Part 14 (2/2)

THE CABLEGRAM.

”Tingaling, aling, aling! Phome a ringin' agin! I bet that's Mr. Paul,”

declared Caroline, the present queen of the Chatsworth kitchen. ”I kin tell his ring ev'y time. I'm a goin' ter answer it, Miss Molly.”

Molly, who was ironing the baby's cap strings and bibs (work she never trusted any one to do), smiled. It was one of Caroline's notions that each person had a particular way of ringing the telephone. She was always on the alert to answer the ”phome,” and would stop anything she was doing and tear to be first to take down the receiver, although it always meant that some member of the family must come and receive the message which usually was perfectly unintelligible to the willing girl.

The telephone was in the great old dining room, because, as Mrs. Brown said, every one would call up at meal time and if you were there, you were there. Molly followed Caroline to the dining room, knowing full well that she would be needed when once the preliminaries were over. She gathered the cap strings and bibs, now neatly ironed and ready for the trip to Wellington that she would sooner or later have to take.

Still no news from the _Hirondelle de Mer_, that is, no news from Kent.

The last boat load of sailors and pa.s.sengers had been taken up, but none of them could say for sure whether the two Kentuckians had been saved or not. One man insisted he had seen the submarine stop and take something or some one on board, but when closely questioned he was quite hazy as to his announcement. Jimmy Lufton had kept the cables hot trying to find out something. The Browns and Jim Castleman's sister had communicated with each other on the subject of the s.h.i.+pwrecked boys.

”'Low!” she heard Caroline mutter with that peculiarly m.u.f.fled tone that members of her race always seem to think they must a.s.sume when speaking through the telephone. ”This here is Mrs. Brown's res-i-d-e-n-c-e!

Yessir! This here is Ca'line at the phome. Yessir! Miss Molly done made yo' maw eat her breakfus' in the baid. No, sir, not to say sick in the baid--yessir, kinder sick on the baid. Yessir! Miss Molly is a launderin' of the cap ties fer the baby. We is all well, sir, yessir.

I'll call Miss Molly.”

Of course she hung up the receiver before Molly could drop her cap strings and reach the telephone.

”Oh, Caroline, why did you hang it up? Was it Mr. Paul?”

”Ya.s.sum! It were him. I done tole you I could tell his ring. I hung up the reception cause I didn't know you was so handy, an' I thought if I kep it down, it might was'e the phome somehow, while I went out to fetch you.”

Molly couldn't help laughing, although it was very irritating for Caroline to be so intensely stupid about telephoning. Paul, knowing Caroline's ways, rang up again in a moment and Molly was there ready to get the message herself.

”Molly, honey, are you well? Is Mother well? How is the baby?”

”All well, Paul! Any news?”

”Good news, Molly!” Molly dropped all the freshly ironed finery and leaned against the wall for support. ”A cablegram from Spain! Kent was landed there by the German submarine.”

”Kent! Are you sure?”

”As sure as shootin'! Let me read it to you--'Safe--well, Kent.' Tell Mother as soon as you can, Molly, but go easy with it. Good news might knock her out as much as bad news. I'll be out with John as fast as his tin Lizzie can buzz us.”

”Safe! Kent alive and well!”

Molly's knees were trembling so she could hardly get to her mother's room, where that good lady had been pretending to eat her breakfast in bed. Old Shep, standing by her bedside, had a suspiciously greasy expression around his mouth and was very busy licking his lips, which imparted the information to the knowing Molly that her mother's dainty breakfast had disappeared to a spot to which it was not destined by the two anxious cooks, Molly and Caroline.

”Molly, what is it? I heard the 'phone ring. Was it Paul?”

”Yes, Mother! Good news!”

Mrs. Brown closed her eyes and lay back on her pillows, looking so pale that Molly was scared. How fragile the good lady was! Her profile was more cameo-like than ever. These few weeks of waiting, in spite of the brave front she had shown to the world, had told on her. Could she stand good news any better than she could bad?

<script>