Just as Janice was running in at the Love Street gate she was
halted by Arlo Junior. Junior kept well out of the way at first,
but his tone was confident well as ameliorating.
"Aw, I say, Janice?' he begged, "you ain't mad at me, are you?"
"Why shouldn't I be?" she demanded, her face flushing and the
hazel eyes sparking in an indignant way.
"Well, I mean-- Well, I hope you ain't," stammered Arlo Junior,
unable entirely to smother a grin, and yet plainly anxious to
pacify Janice. "You see, Janice, my mother was coming up from
downtown and she Saw you whacking me the other day."
"Oh!"
"Yes, she saw you," said Junior, nodding. "So I had to tell her
something of what made you do it."
"Indeed?" demanded Janice scornfully. "And what did you tell
her?"
"I told her about the cats. Anyway, I told her left your back
kitchen door open and that the cats got in there and fought. Oh,
Je-mi-ma, how they did fight! didn't they? I heard 'em after I
got back into the house that morning," and Junior began to
giggle.
"They didn't fight," said Janice shortly. "What you heard was
Olga pitching coal at 'em. And then she up and left us. We had
to get another girl. And this new girl won't clean up the mess
in the back kitchen. That's what you did Arlo Weeks and I've got
to clean up that room because of you."
"Oh, Je-mi-ma!" gasped Junior, giggling no more now. "Is that how
Miss Peckham's Sam-cat got hurt?"
"What do you know about that?" demanded Janice quickly.
"Miss Peckham's been all over the neighborhood talking about it.
She found the cat with a broken leg. Got a veterinary. Put it
in a plaster cast. Did you ever?"
"Well!" murmured Janice.
"I tell you what; don't let's say anything about it," begged
Junior eagerly. "I tell you what I'll do. I'll come over
Saturday and help you clean up all the mess the cats and the girl
made. But don't say a word."
"Well," said Janice again.
"Now you promise, Janice," wheedled Junior. "If my mother learns
all about the cat business, there will be a big row. And all I
did--really--was to open that back kitchen door and then shut it
again after the cats got inside."
"They would never have gone in if you hadn't thrown the catnip in
there," declared Janice warmly. "You know that very well,
Junior."
"Well, you won't say anything about it, will you, Janice, if I
come and clean up the kitchen?"
"Well," said Janice for a third time, "let's see you do it. I
won't promise until the kitchen is cleaned."
But Arlo Junior went off with a grin on his face. He knew Janice
would not tell if he kept his share of the agreement.
Janice was anxious to know how Delia, the new girl, was getting
on with the housework. There was a strong smell of scorching
vegetables the moment Janice opened the back door. The kitchen
was empty, but the pots on the stove foretold the fact that
dinner was in preparation at least two hours before it was
necessary.
And the vegetables! Janice ran to save them. There was a
roaring fire under them; but it was the water that had boiled
over, after all. Delia knew nothing, it was evident, about
simmering vegetables. Boiling them furiously was her way.
"Oh, dear," sighed the girl, "I wonder if anything else can
happen to the Days! There must be something the matter with me
or someone would sometime do something right in this house.
Daddy's dinner will not be fit to eat.
"That book on dietary that I got out of the library and tried to
read said that good cooking was most important. I don't know,
for I guess I didn't understand much of the book--not even of
that part I read--but I do know that a well-cooked meal tastes
better than a dried-out one. Oh, dear!"
Janice shoved the pots back on the stove, and shut off the drafts
so that the fire would die down. She
wondered where Delia could be. She had not seen her outside the
house. She ran up the back stairs and looked in the girl's room
before she went to her own.
Delia was not upstairs. Janice could not see that much had been
done in the way of housework--at least on the upper floor. Then,
suddenly, she discovered where the new girl was.
From the living room came the loud drumming of the player piano.
The instrument had not been much in use since the death of
Janice's mother. Somehow it seemed to both Janice and daddy that
they did not care to hear the piano that mother played so
frequently for them in the evening.
But the instrument was in use now--no mistaking it. There are
different ways of playing a mechanical piano. Delia's way was to
get all the noise out of it that was possible.
Janice ran downstairs in some vexation. There was no particular
crime in the new girl's using the instrument, even without asking
permission. Yet when there was so much to do about the house
and, as she saw plainly, there had been so little done, Janice
was vexed enough to give Delia a good talking to.
And then she hesitated with her hand on the knob of the
living-room door. If she got Delia angry the woman might leave
as abruptly as Olga Cedarstrom had left. It was a thought
suggesting tragedy. Janice waited to calm herself while the new
girl pumped away on the piano in a perfect anvil chorus.
Janice opened the door. By the number of rolls spread out on the
top of the piano it was plain that Delia had played more music
than she had done housework. The Garibaldi March came to a noisy
conclusion."
"Oh, my!" sighed Delia, in her squeaky voice, "ain't that
wonderful?"
"I should say it was," Janice said quickly. "Wonderful, indeed!"
"Oh!" shrieked Delia, flopping around on the bench and glaring at
Janice, one hand clutching at her bosom. "You scare't me."
