THE PICNIC SUPPER
When the boys drove Marjorie and Ethel into the yard of the Harris
house, they found everything absolutely quiet. The doors were still
locked, the occupants evidently still asleep.
“Have you a key?” asked John of the girls.
“No, not with us,” replied Ethel. “But we’re going to wake everybody up
anyhow. They’ll surely want to hear what happened.”
“Just wait till Marie Louise hears about it!” said Marjorie, now able to
laugh at the incident. “My, but she’ll hold it over us!”
“Do you intend to inform the police?” asked John.
“No, I’d rather not,” answered Marjorie. “Because they wouldn’t believe
us any more than they did Anna.”
They all got out of the car and Jack ran up the steps to ring the bell.
In a minute or two Mrs. Munsen answered it—fully dressed. She was just
about to come downstairs to start her preparations for the day.
“Jack Wilkinson!” she exclaimed, in apprehension. Then, a moment later,
she caught sight of Ethel and Marjorie and her fears vanished.
“Will you take in two wanderers?” asked Jack, with a smile. “We must go
right back to the tea-house.”
As soon as Mrs. Munsen looked into the girls’ faces, she knew that they
had been through an unpleasant experience. Her motherly heart went out
to them instantly, and she put her arms about their shoulders.
“You’re neither of you hurt?” she asked, first of all.
“No! No!” replied Marjorie, reassuringly. “But we have been frightened a
little.”
“Come out in the kitchen while I make you some coffee,” she suggested;
“and then you can tell me the whole story.”
While Mrs. Munsen busied herself with the preparations for breakfast,
Marjorie related the incidents of their adventure—the strange knocking,
the voice of warning, and finally their own flight after she had fired
three times into the cellar. She mentioned their surprise and relief in
finding the boys waiting for them, and their joy at being home again.
The older woman listened to the story with an increasing sense of alarm;
now she was wholly convinced that the tea-house was overshadowed by some
evil presence. She could not find words strong enough to express her
opinions.
“Girls, you must take this warning,” she said, her voice full of
anxiety. “From now on, we must do nothing foolish. It is positively
unsafe to tamper with matters like this.”
Marjorie did not make any attempt to oppose her; in fact both girls were
too perplexed and too exhausted to know what they really thought. They
drank their coffee gratefully in silence.
By the time the other scouts were downstairs and breakfast was ready,
the boys returned from their trip to the tea-house, but without
evidence. Mrs. Munsen asked them to remain for the meal—an invitation
which they both instantly accepted.
Ethel related the incidents over again for the benefit of those who had
not heard them, and the girls listened in terrified amazement. It seemed
all the more incredible because two such self-possessed girls as Ethel
Todd and Marjorie Wilkinson had been participants.
“Now maybe you will believe Anna!” remarked Marie Louise, triumphantly.
“Yes, I believe something happened to Anna, all right!” assented
Marjorie. “But I still don’t acknowledge that a spirit is the cause.”
“Oh, Marjorie,” exclaimed Mrs. Munsen, in a pained tone. “How can you
doubt so—with such facts as these before you?”
“Well, the main question,” said Florence, “is—what are we going to do
about it?”
“Yes. Shall we close the tea-house?” asked Alice.
“I should say not!” announced Marjorie, vehemently. “We’re going to
stick it out till we solve this mystery!”
“But if anybody really is afraid, I think she better go home,” put in
Ethel. “It’s too serious a thing to force any girl to go through with—”
“Oh, certainly!” Marjorie hastened to add.
“Anyway,” remarked Alice, “whatever we decide to do later, there’s only
one thing to do now—let Ethel and Marjorie get some rest. And that
reminds me, don’t forget our picnic today. We’ll go just the same, won’t
we?”
“Oh, certainly!” replied Ethel, immediately.
The picnic, which had been arranged through the generosity of Agnes
Taylor and a group of her friends who had offered to substitute for the
girls, was to be held at an outlying pleasure park. All of the scouts
who were not Philadelphians had been anxious to visit this renowned
spot, but, on account of the rush of business, had been unable to find a
time. Marjorie happened to express her regret one day in Agnes’s
presence, and the girl cheerfully offered to serve with her friends in
the scouts’ places.
