CHAPTER XV
A SPELL OF THE “GLUMPS”
Whizzing along the road Nat tried to decide how it would be best to break the disappointing news to Dorothy. Of his escapade with Urania he had fully determined not to say a word. Dorothy had enough girls to worry about, he argued, and if she heard of this one she would form a searching expedition, and set out at once to hunt the Gypsy who, Nat thought, was like a human squirrel and able to take care of herself.
The return trip seemed shorter than that which took Nat out to Dalton, and as the Fire Bird swung into the Cedars’ entrance somewhat later than the youth expected to get back, Dorothy was at the gate awaiting to hear news of Tavia.
“Buffalo,” announced Nat sententiously, as Dorothy came up beside the car which jerked to a stop amid a screeching of the brake. “She went there some time ago. She’s at Grace Barnum’s. Wait. I have the address.”
Without delaying to put the machine up, Nat produced a slip of paper upon which he had written, at Mrs. Travers’s direction, the street and number of Miss Barnum’s residence. He handed it to Dorothy.
“Do you think it’s all right?” asked Dorothy, looking at the directions.
“’Course it is. Everybody in Dalton is as chipper as possible. You’re the only one who’s worrying. Now, if I were you, I’d just let up, Doro. You’ll be down sick if you don’t.”
“Perhaps I am foolish. And I have given you a lot of trouble,” spoke up the girl a little sadly.
“Trouble? Nothing!” exclaimed Nat. “I just like the lark. When you want any more sleuthing done apply at headquarters. I’m the gum-shoe man for this section,” and at that he turned his attention to the Fire Bird, while Dorothy walked thoughtfully back to the house.
Poor Dorothy! An instinctive foreboding of danger had taken possession of her now, and, try as she did to dispel it, an unmistakable voice seemed to call out to her:
“Find Tavia! She needs you, Dorothy Dale!”
“Perhaps,” thought Dorothy, “she has run away and is really with some circus troupe, as the Gypsy girl said. Or perhaps she is at some watering place, taking part in a play – ”
This last possibility was the one that Dorothy dreaded most to dwell upon. Tavia must have loved the stage, else why did she constantly do the things she did at school, so like a little actress, and so like a girl “stage-struck,” as Aunt Winnie called it?
These and similar fancies floated through Dorothy’s brain hour after hour, in spite of whatever diversion presented itself for her amusement.
The afternoon, following Nat’s trip to Dalton, Dorothy, with her brothers, Roger and Joe, went to gather pond lilies near the waterfall. It was a delightful day, and the sun glistened on the quiet sheet of the mill pond, making liquid diamonds. The lilies, of which there was an abundance, looked like carved wax that had frozen the sun’s gold in each heart. But, somehow, Dorothy, could not work up her usual enthusiasm in gathering the blossoms.
It was delightful to dip her hands into the cool stream and surely to hear little Roger prattle was an inspiration, but all the while Dorothy was thinking of crowded Buffalo, and wondering what a certain girl might be doing there on that summer afternoon.
In the evening Major Dale and Mrs. White, taking Dorothy with them, went for a drive along the broad boulevard that was the pride of that exclusive summer place – North Birchland. Dorothy tried bravely to rouse herself from her gloomy reveries but, in spite of her efforts, Mrs. White complained that her niece was not like her usual self – “Perhaps not feeling well,” she ventured.
“I’m ‘glumpy’ ever since I left Glenwood,” admitted Dorothy. “Not because I want to be, nor that I am not having a most delightful time, but I simply have the ‘glumps.’ At Glenwood they prescribe extra work for an attack like this,” and the girl laughed at her own diagnosis.
“You certainly should dispel the ‘glumps,’” said Mrs. White. “I can’t imagine what could produce an attack here at the Cedars, with all your own folks around you, Dorothy, dear. I do believe you are lonely for those impossible girls. What do you say to paying some of them a little visit, just to break in on your holiday?”
“Really, aunty,” protested Dorothy, “I am perfectly content. What sort of girl would I be to want to run away and leave you all after being away so long at school? No, indeed, I’ll stay right here at the beautiful Cedars, and I’ll try to be a better girl – to get rid at once of my spell of the ‘glumps’ as we used to call them at Glenwood.”
