The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach: or, In Quest of the Runaways

CHAPTER XVII – AT WAYSIDE INN

The light still gleamed under the door of the alcove room. Jack was not sorry that he would have company in his bundle investigation.

“But Walter and Ed will blame me for not giving them the tip,” he told himself. “We surely could have bagged that wild bird, if there only had been some one on the other side of the hedge.”

Ed opened the door before Jack had time to knock.

“Where in the world have you been?” demanded the young man, who stood within the room, clothed in the splendor of a real athlete. “We had just about given you up. Who is she?”

“Search me?” replied Jack, laughing at the fitness of the slang and at the same time apologizing for its vulgarity. “If I only knew who she was I’d feel better.”

“If he only knew who she was,” repeated Walter, between a howl and a grunt.

“Oh, if he only knew,” added Ed, dragging Jack into the room, and closing the door after him.

Then they saw the package. Walter grabbed it from Jack’s hands. “Did she send it to us?” he asked, placing it comically on the washstand and making queer “passes” in front of it.

“It’s for me,” insisted Ed. “She promised to send me just that very bundle,” and he yanked it from the stand and placed it on the mantel.

“Oh, for goodness sake, open it,” interrupted Jack, glad of a good chance to get some one other than himself to attempt that uncertain proceeding.

“It’s light,” commented Ed, giving the ends of the package an undoing twist.

Walter and Jack leaned over very close. Ed stretched out his arms to keep them off.

Then the paper spread open and the contents were in full sight.

A mass of light-brown hair!

“Oh, you – murderer!” exclaimed Ed, as loudly as the hour would politely admit. “To scalp her!”

But Jack was more surprised than were his friends.

“A girl’s hair!” he exclaimed.

“Her hair!” corrected Ed. “Oh, if he only knew who she was!” and his voice mocked the words Jack had uttered when he entered the room.

“Jack Kimball!” ejaculated Walter. “This is the ‘unkindest cut of all.’”

“We denounce you!” added Ed. “This is outrageous!”

Jack looked closely at the severed locks. “A pretty color,” he mused. “Sort of burnished gold!”

This attempt at the poetical brought the unrestrained wrath of his companions on his head, for both Walter and Ed simply “fell to,” and pounded Jack “good and proper.”

He begged for mercy. Then they did let him go.

“Now, honest Injun,” started Walter, “tell us about it.”

But the strange race through the hedge was really too unusual to be comprehended or believed at once. Still Jack insisted upon every detail of the affair, and his friends finally did believe a part of it, at least.

“And whose locks do you suppose they are?” asked Ed when the opportunity for that question arrived.

“If I – only – knew!” reiterated Jack.

“Let me see!” murmured the prudent Walter. “What was the shade of hair worn by the runaways of the strawberry patch? If I mistake not – ”

“You win!” interrupted Jack. “They were strawberry blondes!”

“And it’s as clear as the nose on your face that they had to cut the locks off – that they are here in the hotel at this very moment – ”

He was actually jumping into his outer clothes.

“Where are you going?” demanded Jack.

“To find Rose,” insisted Ed. “My Rose – or was she your Rose – and is she my Nellie?”

“For goodness sake, man!” wailed Jack, “don’t make any further fuss around here to-night. The ladies and the girls will be scared to death if you start chasing my – shadow. We have got to-morrow to investigate. If the runaways are here to-night they will be here to-morrow.”

“That sounds like good advice,” assented Walter. “And if I don’t get a little rest there will be great ugly dark rings under my eyes, and my complexion will simply be ruined.”

“And his hair won’t stay up,” added Ed, taking up the girlish tone Walter had assumed. “Well, if you beauties must sleep suppose you go at it. I could snore looking at the floor,” and Ed suited his actions to the words, for very shortly, neither Walter nor Jack could compel him to answer a single question with so much as an intelligent grunt.

It seemed scarcely possible that daylight had come, when a tapping at the door awoke Jack.

“Jack,” called Cora, “I must speak with you. Come out as soon as you can.”

“Now what’s up?” asked Ed with a yawn.

“We’ve got to get up,” replied Walter, “and since you managed to get to sleep first, we will give you first whack at the wash basin.”

“Thanks, but help yourself, Wallie,” said Ed, turning over on his single bed, three of which sort were stretched out across the long old-fashioned room. “This is a fine day for sleeping.”

But in spite of the young man’s determination to “prolong,” he was compelled, by his companions, to join them in a quick washing and dressing act, and then take breakfast with the motor party on the broad side-porch.

Mrs. Robinson was ill – that was the important piece of information that Cora wished to disclose to Jack.

