ON THE ROAD
The day dawned gloriously bright, a sparkling day of sunshine and fresh
sweet winds and the scent of adventure in the air. It was _the_ day on
which the start for Montana was to be made.
Ruth never failed to start on a trip of this kind without a thrill of
the sort that had come to her on that eventful day of her childhood when
she and Helen Cameron had set out for Briarwood Hall.
Adventure was before her. She was happy, exhilarated, free as the air
that blew in at her window. Helen and Jennie Marchand had spent the
night with Ruth at the Red Mill. This was a precaution taken by Ruth so
that they might start early enough to catch the train. Ruth had made
arrangements for her company to meet in Chicago, though Viola Callahan
and Boardman were to travel with her own party, boarding the train,
however, before it reached Cheslow, and Ruth had no intention of missing
the train.
Now, in the mirror, she caught Helen’s eye, saw that it was fixed
mischievously upon her.
“I am wondering,” Helen explained in reply to Ruth’s raised eyebrows,
“how long you are going to go without bobbing your hair.”
“I notice you don’t bob yours,” Ruth retorted, doing up her mane of
hair.
Helen grimaced and searched for a shoe under the bed.
“Chess doesn’t like it, that’s the only reason.”
Ruth chuckled.
“I thought you were an emancipated, modern girl,” she gibed. “But
already you’re letting Chess tell you what to do.”
“Well, no one can accuse you of that fault as far as Tom is concerned,”
Helen retorted. Then after a minute, as Ruth did not reply, she said:
“Tom is miffed over your handsome actor, Ruth.”
“So much the worse for Tom, my dear,” Ruth retorted brightly. “And if
you think you’re going to spoil this beautiful day for me, you’re
mistaken. Hurry and get dressed, old slow-poke, or we may go without
you, after all.”
They made a merry breakfast of it, despite the fact that Aunt Alvirah
was tearful at the thought of parting again with “her pretty” and that
Uncle Jabez was frankly disapproving of this “gallivantin’ off to the
ends of the earth for the takin’ of ornery pitchers.”
By this time, however, Uncle Jabez’ scolding was mere habit. He by no
means objected to the returns on some money he had put into one of
Ruth’s pictures.
Tom and Chess came over in time for the early breakfast, parked their
cars outside, and declared that everything was ready for the start.
Chess noticed Aunt Alvirah’s depression and immediately commenced to
sympathize with her.
“Cheer up, Aunt Alvirah,” Chess said, patting the old woman on the back.
“If you don’t stop crying I’ll have to start, too, out of sympathy, and
I don’t want Helen to carry away such a picture of me. She might marry
one of those handsome cowboys in the West and never come back. You and I
are in the same boat, Auntie, except that Ruth is leaving you on
business and Helen hasn’t even that excuse.”
“He’ll make me cry in a minute,” said Ruth, with a chuckle. “Poor,
neglected chap!”
“You know very well you told me you’d have to be away on business,”
Helen reminded her fiancé. “I didn’t know you would be so broken-hearted
at my desertion or I might have changed my mind,” she added.
“Please don’t,” said Ruth. “You must go along, Helen! I couldn’t do
without you!”
“Hear that?” said Helen, with a triumphant glance at her grinning
fiancé. “I told you so!”
It was Uncle Jabez who reminded them that they had better not spend all
morning at breakfast if they expected to catch their train.
“I don’t believe Uncle Jabez altogether approves of your trip,” said
Helen as she and Ruth went upstairs to get their wraps on.
Ruth smiled.
“Poor old dear, my aspirations have been a tremendous trial to him. He
complains that he’s too old to change his ideas at his time of life. But
it’s not as bad as he lets on.”
The good-by was harder than Ruth had anticipated. Aunt Alvirah clung to
her, and, as Ruth had a vision of the lonely days the old woman would
spend waiting for her return, some of her own high enthusiasm fled.
“I’d like to tie you up in a big bundle and take you along with me,
Auntie,” she said, holding the frail old woman close.