“But girls are girls,” insisted her aunt, “and you have no control, my dear, over such sentiment as I imagine you are afflicted with at present. Just plan out a little trip somewhere and, I’ll vouch for it, the visit to some giggling Dolly Varden of a girl will do you no end of good. And then, too, you may invite her back here with you.”
Mrs. White divined too well the reason for Dorothy’s “blue spell.” She could see perfectly how much her niece missed the light-hearted Tavia, and in advising her to take a little trip Mrs. White was sure Dorothy would choose to go where her chum might be.
In this she was right, but concerning what Dorothy might do to reach Tavia Mrs. White had no idea. She merely suggested a “little trip somewhere,” believing Dorothy would find Tavia, either in Dalton, or visiting some girl friend, as Dorothy had told her Tavia intended doing. But circumstances conspired to give Dorothy the very opportunity she longed for – she would go somewhere – anywhere – to look for her “sister-friend” – the girl who had been to her more than friend and almost a sister.
Ned and Nat had planned a trip to Buffalo at the beginning of their vacation. They were to meet a number of their chums there, and do some exploring in the neighborhood of Niagara Falls. They were to make the journey in the Fire Bird, and when Mrs. White suggested a trip for Dorothy it was the run to Buffalo, in the automobile, that immediately came into the girl’s mind.
“If I only could go with the boys,” she pondered. “But what excuse would I have?”
All the next day she turned the subject over in her mind. Then something very remarkable happened. Persons who believe in thought controlling matter would not call the incident out of the ordinary perhaps, but, be that as it may, when Dorothy strolled down to the post-office, having a slender hope of a letter from Tavia, she did find a letter in the box – a letter from Rose-Mary Markin, stating that she, and her mother, were going to Buffalo and Niagara Falls for a few days, and, as Buffalo was only about a day’s trip from North Birchland, perhaps Dorothy could take a “run” to Buffalo, and spend a few days with them.
Dorothy’s head thumped when she read the letter. The very thing of all others she would have wished for, had she been as wise as the unknown fate that worked it out for her, without any action on her own part!
She felt light enough now to “fly” over the road back to the Cedars, to show the invitation to Mrs. White. The boys were to leave for Buffalo the next day, so there was little time to be lost, should Major Dale and Mrs. White think it best for Dorothy to make the trip. How the girl trembled while waiting for the decision. What if she should be disappointed? It was a long ride in the auto – but with her cousins —
Mrs. White read Rose-Mary’s little note a second time while Dorothy stood there waiting. The aunt noticed how delicately Rose-Mary indicated her own mother’s anxiety to meet Dorothy, and then with what a nicety the whole matter was referred to Major Dale and Dorothy’s aunt. This carefully written note, neither stilted nor indifferent in its tone, convinced Mrs. White at once that the writer was exactly the girl Dorothy had described her to be – her very best friend at Glenwood – excepting only Tavia.
“Well, I don’t see why you can’t go with the boys,” spoke her aunt finally. “They are always careful, and if you leave here, as they intend to do, at sunrise (that will be an experience for you) you should get into Buffalo in time for the evening dinner. I’ll just sound the major,” giving Dorothy a loving embrace. “Not that a mere man, even be he Major Dale, can hold out against two such Sampson-like wills as ours.”
From that moment, until the time of her stepping into the Fire Bird next morning, and waving a good-bye to the little party that stood on the porch to see them off, it all seemed like the strangest, subtlest dream to Dorothy. She was going to find Tavia – going herself to look for her, and find out for herself all the questions that, for weeks, had been eating away her happiness with dreaded uncertainties.
CHAPTER XVI
DOROTHY IN BUFFALO
“And now,” remarked Ned after they had skimmed along for awhile, “I suppose, Dorothy, you can’t deny me the long-looked for opportunity of meeting the sweetest girl in Glenwood (according to you) Cologne – Rose-Mary Markin, to be exact.”
“Oh, I know you will like her, Ned. She certainly is a very sweet girl,” replied Dorothy.
“The very thing for me. I have been looking for that brand for some time. And now, O Edward, prepare thyself!”
“Mind your wheel!” cried Nat, for Ned had raised his right hand in the air to give emphasis to his dramatic utterance and came close to a large stone. “Save that for later.”