“We must stay here to-day,” insisted Belle, “for mamma could never bear to travel with one of her bad headaches. Of course she could not avoid one after the awful experience of last night.”

“Well, this place isn’t half bad,” declared Jack, showing his positive regard for the breakfast before him. “We might all do worse than spend a day at the Wayside.”

He was thinking of the advantage that the stay would give him in making a search for the girl who had lost her package of newly-cut hair. He had not as yet had an opportunity to consult with Cora; in fact, there seemed plenty to do at the Wayside, and it would all require time.

Mrs. Robinson insisted that the young folks enjoy themselves, and go wherever they wished, as she declared, she would be better and quieter with her friend Miss Steel. Miss Steel herself felt none too good after the experience and wetting of the past night, so the two ladies were not annoyed by unnecessary fussing, and unneeded attention.

“Isn’t this a wonderful old place, though?” commented Walter, as he, with the others had finished the meal, and all were about to go out exploring. “Did you see the fireplace in the dining room?”

Thereupon all hands repaired again to the great big old-fashioned dining room, where a few rather delicate-looking persons were still lingering over their coffee.

A waitress, in cap and apron, flitted about the apartment. A second girl brought some extra fruit to a little man, who sat against the wall in the corner, and as the two girls met at the buffet Jack heard the remark:

“Wasn’t it mean for them to leave without notice? It will give us a good day’s work.”

“Yes,” replied the second girl, “and napkin day, too. Weren’t they in a hurry to get away, though? You’d think some one was after them!”

A titter from the older girl was interpreted to mean that no one could possibly be after those spoken of. Then both girls picked up some odds and ends from different tables, and left the room.

Jack’s heart sank – if a boy’s heart ever does anything like that. At least, his hope of finding the runaway girls was, for the time, shattered. He was instantly convinced that the persons to whom the waitresses referred, could be none other than those who were so ardently sought by the motor girls. He was also just as thoroughly convinced that the runaways had already started on a new trail, and were beyond his reach.

Cora, Bess and Belle were in ecstacies over the antique settings of the big room, while Ed and Walter were doing what they could to emphasize the glories of a “side walk,” as they termed the broad stones, in front of the fireplace.

“Fine for fire crackers on a wet Fourth,” said Walter foolishly.

“Splendid for walnuts on a cold night,” put in Ed with something like common sense.

Jack slipped out unnoticed. He went directly to the inn office.

“If only the girls had not yet left the place,” he was hoping. “And to think that I should have let them slip through my fingers like that! Cora will begin to lose faith in me,” he reflected. “When she finds out that I have not seen the detectives, and when she really identifies the hair as that of – ”

At the office he was informed that all the servants of Wayside Inn were in charge of the housekeeper, whose office he would find at the rear, near the pergola.

Thither Jack betook himself. He found the office without any difficulty, but the housekeeper was very busy, and could not see him at once. The wait was vexatious, but Jack amused himself with noting the peculiar furnishings of the room, that served for an office. It looked more like a big clothes closet for white aprons and gingham aprons, while all sorts of towels were hung around in abundance.

Maids came in and took white aprons, but the presence of a young man evidently prevented them from arranging the swiss ties and sashes there, so those who seemed in a hurry went out with freshly laundered articles on their arms.

Several remarks that Jack overheard seemed to relate to the girls who had left recently, and although he was on the alert to gather any possible definite information, none was forthcoming.

Finally the little window back of a shelf was raised, and the head of an elderly woman was framed therein.

Jack stepped up to the “ticket office.” “Are there two girls named Catron employed here?” he asked.

“I have never had any help of that name,” the woman replied, promptly, but politely.

“Perhaps they have used some other name,” ventured the young man, feeling decidedly ill at ease.

“Why?” asked the housekeeper who, Jack learned, was Miss Turner.

“Well, the girls I am searching for – ran away from their home,” he blurted out.

“Oh my!” exclaimed the woman. “I hope no such young ladies would present themselves at the Wayside Inn.”

“They might,” ventured Jack. “You see, the girls were not altogether to blame. They were orphans, and did not have a good home.”

The woman looked puzzled. “I wonder if they could have been the two girls who were here yesterday?” she said. “They left early this morning, and I so much wanted them to stay to-day. Could you describe them?”

“Well, I am afraid not,” said Jack, “but my sister is a guest here, and it is she who is interested in these poor girls.” Jack felt infinitely better now that he had, in a measure, cleared himself of a personal interest in the runaways.

“If you will wait until I give a few dinner orders,” said Miss Turner, “I will go with you and talk with your sister. I am always willing, and anxious, to assist needy young girls.”