“I wish you could, my pretty. I wish you could,” sighed Aunt Alvirah,
bravely blinking back the tears and giving Ruth a little push toward the
others, waiting in Tom’s car. “And now you’d better run along, honey, or
you’ll miss your train for sure. Say good-by to your Uncle Jabez. He’ll
be lonesome too.”
Though Ruth knew the old man was really sorry to see her go, he hid all
emotion carefully, merely expressing a hope that she’d behave herself
and come back before they all “was dead and buried.”
The tooting of Tom’s horn called Ruth away, though she stole one last
hug from Aunt Alvirah. Tom opened the door of the car for her and as
Ruth stumbled into the seat beside him reached out a hand to steady her.
Ruth waved her hand as the car started down the drive, found the vision
of the old lady blurred by tears, then turned to Tom as he sat behind
the wheel, watchful eyes on the road ahead.
They reached the station and found they had reached it none too soon,
for as the car slid up on one side of the station the train slid to a
stop on the other.
Chess had volunteered to take Tom’s car back for him and see it safely
in the garage.
Tom herded them all into the train, including Jennie Marchand who had
determined to accompany the party part way and make another visit before
returning to her father’s home in New York.
They found their car easily enough and Chess went aboard with them to
see that everything was all right and that Helen was comfortably settled
for the trip. Here they found Viola and Boardman in their seats.
Chess Copley got off at the last possible minute and stood on the
platform waving to Helen. Then it was over and they were on their way to
Chicago. A rather queerly assorted party, at that, and one that was sure
to attract attention on the train.
Layton Boardman’s photographs were so well known that a low, excited
whisper and a curious craning of necks followed him wherever he went.
Viola was recognized also, though not so generally. It was not long
before all the members of the party were known, and their mission too,
in a vague way, by practically every person on the train.
Each time she went into the dining car Ruth felt as though the eyes of
every one were upon her. So she would not be at all sorry when they
should enter upon the last stage of the trip.
They dropped Jennie Marchand at her destination, but not before they had
promised the young matron on their honor to write her “books” concerning
their adventures in Montana.
They were all sorry to see Jennie go. If it had not been for Henri
Marchand--a rather important obstacle--and her other friends whom Jennie
wished to see while on this American visit, they would have taken
“Heavy” along with them for the whole time.
“But Henri says I may have just two months in America and must then come
back to France and to him,” insisted Jennie, and her friends had to be
content.
They were to arrive at Chicago in an hour, Ruth realized. There they
would meet the rest of Ruth’s company and start on the real part of the
journey--their ultimate destination, Golden Pass, Montana.
There was the inevitable bustle and flurry of donning wraps. The porter
gathered their suitcases and other luggage together, to be distributed
to their lawful owners on the platform.
Once arrived at Chicago and part of the hurrying throng in the great
station, Tom took charge of the party. Ruth always liked to see him do
this. He was so quiet yet masterful in his management of people and
things.
He hired taxicabs for them all, saw Viola and Boardman into one, handed
Ruth and Helen and then followed, himself, into another.
“Phew!” he whistled when the door was slammed shut and they were at last
alone. “I feel as if I’d been part of a circus for the past little
while. It’s good to have the door shut on the stares of the curious.”
Helen giggled.
“Viola was the circus. I think she’s loads of fun. Why,” she shot a
curious look from her brother to Ruth, “do you two distrust her so?”
“I don’t exactly distrust her,” Ruth returned slowly. “I merely have a
feeling that you never can tell just what the girl is going to do next.”
“Don’t think you’ll have to worry about Viola,” said Tom. “She’s only a
silly kid. It’s Boardman we ought to keep our eyes on.”
Ruth flushed. More than once Tom had made her feel that her judgment was
not altogether to be relied upon. Very well! Her eyes flashed and she
drew a long breath. She’d show him yet!
They drew up before the hotel where Tom had already engaged rooms by
wire for themselves as well as the company. A porter came forward to
open the door, another crowded close to pick up the luggage.
As Ruth stepped to the sidewalk she glanced about her with dancing eyes.
She slipped her arm through Helen’s and squeezed it.
“Adventure’s in the air. Can you smell it?” she cried gaily. “And this
is our starting point!”