experiment had not been wholly in vain, for Marjorie
somehow felt a subtle change of attitude among the more timid girls, and
an increase of courage on Anna’s part. Everything was going better now,
for Marie Louise had come back and Mae Van Horn had come down to help
during her vacation. Moreover, the girls who had already had
vacations—Florence, Alice, and Marie Louise—seemed to work with
redoubled energy.
Ever since Anna’s strange experience, the tea-room had continued to
thrive financially. Now, with half of their loan paid off, and a
substantial balance in bank, the scouts faced a month of probable
prosperity. Marjorie felt satisfied and happy.
She postponed her own adventure at the tea-house until after the first
of August. Daisy was going on her vacation then, and Lily had consented
to take one week; so Marjorie felt that it would be easier with the more
nervous girls away. She wanted Ethel Todd as her sole partner.
“Marj, I wish you would give up that wild scheme of yours,” begged Lily;
as she said goodbye to her. “So many things may happen—leaving ghosts
out of the question, I mean!”
“Oh, we’ll take Jack’s revolver along,” said Marjorie. “You needn’t
worry about Ethel and me—we can take care of ourselves.”
“Well, be sure to write to me as soon as it is over! I can’t help being
worried.”
“All right,” agreed Marjorie, laughingly; “I will.”
True to his promise, however, Marjorie’s brother Jack made no attempt to
dissuade her from her purpose, and refrained from writing his parents
anything about it. When the evening for the event arrived, he drove over
with John Hadley in the Ford to take the girls down to the tea-house and
to see that they were comfortably established for the night.
Since Mrs. Hadley happened to be with them, and could act as chaperone,
the girls invited the boys to come in for refreshments. While Marjorie
was making some lemonade in the kitchen, John and Jack went all over the
house, examining every corner to make sure that there was no one in
concealment. In the dim candle-light the cellar appeared forbidding, but
upon examination it proved to be as harmless as the rest of the house.
“Any ghosts?” asked Marjorie, as they returned.
“No—not a sign of one!” replied John. “You aren’t the least bit scared,
are you, Marj?”
“Mercy no!” laughed the girl, lightly. “Jack, come crack some ice! And
tell me, would you boys rather have sandwiches or fudge-layer cake?”
“Both!” replied her brother immediately, as he searched for the
ice-pick.
When the refreshments were ready the little party adjourned to the porch
to enjoy the delightful breeze that was blowing. Neither girl felt the
least bit nervous about the approaching adventure, but as the minutes
passed and everything grew quieter, Mrs. Hadley showed increasing
concern.
“Marjorie,” she said, as she listened to a near-by clock toll out eleven
strokes, “won’t you please let us all stay all night here? The boys
wouldn’t mind finding a place on the floor down stairs, and we three
could put the two cots together upstairs.”
Marjorie smiled at the suggestion; there would be no possible reason for
her remaining there over night if she had the protection of the boys.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Hadley—though it’s awfully kind of you to offer. But
the boys had their chance, and didn’t discover anything—now Ethel and I
want to see what we can do.”
“Then let me stay!” urged the older woman, “Without the boys.”
“Oh, no, really!” replied both girls at once.
“It would be too uncomfortable,” added Ethel. “You know those army cots
aren’t especially soft—”
“And if we had to share them, we’d never get any sleep!” put in
Marjorie. “Please, please, don’t worry! We’ll be all right.”
Seeing that further argument would be of no avail, Mrs. Hadley finally
decided to go away and let the girls carry out their wishes. But she did
not look any too content as she said goodbye.
Marjorie and Ethel bolted both doors on the inside, and made their way
upstairs, laden with two flash-lights, some pillows, and a revolver.
Since there were no shades at the windows, they did not turn on the
light, but crept into their cots after removing only their shoes.
“My brother is the most sensible one of the bunch,” observed Marjorie,
as she lay still, gazing through the window at the tree-tops. “I know
John and Mrs. Hadley were about as nervous as Marie Louise.”
“Yes,” returned Ethel; “and isn’t it all absurd?”
“What do you honestly think did happen to Anna that night?” asked
Marjorie. “Do you think she made the whole story up?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Ethel, with sincerity. “I think she actually
dreamed the whole thing—and walked in her sleep, and got out of the
house somehow.”
“But how?”
“That I don’t know. But I have read strange instances of people making
discoveries in their sleep—things they could never find out when they
were awake. So she may have found some hidden door, or loose window, or
something like that.”
“Well, I hope we don’t do anything queer like that,” observed Marjorie,
beginning to be influenced in spite of herself by the loneliness of the
place. “You don’t walk in your sleep, do you Ethel?”
“Gracious, no!” laughed the other girl. “And by the way, if either of us
does get awake, let’s make a promise to wake the other. There’s no use
lying here feeling lonely.”
“Agreed!” replied Marjorie.
Notwithstanding her courage, it took Marjorie longer to go to sleep than
she had expected. Unconsciously, as she lay there, she listened to every
noise; but as they all came from without, she was not in the least
fearful. Her mind seemed to be unusually active, so she began to plan
out some menus, and to reckon up their financial status at the present
moment. There was no doubt about it, the outlook was good; unless
something unforeseen turned up to stop their business, the scouts would
probably make enough money to support Mrs. Trawle and her baby in an
economical manner all winter.