"I think you ought to be scared. Your vegetables were boiling
over, Delia."
"Oh, you came in so sudden!" gasped the big woman. "I--I've got
a weak heart. You oughtn't to scare me so. I can see mebbe that
Swede girl had a hard time here. There is more than cats is the
matter. And that woman next door has been around to find out how
her cat's leg come broke."
If a fluffy little kitten, chasing a ball of yarn, had suddenly
turned around and attacked Janice, tooth and nail, the girl would
have been no more surprised.
"Why, Delia, I am sorry if I frightened you," Janice said. "But,
you know, this is not your part of the house; and having put on
the vegetables, even if it is too early, I should think you would
remain in the kitchen and watch the pots."
The giantess arose and wiped an eye. She sniveled into the
corner of her apron.
"Well, I didn't expect to be bossed by a child," she squeaked,
"when I came to work here. I don't like it."
She flounced out of the room, leaving the piano open and the
rolls strewn about.
"Oh, dear me! Now I have done it!" groaned Janice Day. "What will
Daddy say if I have got Delia mad, and she goes? It is just
awful!"
It really did seem to be a tragic situation. Janice shook her
head and looked around the room. Everything was just as it had
been the night before when they went to bed, save the opened
music cabinet and littered piano.
There were daddy's cigar ashes in the tray; a cup with tea
grounds in it as he had left it by his elbow. The smoking stand
was not tidied nor the table. There was dust on everything, and
a litter of torn papers on the rug.
Why had Delia not cleaned up the room, if she had so much time to
play the piano?
"I suppose if I ask her why she did not sweep and dust in here
she will tell me that she forgot whether I said to use the blue
dustcloth or the pink," groaned Janice.
One girl they had had actually gave that excuse as
logical when the work was neglected. There was nothing laughable
in this situation--nothing at all!
"Oh, if I could only do something myself," murmured the young
girl.
After what had occurred she thought it best to say nothing more
to Delia at the time. She hated to bother daddy again; but she
wondered what he would do if he had to confront such
circumstances at the bank.
"Of course, men's work is awfully important," Janice sighed; "but
what would daddy do if confronted by these little annoying things
that seem to be connected with the housework?"
There were a dozen things Janice would have preferred to do right
now. But she could not have daddy come home and see such a
looking living-room. She put on apron and cap and went to work
immediately to do what Delia should have done earlier in the day.
In an hour or so the room was swept, dusted, and well aired. She
had returned the music rolls to the cabinet and closed the piano.
She wished there was a key to it so that Delia could not get at
it again, for if the new girl was musically inclined Janice
foresaw little housework done while she was at school and daddy
was at work.
Then Janice ventured into the kitchen. Delia was not there. The
vegetables were already cooked and were in the warmer where they
would gradually become dried out. Janice had done the marketing
on her way to school that morning, and had sent home a steak.
The steak was already cooked and was on a platter, likewise in
the warming oven. And it was yet an hour to dinner time.
Janice opened the door to the stairway. There was no sound from
that part of the house. She went to the back door then, and
there was Delia talking earnestly with Miss Peckham over the
boundary fence.
The fact smote Janice like a physical blow. She remembered what
Arlo Junior had said about the cat. Miss Peckham had found the
poor creature and had sent for the veterinary doctor to treat
him.
What Janice had already admitted regarding the cat, and what
Delia might tell Miss Peckham, would breed trouble just as sure
as the world! What should she do?
She might have been unwise enough to have run out and interfered
in the back-fence conference. But just then she heard daddy's
key in the front door and she ran to meet him.
"Oh, Daddy! Did you find out anything more about Olga and where
she went?" the young girl cried as soon as she saw Broxton Day.
"I guess I have found nothing of importance," said her father,
shaking his head gravely.
"Oh, my dear! Nothing?"
"Nothing that explains where the treasure-box went to, Janice,"
he said. "Nor much that explains any other part of the mystery."
"But the telephone number? Who did she call up?"
"Yes, I found out about that," he admitted, hanging up his coat
and hat. "She called the public booths in the railroad station.
There was somebody waiting there to answer her. And who do you
suppose it was?"
"I couldn't guess, Daddy."
"Willie Sangreen. He is the young man who is checker at the
pickle works, and who I told you was Olga's steady company. He
has gone away, and nobody seems to know where."
"They have gone away together!" cried Janice, in despair.
"She knew where he was going to be at that hour, sure enough; she
would probably have called him at the telephone in the railroad
station, anyway. And the catastrophe," he smiled a little, "and
Olga's getting so angry, may have changed their plans completely.
Maybe he did meet her somewhere."
"Oh, Daddy! what kind of a looking man is Willie Sangreen?" cried
Janice.
"I really could not tell you."
"But maybe it was he who drove the taxicab?" suggested the girl.
"That might be worth looking up," said her father. "And yet, it
does not explain," he added, as they went into the living-room,
"why Olga should have stolen the treasure-box. That seems to be
the greatest mystery."