CLAM CHOWDER AND SALT AIR
Connie was right, gloriously right. It was clam chowder--the kind of clam
chowder one dreams about--come true. Uncle Tom had made it just that very
afternoon and had brought it over in a huge bucket that was always used
for such occasions.
The girls ate and ate and ate and then ate some more until they were
completely satisfied with life and were feeling contented and
beautifully, wonderfully drowsy.
Connie's mother had served them other things beside clam chowder. There
were pork chops and apple sauce, there were muffins and honey and apple
pie, and when they had finished, the once full table looked as if a swarm
of locusts had been at it.
And all the time Connie's mother had watched them with wide, delighted
eyes and Connie's father had lounged back in his chair, smoking a cigar
and looking on with an indulgent smile.
Mr. Danvers, with the aid of a couple of men from the dock, had got the
girls' trunks up to the house and into the rooms they were going to
occupy for the summer.
And now, having done his duty, he had sauntered into the dining room to
get acquainted with the girls and smoke a cigar. He and Mrs. Danvers had
had their dinner earlier, because, as Mrs. Danvers laughingly explained,
"she had been famished and could not wait," so that now there was nothing
to do but watch the girls enjoy themselves.
The dining room was like all the other rooms in the cottage, cheerful and
cozy and tastefully furnished, and as the girls looked about them happily
they felt that they must have known the house and its owners all their
lives.
Mr. Danvers was many years older than his wife, and he looked even older
than he was. But he was a handsome man, and the touch of gray in the hair
at his temples only made him look more distinguished. He adored his wife,
and his eyes followed her wherever she went.
"As if any one could blame him for that," thought Billie, as Mrs. Danvers
slipped a second piece of apple pie on her plate.
"My gracious! do you expect me to eat a second piece of pie?" cried
Billie, glancing up at Mrs. Danvers, with a smile.
"A second piece of pie isn't very much for a young girl with a healthy
appetite," returned the lady of the bungalow.
"You give her too much pie, and she'll be dreaming of all sorts of
things," remonstrated Vi.
"Why, Vi! To talk that way when you are eating a second piece yourself!"
broke in Laura.
"If we dream, perhaps we'll all dream together, so what's the
difference?" remarked Billie; and at this there was a laugh in which even
Mr. Danvers joined.
After dinner Connie's mother sent them up to their rooms, saying that she
knew they must be tired to death and should go to bed early so they could
get up to see the sun rise the next morning.
They did not protest very much, for they were tired and the prospect of
bed was very alluring. To-morrow--well, to-morrow they would go
exploring. Perhaps they might even be permitted to visit the lighthouse
and Uncle Tom. Speaking of Uncle Tom made Billie think of the clam
chowder, and although she could not have eaten another scrap if she had
tried, her mouth watered at the memory.
The girls left the connecting door open between the two rooms so that
they could talk to each other if they wanted to, but they did not do very
much talking that night.
"Oh, this feels good," sighed Billie, as Connie turned down the covers
and she crawled thankfully into bed. "I didn't know I was so awfully
tired. And that dinner! Connie, does your mother always serve dinners
like that?"
"Yes," said Connie, flinging her thick braid over her shoulder and
crossing the room to turn out the light. "Mother's an awfully good cook,
and although we have a maid to do the heavy work Mother does all the
cooking herself."
"Well," said Billie, snuggling down under the covers luxuriously as
Connie joined her, "I'm mighty glad I came."
"Even if we don't solve any mysteries?" asked Connie, a trifle wistfully.
Billie turned over and tried to see her face, a thing impossible, of
course, in the dark.
"What a foolish thing to say," she cried. "I'll shake you, Connie
Danvers, if you ever say a thing like that again. We could have stayed at
Three Towers if we had wanted to solve mysteries more than we wanted to
come here, couldn't we?"
"Y--yes," said Connie doubtfully. "Only, of course, we didn't know
anything about the mystery when I asked you to come here. So you couldn't
have backed out very well, even if you had wanted to."
Billie turned over impatiently and caught Connie by the shoulder.
"Connie Danvers!" she cried, "now I know you want to be shaken. Are you
really trying to say that we didn't want to come with you and only did it
to please you?"
"No," said Connie, with a shake of her head. "Of course I didn't mean
just that. Just the same," she added longingly, "I am awfully anxious to
find out about Miss Arbuckle and her album and--that strange
man--everything."
It was then that a horrible thought struck Billie, and it was so horrible
that it sat her straight up in bed.
"Connie--I just thought--could it--were you sorry you asked us to come?"
she stammered. "Would you rather have stayed at Three Towers yourself?"
For a minute there was silence and Billie knew that Connie was staring
through the dark at her in absolute amazement.
"You perfectly silly goose," said Connie then, her bewilderment changing
to indignation. "Now I know who wants to be shaken. Lie down here,
Billie, and see if you can act sensibly. Sorry I asked you!" she exploded
indignantly. "Why, who ever heard of such a thing!"
"But you said you wanted to solve the mystery--if there is one," Billie
reminded her, lying down again.
"Well, of course I do. So do all the rest of you," Connie shot back. "But
as to being sorry I asked you, why, I've a good mind----" She rose
threateningly in the bed and Billie put out a pleading hand, saying with
a chuckle:
"Please don't kill me or do whatever you were going to. I take it all
back."
"I should say you'd better!" sputtered Connie, coming down with a thump
in the bed.
"What are you girls raving about?" asked a sleepy voice from the next
room that they recognized as Vi's. "Can't you keep still and let a fellow
sleep? Laura's snoring already."
"Oh, I am not!" came indignantly from Laura. "I never snore!"
"How do you know?" asked Vi with interest.
"Know!" sputtered Laura. "Why, I don't know how I know, but I do know."
"Perhaps you are like an aunt of mine," Vi's voice came lazily back. "She
says she knows she never snores because she stayed awake all night once
just to see if she did."
Billie and Connie chuckled, which would have made Laura more indignant if
she had not been so sleepy.
"Oh, for goodness sake, keep still and let me sleep," she cried, adding
ferociously: "I saw a knife around somewhere downstairs. If anybody
speaks another word I'm going down and get it."
Whether this threat had anything to do with it or not, it would be hard
to say. But at any rate the girls did stop talking and settled down for
sleep.
All but one of them succeeded in drifting off into the land of nod in no
time at all, but that one of them--who was Billie--lay for a long time
with eyes wide open staring into the dark.
Then gradually the soft lapping of waves upon the beach soothed her into
a sort of doze where tall thin men and shabby picture albums and queer
little huts were all confused and jumbled together. Only one thing stood
out clearly, and that was the great searchlight, twinkling, winking,
glowing, sending its friendly message far out upon the sea.
Then all the troubled visions disappeared in a soft black cloud. Billie
was asleep.