NANCY TRIVETT
“Gloria,” he began directly, tugging at her arm and glancing anxiously
about, “Gloria, please take this money back.”
“Why! Tom!”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get a chance.” He was pressing the
bills into her surprised hand.
“I just couldn’t keep it. I—” he faltered so miserably that Gloria
almost laughed at his discomfiture.
“Is it haunted, Tom?” she teased. “Or is it poisoned?”
“Oh, I got into a row—”
Gloria rippled a laugh that frightened off a little pee-wee. “What ever
do you mean, Tom? You got into a—row!”
“Say, Glo,” the boy interrupted, finding her sweater pocket and
hurriedly crushing into it the two bills, a two and a one, all folded up
into a tiny square. “Listen. Old Nancy Trivett says she lost three
dollars in our store this morning, and Sam tipped me off not to give
this to Abe Nash—”
“Oh, I see,” said Gloria mercifully. “They are just mean enough to think
a thing like that.” She drew her mouth into a line that bulged at the
corners. “I don’t know which is the meanest, Abe or Nancy, but they’re a
pretty mean pair. I just wonder, Tom, why such folks always love to
suspect us. They can’t find enough of fault without making it up.”
Indignation was sending the girl’s voice first up and then down until
she seemed to be taking a breathing exercise. “I’d just like to fight it
out with them for once. Why don’t you do it, Tom?” she asked, excitedly.
“On account of mother. She just hates rows and can’t even stand it when
I scrap with the fellows,” said Tom. “But gosh! I was thunderstruck!”
“She didn’t say you took her mouldy old greenbacks!” exclaimed Gloria.
“I’ll bet they were mouldy too, just from her squeezing them, hating to
part with the precious horde!”
They had walked along slowly but were now almost in the village. Persons
were coming along, eagerly scanning such pieces of mail as make up the
evening delivery; post card and advertisements composing the best part
of it, judging from the stray bits of paper carelessly discarded and
sent fluttering about the street.
Emerging from the River Road, Gloria and Tom faced Main Street.
“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Tom. “If there ain’t old Nance! Just let me duck!”
and before Gloria could answer, the boy turned a corner and disappeared.
But Nancy Trivett came straight for Gloria—head on!
“Where’d that young rowdy go?” demanded the irate woman, her voice as
sharp as her unpleasant features.
Gloria did not deign to answer her. She attempted to pass on with her
head higher than felt comfortable.
“I saw him!” continued the woman. “And I’ll get him too. He needn’t
think he’s goin’ to get away with my hard earned money—”
“Mrs. Trivett, what are you talking about?” asked Gloria angrily. “Do
you mean to say you think Tom Whitely took your money?”
“Oh, no; of course he didn’t take it. He just _found_ it—”
“He did not.” If Gloria shrieked this reply she had righteous
indignation on her side. “Tom didn’t find a cent.”
“Abe Nash saw him have three dollars!”
The tirade had attracted so much attention that a small crowd was
gathering. Anything for excitement in Barbend, but a clash between Nancy
Trivett and Gloria Doane was particularly promising. Realizing her
conspicuous position, but at the same time summoning her usual
clearheaded courage to combat it, Gloria was secretly glad that Tommy
escaped. He would never have been able to answer Nancy, and the crowd
would be apt to jeer at a boy, at any boy against the spectacular Nancy.
Just now she did look too funny! She wore the same hat she always
appeared in, a black sailor, or one that had once been black, and this
was festooned and decorated with feathers, flowers and ribbons, or bits
of stuff that represented such decorations. Her dress was equally a
mixture of useless odds and ends, all piled on, or plastered on at
intervals from the neck to the jagged hem. It looked black but it should
have been brown—that is the alpaca that composed the foundation for all
the trimmings. But queerest of all was Nancy’s own personality. She had
red hair that “changeth not,” and eyes of no less permanency. They were
a sort of hazel, and her complexion was not bad at all where it got a
chance to show itself, but the strong sun and the rough weather do
things to the complexion that goes with sandy hair and hazel eyes, and
they did it unmercifully to Nancy’s.