Since both Marjorie and Ethel felt sure that nothing unusual would
happen at the tea-house during the hours of daylight, they resolved to
say nothing of their early morning adventure to the girls in charge.
There seemed to be no reason to arouse their fears unnecessarily.
After several hours’ good sleep, Marjorie and Ethel appeared at the
luncheon table as bright and as fresh as if they had gone through no
harrowing experience. Both girls even insisted upon helping with the
preparations for the picnic supper.
“The boys still want to go,” remarked Alice, as she packed the
waxed-paper sandwiches into a basket. “John made one more plea as he
left the house this afternoon.”
Marjorie was amused at his persistence, but she showed no signs of
relenting.
“Nobody but Roger!” she said, firmly. “He has to come or Doris would
pass away.”
“That’s just what Jack and John denounced as unfair,” continued Alice.
“They said if Roger could come, they could!”
“But Roger’s married. And besides, even he isn’t expected for supper.”
“I’m putting in a little extra,” observed Mrs. Munsen, “in case he
should turn up unexpectedly. You don’t want the poor boy to go hungry!”
“Oh, Mrs. Munsen, you’re entirely too kind-hearted!” said Marjorie. “Let
the man go to a restaurant for once; it wouldn’t hurt him!”
“What’s all this I hear about my husband?” inquired Doris, from the
kitchen. “Don’t you dare abuse him!”
“Nobody’s abusing him,” laughed Ethel. “Come on, girls, hurry! It’s
after two, and if we don’t get to the park early, we won’t have time to
try all the amusements before supper.”
“And if we don’t try them before we eat, I’m sure we won’t want to
afterwards,” remarked Alice.
“And no matter which way we do it, we’ll all probably see Marj’s ghost
tonight,” added Florence. “At least if we succeed in making away with
all this food Mrs. Munsen is providing.”
The preparations were finished at last, and the girls, each laden with a
basket or a box of some sort, walked to the trolley-car which was to
take them on their excursion. In vain John had offered his car,
suggesting that they also make use of Lily’s, which was at their
disposal during the latter’s absence; but all the scouts announced their
preference for the more plebian mode of travel. They felt as if they
would enjoy the park better if they adopted the usual method in reaching
it.
They arrived shortly after three o’clock, and after selecting a big
picnic table under the trees, and establishing Mrs. Munsen there with a
magazine and her knitting, and piling the packages around her, the merry
party of seven went off to take in the amusements. Forgetting their
years and their dignity as proprietresses of a business and sponsors of
a baby, they entered as joyously into the fun as if they were
children—singing on the airships and carousels, screaming at the
breath-taking descents of the scenic railways. They made the rounds
thoroughly, spending money extravagantly, in order not to miss a single
sensation. At last, when it was nearly six o’clock, they returned tired
but happy to Mrs. Munsen’s table.
“Well, you look as if you had a good time!” she said, smiling at their
flushed faces. “It does me good to see you drop your worries for a
while.”
“We did have a good time!” announced Marjorie. “We didn’t miss a single
thing!”
“And here you have supper all ready, too!” remarked Ethel. “Really, Mrs.
Munsen, that is too much! Why didn’t you wait?”
“Oh, my dear, there was nothing much to do. I enjoyed it. And we’re
going to have coffee, too! I made arrangements for that!”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Alice. “I move we start right in now—immediately.
I’m as hungry as a bear!”
For twenty minutes or so they were so occupied with the business of
serving themselves and each other, and eating the delicious food they
had brought, that there was no concerted effort at conversation. At
last, when their hunger showed signs of being satisfied, they began to
go into detail about the afternoon’s amusement.
It was Doris who first mentioned the boys, regretting the fact that they
were not there to enjoy the supper.
“It certainly is a pity,” she said, “to think of their eating in
restaurants and boarding-houses with all this marvellous food going to
waste. For we can never eat it all!”
“Yes, I have to admit that Marjorie was hard-hearted,” said Mrs. Munsen.
“Oh, the food won’t be wasted!” replied Marjorie, undisturbed by the
accusation. “I mean to take it home with me. We can feed it to the girls
at the tea-house.”