Dorothy was as bright and animated as possible during the trip and chatted with the boys about the Glenwood girls, giving a full share of praise to Cologne. After all, Dorothy reflected, Ned was a young man, handsome, and, in many ways, desirable, and it would be nice if he were to take the two girls around Buffalo. But this thought was overshadowed by another – If Tavia were only with them. What good times they might have! Tavia and Nat always got along so well together. Each seemed to be an inspiration of mirth to the other.
But Tavia!
Nat seemed quiet, and even serious as they speeded along the lonely country roads. His brother was not slow to notice the unusual look of concern and attempted to “jolly” it away.
“Cheer up, Nat,” he said. “The worst is yet to come,” and he made a wry face. “You know we expect to find your little friend somewhere out this way. I really wouldn’t want a corner on happiness. I do feel, somehow, that Cologne will be my fate, but that is no reason why you and Doro shouldn’t hitch on to the band wagon. Let me see, Doro, you say she has brown eyes and blue hair – ”
“Ned! You must not make fun of Cologne – ”
“Fun of her! As soon bite my own tongue. I said it sideways by mistake. It should have read blue eyes and brown hair. Wasn’t that it?”
“Yes, that’s more like it,” admitted Dorothy. “And she has the most adorable little mouth – ”
“Oh, here, Nat! Get hold of this wheel. I really must have a chance to think that over. Say it again, Dorothy, please,” and the lad went through a series of queer antics, that seem so very funny when the right boy attempts to be funny, but so very flat when one tries to either describe them or imitate the original.
“And isn’t there a brother in this visit to Buffalo?” asked Nat drolly.
In spite of herself the color flew to Dorothy’s cheeks. Of course Rose-Mary had a brother, two years older than herself. But Dorothy had never met him, although Rose-Mary talked so much at school of Jack, that Dorothy almost felt acquainted with the youth. But now she would certainly meet the family for they were all together at the Buffalo hotel.
“Oh, yes,” chimed in Ned. “Isn’t there a brother?”
“Yes,” answered Dorothy. “I believe there is.”
“Now I call that real jolly,” went on Ned. “Just one apiece – if Nat finds Tavia, of course.”
A few hours later the Fire Bird swung up to the portico of a leading Buffalo hotel, and, scarcely had the puffing machine come to a stop than a girl in lavender, with blue eyes and brown hair, had Dorothy in her arms.
“Oh, you dear, old sweetheart!” exclaimed Rose-Mary, as she embraced Dorothy with that effusion of delight peculiar to schoolgirls and babies, as Nat remarked in a whisper to Ned.
“And you were so good to think of me,” Dorothy tried to say, from the midst of the embrace.
“Think of you! As if I ever forgot you for one single moment!” Then Rose-Mary turned to the two boys in the auto and paused.
“These are my cousins,” began Dorothy. “This is Mr. Edward White and the other one,” – with a little laugh, – “is his brother Nathaniel.”
The boys bowed and made what were probably intended for complimentary acknowledgments of the introduction, but which were mere murmurs. Rose-Mary, however with the usual advantage of girls over boys in such matters, showed no embarrassment.
“There is one real nice thing about Dorothy,” spoke Nat when he had, in a measure recovered his composure. “She always makes Ned my brother. That counts.”
The girls laughed merrily and then a tall young man, the “very image of Rose-Mary only taller,” according to Dorothy, stepped down to the curb.
“Jack!” called Rose-Mary. “Come here instanter and get acquainted with Dorothy.”
Jack looked at the group. His eyes plainly said “only with Dorothy?”
“Oh, help yourself! Help yourself!” cried Ned, laughing at the confusion Cologne’s speech had caused. “We will be ‘among those present’ if you like.”
“Now you know very well what I mean!” and Rose-Mary shot a challenging look at Ned. “I want you all to be the very best of friends – ”
“Thanks, thanks!” exclaimed Nat, as he and his brother bowed in mock deference. “We promise, I assure. We’ll do our best.”
“Oh, boys are all just alike,” stammered Dorothy’s host. “A pack of teases! Come along Dorothy. Mother is waiting to welcome you. Jack, perhaps you will tell Dorothy’s cousins what to do with their machine. I guess you know how to get acquainted with them without any more introductions.”
This last was said with a defiant look at Ned, who returned it with just the suspicion of a smile. In effect his look said:
“Miss Lavender, you have met a boy who may be like other boys, but he is particularly himself – Ned White – and he just loves to tease girls – like you!”