But her chiefest and most conspicuous feature was her hand bag. She
carried it everywhere and never seemed to be without it. The bag was
once brown leather but again time had collected its toll, and the bag
looked now like something the rummage sale couldn’t get rid of. It was
large enough to carry a half dozen of eggs which Nancy often traded with
the dealers for other commodities, and it was flat enough to go in her
basket, and had a clasp! It was that clasp that fascinated Nancy.
All these details were as familiar to the Barbend folks as was Nancy
herself, but while introducing her in her oddities, it is best to take a
good look.
Gloria now confronted the woman with something of a scornful smile on
her lips. She was so glad that Tommy did not have to answer that foolish
accusation! Being a normal girl with a sense of justice ever ready to
assert itself, she felt at first very much inclined to tell the
old-young lady just what she thought of her, but the small crowd just
emerging from the post office were too plainly eager for a lark. Gloria
was not quite good natured enough to satisfy them.
All this time Nancy kept talking. What she said did not matter in the
least, her voice was so strident it supplied what her words might have
lacked in the way of force.
“Say, Mrs. Trivett,” said Gloria after a long wait filled with the
other’s cackling, “when and where did you lose that money?”
“Haven’t I told you? I laid it right down on the basket of tomatoes—”
“Come on over to Sam’s,” suggested Gloria.
“It might be stuck around—”
“Haven’t I looked everywheres? Do you suppose I would go all day without
that money that I had set aside for the fire insurance, if it was in
Sam’s store?”
Nevertheless, she followed Gloria. Only a dim light fell from a center
lamp around the dingy place, but the baskets of vegetables were easily
shifted. Gloria went to work with a will. Sam looked on indifferently,
all he asked was that his stuff be handled carefully. But the money did
not come to light.
“What did you carry it in?” asked Gloria, as the next step in her
systematic investigation.
“Why, in my bag, of course,” replied Nancy, indignant that such a
question should be put to her.
“Let’s see it?” asked Gloria.
“Oh, see here!” and Nancy’s indignation mounted. “Do you suppose I’m
such a fool—”
“Never mind about that, Nancy,” said Gloria evenly. “But just remember
you have accused a boy of having that money. At least make sure you have
searched thoroughly for it.”
This argument was unanswerable, and Nancy opened the bag with the trick
catch. She fumbled through a miscellaneous collection of articles and
then looked up sharply.
“But just let me have a look,” asked Gloria.
Reluctantly the bag was handed over. Gloria simply dumped the articles
out into an empty berry basket, and with the refuse out of the way
proceeded to look into the corners of the old hand Satchel.
“You don’t need to look—” interrupted the impatient woman. But Gloria
kept right on looking.
Presently she felt a lump between the torn lining and the leather
covering, and before Mrs. Nancy Trivett could offer any more protests
Gloria held out to her the two crumpled bills.
“There you are,” said Gloria simply, turning away without so much as
noticing the other’s gasping astonishment. She left her to return the
trash to her bag and also to “fight it out with Sam.”
Those faithful few who had “stuck around to see the finish” gloated over
Gloria’s triumph, but she did not so much as deign to answer Fred Ayres’
question, who was really polite enough in putting it.
He just wanted to know where was Tommy Whitely.
The incident settled, Gloria had much more important matters to concern
herself with. She might have a second letter from Aunt Harriet. The post
office would close in five minutes and there was no time to lose in
crossing the dusty street.
And there she found the second letter in her box. With it were cards and
a letter from her dad. She had just time to put the Aunt Harriet letter
in her blouse when Jane appeared with others to mail for Mrs. Mayhew.
The flame of indignation lighted in Gloria’s cheeks by Nancy Trivett,
was now smoldering to a shadow of anxiety. It was never easy to
understand the doings of Aunt Harriet. Gloria was so abstracted on the
way home that gentle Jane decided she was sorry to leave Barbend. But
the anxiety threatening came from a deeper source than mere girlish
sentiment.