“It’s possible,” observed Doris slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on a
distant point near the entrance of the park, “that you may not have to
take it home.” Suddenly she jumped up and waved her arms in ecstasy.
“Doris, are you having a fit?” asked Ethel, watching her motions in
perplexity.
“I presume,” said Marjorie, “that the young lady’s husband is coming.”
“He is! He is!” cried the happy bride. “And it’s only twenty-five after
six—so I guess he didn’t wait to get his supper.”
Marjorie uttered a groan of mock distress.
“I thought we couldn’t run away—” she began; but Mrs. Munsen hastened to
interrupt her by assuring Doris that there was still plenty to eat.
“But I do believe he has two men with him,” continued Doris, who had not
been listening to the remarks which had just been made for her benefit.
“It must be—yes—it is—Jack Wilkinson and John Hadley!”
“Well, of all the nerve!” cried Marjorie. “That beats everything! I
wonder who they think invited them!”
“Roger probably,” answered Doris, meekly.
Marjorie relented a little at the other girl’s penitence, for she seemed
to consider herself to blame. It was impossible to be angry with Doris
for any length of time.
The boys let out a joyous war-whoop as soon as they caught sight of the
girls, and Roger, reaching the group first, boldly kissed his blushing
bride in front of them all.
“It seems as if it is impossible to get away from some people!” remarked
Marjorie, with a significant glance at her brother and John Hadley.
“Oh, we intended to come, all along,” remarked Jack, calmly. “Hope you
have plenty for us to eat!” He sat down between Marie Louise and Ethel.
“Yes, indeed, plenty!” said Mrs. Munsen, cordially. “The girls have
stopped already, and there is lots of salad, and sandwiches, besides two
big cakes and some fruit for dessert.”
“It’s a good thing!” observed Jack, helping himself liberally to chicken
salad, “for Dick Roberts said he might drop over, and bring Warner and
Ellison. So you see, Sis, you might as well have invited us anyhow.”
Marjorie laughed good-naturedly, and gave up trying to squelch her
irrepressible brother.
When, a few minutes later, not only Dick and Bill Warner and Pierce
Ellison, but also Eugene Schofield arrived and announced that they too
had come for supper, the party was complete. Marjorie admitted herself
entirely outwitted, and Mrs. Munsen beamed with joy at seeing her good
food so well appreciated.
“But you boys are too late for the amusements,” said Ethel. “We did them
all this afternoon.”
“Not too late for dancing, though, are we?” asked Pierce.
Mrs. Munsen wrinkled her forehead in doubt.
“I don’t know,” she replied, in uncertainty; “it may be all right—and it
may not. But so long as this is a public park, let’s stay on the safe
side, and dance when you get home.”
“Agreed!” cried Marjorie, cheerfully. “We’ll go listen to the first
concert in the music pavilion, and then make an early departure.”
During all this merry, care-free time, there had been no reference to
the girls’ early morning experience; indeed, it seemed almost as if the
incident had been forgotten. But on their way to the pavilion, Jack and
John joined Marjorie and Ethel, and instantly the subject was brought up
again.
“You still don’t think it was a ghost?” asked John of Marjorie.
“No, I don’t! If it was, why did Anna and Ethel and I hear the voice—and
not you boys or the policemen?”
“Of course that’s true,” admitted John. “Though they do say women and
girls are more sensitive, and therefore more susceptible to spiritual
influences—”
“Nonsense!” cried Marjorie. “It’s somebody—some _person_ who wants to
scare us girls! And I mean to sift the thing to the bottom!”
“But how?” asked Jack, a little alarmed at his sister’s daring.
“I’m not sure,” replied Marjorie. “But I think I have a plan—”
“And Marj’s plans always work!” exclaimed Ethel, admiringly.
“And—your plan—involves just girls?” asked John, in a disappointed tone.
“My plan,” announced Marjorie, “involves at least three people—and maybe
more—myself, and my brother, and another boy!”
“Bravo!” cried Jack, grasping Marjorie’s shoulder in approval. “I’m with
you to the end, Sis!”
“And so am I!” added John, quietly.