Rose-Mary was leading Dorothy up the broad steps to the hotel entrance. She turned to see what the boys were doing.
“Well I declare!” she exclaimed. “There they’ve all gone for a ride! I’m sure they’ll have a jolly time. What nice boys your cousins are. Oh, I’m so glad you could come!”
The hotel veranda was thronged with persons enjoying the approach of twilight, for the auto party had not made a hurried trip, having stopped for lunch on the way. It seemed to Dorothy that the chairs were mostly filled with stout ladies with blond hair. She had never before seen so many blonds in one group.
Rose-Mary led the way into the parlor and escorted Dorothy up to a smiling, pretty woman, with such beautiful white hair – the kind that goes with brown eyes and seems to add to their sparkle.
“Mother, dear, this is Dorothy,” said Rose-Mary. “She must be tired after her long, dusty ride. Shall we go upstairs?”
“I’m so glad to meet you, my dear,” declared Mrs. Markin, warmly. “Daughter talks so much about you. Yes, Rosie, do take Dorothy upstairs and let her refresh herself. It must be a very long ride from North Birchland.”
“But I’m not the least tired,” protested the visitor. “So don’t go upstairs, if you were enjoying the air.”
“Air indeed!” echoed Rose-Mary, slipping her arm through Dorothy’s. “Mother, will you come?”
“No, dear,” replied Mrs. Markin. “I’ll let you have Dorothy all to yourself for awhile. I just know how many things you will want to talk about. Later, after dinner, I’ll claim you both. But I’m going to improve this time to write a few belated letters. The desk is clear so I can do them down here.”
Rose-Mary left Dorothy while she made a place for her mother at the little private desk in the ladies’ sitting room, then the two girls took the elevator, in the broad hall, and soon Dorothy found herself in a cozy room, with a dainty white bed, and pretty flouncings – Rose-Mary’s apartment of course, which she had surrendered to her guest for the visit, while Cologne would share her mother’s room.
“Now make yourself comfortable,” began Rose-Mary, assisting Dorothy to lay aside her auto wraps. “Perhaps you want to wash. Here are the things,” and she pulled open a little door, disclosing a bathroom.
“Isn’t it charming here,” Dorothy said as she at once began to make herself presentable for dinner. “I have a blue dress in my bag,” indicating one the porter had brought up.
“Drag it out,” commanded her companion. “You must wear blue. I have told Jack how heavenly you look in blue.”
“And I have whispered to Ned how angelic you look in – lavender,” interrupted Dorothy, not to be outdone in bestowing compliments. “Isn’t Ned a lovely – boy!”
“Very saucy, I should say,” and Cologne laughed mischievously. “But I’ll try to be nice to him on your account.”
“And I hope I’ll not say anything to hurt Jack’s feelings,” spoke Dorothy, still keeping in with her friend’s humor.
“Couldn’t! He hasn’t any,” declared Rose-Mary. “He drives me frantic when I really want to make him mad.”
“But you do look lovely in that lavender gown,” insisted Dorothy, with unmistakable admiration. “I believe you have grown prettier – ”
“Comparative degrees, eh?” and she made a queer little face. “Now, Doro dear, you must say I’ve grown positively handsome. I will never be content with the little, insignificant comparative degree in a suite of rooms like these. Aren’t they really scrumptious? You know dad couldn’t come, and he was so anxious that we would be comfortable, that the dear old darling just wired for good rooms, and that’s how we got these. They’re good, aren’t they?”
Dorothy looked out of the broad window, down at the big city stretched before her view. She could not help thinking of Tavia, although she thought it best not to speak of her to Rose-Mary – just yet at least. Cologne was busy hanging up the things she had pulled out of Dorothy’s bag.
“How long can you stay?” she asked, shaking out Dorothy’s light blue linen frock.
“Well, it was the queerest thing! Aunt Winnie got it into her head that I needed some of the girls, and she proposed a little trip for me, just as your letter came. It seemed providential.”
“Providential? That’s what I call dead lucky, girlie. You can’t expect a real proper providence to get mixed up in all our little scrapes. And, to be honest, I’m just dying for a real genuine scrape. The kind Tavia used to ‘hand out’ to us at Glenwood.”
Dorothy smiled but did not reply. Somehow the idea of Tavia still being kept busy “handing out scrapes” struck her as somewhat significant.