This offer was accepted with thanks, and presently Jack conducted the matron to the private parlor, where he knew he would be able to arrange a quiet talk between her and Cora.

CHAPTER XVIII – LOOKOUT BEACH

“Isn’t it perfectly dreadful!”

“Simply awful!”

“It surely isn’t true!”

“But it’s there – every word of it!”

These exclamations burst from the lips of Belle and Bess Robinson, as the two sisters smoothed a newspaper out before their startled eyes.

“And this paper was found at the Wayside,” went on Bess. “No wonder the poor girls ran away again!”

“When we get to the cottage I am going to ask Cora all about it,” declared Belle. “It does not seem right that a newspaper should hint at anything that is not plainly stated! That about the young ladies from Chelton who rode in autos – every one will know means us.”

The girls were in the Flyaway, going along a sea cliff road, only a few miles outside of the pretty summer resort of Lookout Beach. The roaring of the ocean could be plainly heard now, the salt of the spray was in the air, and the sun glinted on the white roads. Bess and Belle, in their car, had gone on ahead, the others followed at a distance.

“Isn’t the air glorious!” cried Bess. “I am sure we are going to have a delightful time down here.”

“And wasn’t it lovely of mamma to invite the boys?” added Belle. “Of course she felt perfectly helpless with just us girls; and Jack is so resourceful!”

“Yes, I fancy it might have been rather lonely evenings without the boys. Of course we will have to stay around the cottage evenings, and with them we will have some opportunity for fun.”

“Ed says they are going to take a bungalow almost on the beach,” remarked Belle. “It will be fun to see how they keep house.”

The Flyaway dropped back nearer the little procession of other autos that now wended their way along the seaside boulevard to the peninsula that looked out over the bay, across the great noisy ocean, and out – out – it seemed almost to Eternity.

It was here, on this point of land, that the cottages were grouped, and it was this exceptional view that gave the pretty spot its name – Lookout Beach.

“Quite a pretty village,” Cora remarked to Jack, as they drove through the center of the place.

“Plenty of fishing around here,” said Ed to Walter, as the boys’ car slacked along the board sidewalk, and its occupants observed numbers of men and boys slouching along, with baskets, evidently well filled with the night’s catch.

The Whirlwind stopped at the post-office, and Cora stepped out to ask the exact direction to Clover Cottage. She glanced in the box, the number of which Bess and Belle had given her as the one that “went with” their cottage. Two pieces of mail had already arrived and these were handed to Cora by the old man who made it his particular business to welcome every “box holder” to Lookout Beach.

“The first road to the left,” the postmaster told her as she emerged from the office, and the Whirlwind again led the way to the cottage.

The hanging sign “Clover” left no doubt as to which was the particular cottage and here the four cars and their merry passengers pulled up, and stopped.

“Welcome to Clover!” exclaimed Bess and Belle in chorus.

“Three cheers for the welcome!” replied Jack, in as loud a voice as the proximity to other cottages would allow.

“But the house is not open!” declared Bess, who was first to reach the porch. “Nettie was to have come down yesterday.”

“Why, yes,” added Belle. “Mother will be dreadfully put out if she gets here and we have no maid – ”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Ed interrupted. “Since we have been invited, we will attend nicely to any little thing like opening up house, and setting up housekeeping,” and without further ceremony he undertook to explore each window on the broad veranda, and soon he had one pair of shutters unfastened, and was opening a sash without the slightest difficulty.

“Was that window unlocked?” asked Belle. “Why, our things might have been stolen!”

“Just wait until I open the door,” ordered Ed, “then you there – Walter and Jack – you may take the job of portering.”

“I‘d rather ’buttle,’” objected Walter. “There’s more in it. First shot at buttling!”

It seemed jolly already. The door was thrown open, and Ed made all sorts of bows and bends in inviting the ladies to enter.

In the sitting room a paper dangled from the lamp that hung in the center of the apartment.

“Directions!” announced Jack. “Don’t blow out the gas! Don’t waste the water! Don’t break any dishes!”

He had taken the paper down. The room was rather dark, and he stepped to the door to read the penciled words.

“It’s for – Cora,” he announced. “Now who on earth knew that Cora Kimball was coming down to Clover!”

They all stood spellbound!

That a letter for Cora should hang there in a cottage closed up – certainly the doors had not been opened!

Cora took the folded paper from Jack’s hand.

“More – ghosts!” sighed Belle. “Somehow this whole trip has been – ”

“Ghost-bound!” interrupted Walter. “Well, what does this particular ghost want, Cora?”