She thought of other summers—pleasant, useful summers in which their
time had not been wasted—but she realized that no vacation had ever been
so filled with service as this one. And, in consequence, she knew that
it was her happiest.
Then her mind returned to John Hadley and his mother, and she recalled
with gratitude how much they had done for her enterprise, how priceless
their help had been. She began to dream of the associations this summer
would hold for her with this loyal young man, and from her dreams she
drifted peacefully into sleep.
Neither girl awakened until just before dawn—when a faint light was
beginning to come in through the windows, making the outline of the
objects in the room just barely visible. Marjorie was slowly aroused out
of her sleep by a mechanical, repeated knocking. She sat up in her cot,
wondering what it could be.
The sound seemed to come from below, and her first thought was that
someone was trying to get in. It went on for another full minute;
surely, she thought, Ethel must soon awaken. But her companion continued
to sleep.
Summoning all her courage, she got out of her cot, and stepped
noiselessly to the window, unhooked the screen, and leaned out. All was
very still outside; not an automobile was passing, not a pedestrian
stirring. But to her amazement, she realized that the rapping, though
still audible at intervals, was not nearly so plain now as it had been
in the room. What was the significance? Her heart fluttered wildly as
she thought of the only possible interpretation: the knocking must come
from within!
Thoroughly terrified now, she turned back into the room and wakened her
sleeping companion. Ethel testified to the reality of the knocks—now
coming only at stated intervals—but nevertheless still sounding.
“What can it be?” whispered Marjorie.
“I don’t believe in spirit rappings,” said Ethel, “but from what I’ve
read of them, these knocks fit in remarkably well with their
description.”
“Oh, Ethel, it can’t be! Somebody must be playing a joke on us!”
“Nobody would do that,” replied the older girl. “It’s too serious a
matter!”
“But what shall we do?” Marjorie was dangerously near to tears.
“Oh, we won’t do anything till it’s light,” said Ethel. “Then we’ll go
home.”
“But what can it be?”
“I think it must be a rat gnawing something, or a cat—or even a bat.
There, how’s that for a rhyme!”
Marjorie laughed a little, and felt better for the joke. Then Ethel
crawled over into the cot beside her, and, with their arms entwined
about each other, they tried to go to sleep. But though the rapping
continued at less frequent intervals, it was still audible, and neither
girl was able to forget it.
For half an hour they lay very still, watching the light grow more
distinct, and rejoicing secretly at the approach of day. When it was
bright enough for Ethel to see her watch, they resolved to get up. They
had not heard a knock for the space of five minutes or so, and were
beginning to make light of their fears when three sounded in succession.
“Oh!” whispered Marjorie, who was now at the top of the stairs, “I do
believe it comes from the cellar!”
“Yes, so do I!” agreed Ethel. “Got the revolver?”
“Yes—shall—we go down?”
“No,” said Ethel; “but we’re going to open the door and listen. I
wouldn’t be surprised if we heard a scurry of little feet.”
“No doubt! No doubt!” muttered Marjorie.
They descended the staircase and went to the front door and unbolted it.
Everything without was peaceful and beautiful in the soft morning light,
and both girls breathed a sigh of relief. They were glad that the night
was over.
“Now for the cellar!” said Marjorie, turning back into the hall. “What
do you say if I shoot my revolver down once?”
“No! No!” objected Ethel. “It might frighten the neighbors.”
“All right—unless I hear something,” said Marjorie. “Now—come on!”
They stepped up to the cellar-door and unfastened it, thrusting their
heads cautiously into the blackness. A moment later they heard the same
rapping—distinct, menacing, ominous. Ethel grasped Marjorie’s hand in
terror.
“Marj!” she whispered. “Oh—”
But a hollow, monotonous voice, like one from the spirit world, froze
the sentence on her lips.
“BEWARE OF THE SCOTT HOUSE AT NIGHT!” it warned. “IT IS HAUNTED!”
Ethel grabbed again at Marjorie’s arm, as if to draw her forcefully
away. But now Marjorie was the braver.
“Take that!” she cried, firing three shots in succession aimlessly into
the cellar. “Whoever you are!”
But to both girls’ astonishment, there was no reply. Turning about
swiftly, they fled wildly through the hall, and out the door, never
stopping until they had reached the gate. There they almost bumped into
a car, stationed, with its engine running, across the very entrance.
“Marj! Ethel!” cried two very familiar voices, and the girls fairly
dropped into the arms of Jack Wilkinson and John Hadley, who had just
descended from the latter’s Ford.
“Tell us! Quick!” demanded John. “Are you hurt?”
“Who was it?” asked Jack. “Who shot?”
“I did,” replied Marjorie. “But I don’t know at whom. But—where were
you?”
“We slept here in the Ford all night after we took mother home,” John
explained. “The shots awakened us—we were just across the road behind a
tree—and so we pulled right over.”
“Do you want us to go in to the house?” asked Jack.
“No!” replied Marjorie. “Take us home while we tell you the story. Then
you can come back and search, if you like.”
“Suppose John takes you home, and I go in with the revolver?” suggested
her brother.
“No! No!” pleaded Ethel, very near to hysterics now. “Nobody must go in
alone. And I want to get away! Oh, please—”
“Certainly,” said John, sympathetically, as he helped the girls into the
car.
But when the boys returned, half an hour later, they found, just as they
had expected, no traces of any living creature in the cellar, or in fact
in any part of the house.