Presently the boys returned, which fact was made known by a shrill whistle over the private telephone in the apartment, and Jack’s voice following with a command for “Rosie” to come down.
The girls found the three boys and Mrs. Markin waiting for them, Ned and Nat having declined Jack’s invitation to take dinner with him at the hotel. They said they had to be off to meet the youths with whom they had arranged to stop while in Buffalo.
Dorothy wanted so much to ask Nat to take her to look for Tavia. She felt she would not sleep until she found the house of Tavia’s friend, Grace Barnum, but she was too uncertain of Tavia’s whereabouts to say openly that she wanted to go to the address that Nat had brought her from Mrs. Travers.
The Fire Bird had been left in quarters provided by the boys of the “Get There” club, members of which were to be Ned’s and Nat’s guests, and the two Birchland youths were thus free to walk about the big city that evening. Perhaps Dorothy might also go for a walk, with Rose-Mary and Jack.
But, Dorothy, as she reflected on this possibility, realized that it would not afford her an opportunity of getting to Grace Barnum’s. It would not do for the entire party to go there, Dorothy felt, as she could never allow any one to suspect her anxiety concerning Tavia. Only Nat was in the secret so far, and even he was not made fully aware of all it involved and of its depth – he did not know why Dorothy was so anxious – or that she had any other than a foolish schoolgirl whim urging her on.
So, in spite of all the surroundings and excitement, incident to life in a big hotel with its many strange phases, Dorothy kept turning the question over and over in her mind. How should she go about her search for Tavia? Just as she expected the party planned to go out that first evening of her visit to “look over the town.” All were going except Mrs. Markin, and she consented to let the young folks enjoy themselves without her chaperonage, on account of the circumstances and the number who were going.
Ned and Nat both essayed to look after Rose-Mary, and this added to the merry-making, since, when one lad would attempt some courtesy the other would immediately undertake to outdo him. Dorothy found Jack Markin splendid company, and this, she told herself, could not be otherwise, since he was brother to Cologne.
At a pretty palm-festooned ice-cream parlor they met a friend of the Markin family, Alma Mason, who was also a visitor in Buffalo. She was bright and interesting, chatting pleasantly on many subjects, until, to Dorothy’s surprise, she asked abruptly:
“Do you happen to know a Grace Barnum?”
“No,” Dorothy answered, as she felt her face burning with excitement. “I do not know her personally, but she is a friend of a chum of mine.”
“The pretty girl, with the golden-brown hair? Oh, I have met her,” Alma went on, taking Dorothy’s look to signify the correctness of the guess that the “pretty girl with the brown hair” was Dorothy’s friend. “Isn’t she splendid? Grace was just wild over her – she was so jolly and funny.”
That Miss Mason used the past tense Dorothy instantly noticed. Nat was also listening with interest, and he observed the same thing.
“Is she not with Miss Barnum now?” Dorothy found courage to inquire finally.
“No, I think not. I think Grace said she had gone to Rochester. She has, I believe, a friend in that city.”
Dorothy was startled at the news that Tavia had left Buffalo. Her heart sank, but she tried to conceal her feelings. Tavia in Rochester! The girl in Rochester was she who had once written Tavia concerning the stage and its attractions. And Tavia possibly was with her, after she had promised to have no further correspondence with that press agent!
The remainder of the evening was like a blank page to Dorothy. She heard and saw what was going on around her, but her heart and her attention was not with the merry little party from the hotel. Jack Markin would have accused her of being dull had he not determined to meet more than half way his sister’s estimate of Dorothy Dale. Then too, he reasoned as an excuse for her obvious low spirits, she must be tired after the long, dusty auto run.
The evening passed quickly (to all but Dorothy) amid a variety of entertainments, and when the boys from North Birchland said good-night in the hotel office and Rose-Mary had taken Dorothy to her room, it was quite late.
It was a relief, however, Dorothy had to admit to herself at least, and in her heart she was grateful to Mrs. Markin when that lady cautioned the two girls against further talking, and urged Dorothy to go to bed. For Dorothy wanted to be alone and think. She wanted to plan. How should she proceed now? If Tavia was not with Grace Barnum —
But of this she must first make certain, and to do so she would ask Nat to take her to Miss Barnum’s house the first thing next morning.