“It’s a note – from Rose and Nellie,” she announced. “They have been here – and – wait, let me read it.”

“Dear Miss Kimball,” she read aloud.

“We came to your cottage last night. I hope you will forgive us. We did not sleep in any bed, but slept on the floor. We washed all the dishes this morning, and cleaned down the pantry shelves to pay for our night’s lodging. We are dreadfully discouraged, and when you see Aunt Delia will you just tell her we have drowned ourselves on account of that piece she put in the paper about us. We did not take Miss Schenk’s earrings.

Your true friends,

Rose and Nellie Catron.”

“Oh!” gasped Belle. “Isn’t that perfectly dreadful!”

“Do you really think – they have drowned themselves?” asked Bess.

Jack was reading the letter over, and the other boys were helping him decipher it. Cora waited their opinion.

“Isn’t it strange,” she said, as Jack laid the paper on the table, “every place we go they leave some clue, and yet they are just clever enough to escape us.”

“But are they dead, do you think?” asked Belle, sobbing.

“Not much,” declared Ed firmly. “They only threw that in to put Ramsy off their track. You know that account in the Chelton paper claimed that Mrs. Ramsy said she would put the girls in the Reform School when she found them. Now what girl is going to walk into that sort of trap?”

“Wasn’t it good of the poor things to wash all the dishes,” remarked Bess, who was now looking at the clean porcelain on the closet shelves. “If they had only waited we might have hired them, since, for some unknown reason, Nettie has not arrived.”

“And we could have helped them keep out of sight, too,” added Belle, to whom any thought other than that of suicide was a welcome change. “I do wish we could find them! Don’t you think we ought to search, before they get away – to the ocean?”

“Now, my dear young ladies,” began Ed, assuming a comical air, “since I am to be head waiter, steward and all but butler here, I insist that the thought of foreign affairs, tinged with suicide and desperation, be tabooed from – our midst,” and he actually opened the piano. “Please get your partners for – ”

But the melody he struck up was not intended for a dance. It was the old, familiar: “No Place Like Home!”

In something between a wail and a howl, the three boys took up the refrain, and kept at it until the girls begged them to stop. Then Ed fell in a heap on Walter’s neck, and the two foolish young men pretended to cry, and moaned aloud without pretense.

Jack found a big dishpan and he struck up a tattoo on that with a carving knife and fork. Cora was not going to let the boys make all the noise so she procured the dinner bell and rang it violently.

When the din subsided, the boys suggested that the windows be opened, and the place aired before the arrival of the train that was to bring to Lookout Beach Mrs. Robinson and Miss Steel.

What fun it was to be in actual possession of a house!

True it was a very small house, compared with that occupied by the Robinsons in Chelton, but then there were no maids, and there was no formality. Just a perfect little cottage with everything in it for real housekeeping!

“A regular playhouse!” commented Cora. “I wish we could keep it all to ourselves without Nettie, or any other maid.”

“You must come and see our house when we get set up,” said Ed. “We are going to do it all alone. Take turns at cooking, and, I suppose, take turns at eating.”

Bess and Belle were busy making a room ready and comfortable for the arrival of their mother, and her guest.

“I am sure mamma will like this room best,” said Bess, “for it looks out over the bay and has such a lovely tree just on the east end, where the sun might have been troublesome at daybreak.”

“Yes, what a perfectly delightful room,” exclaimed Cora, assisting in arranging the bed with the white coverlets, that had been placed within reach, all ready for the first comers.

“We never before had a furnished house,” went on Belle, “and just see! A cake of soap and box of matches in each room! Now that is what I call real furniture.”

And so they went on from room to room, the girls selecting and arranging according to what seemed most practical, and most pleasing. The fright of the “suicide note” was almost forgotten in the joys of exploring and experimenting.

Then the boys discovered that it was almost lunch time, and this was the signal for “a raid” on the town stores.

Ed and Jack jumped into the Get There, and were off before Bess or Belle had a chance to tell them what might be “nice for lunch.”

“Oh, we may as well try our hand all alone this time,” commented Jack, “and if we fail in buying the right things, it will add to our general knowledge in managing ‘our bungalow.’”

So they drove off, while Walter assisted in spreading rugs on the porch, and putting up hammocks.

“Wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” Walter declared, when Cora asked him to help put the leaves in the dining-room table. “Isn’t this just playing house, though!”

“And to think that we do not have to wash any old, dusty dishes,” remarked Cora. “Dear me! I wish we could get some tangible clue to the actual whereabouts of those two lone, miserable, runaway girls!”