Part 9 (1/2)
Pat didn't answer, but had the air of a captain intending to sink with the s.h.i.+p.
”Oh, very well, _I_ shall see this through,” remarked our n.o.ble leader.
”One can go anywhere with a Wilmot, even to--the devil!”
That wasn't the way he meant to end his sentence, _bien entendu_. But just then he plumped into a rut like the back door to China or--to the home of that over-painted gentleman inadvertently mentioned.
We've all learned in Latin how easy is the descent to the _second_ abode, but if we hadn't had it sufficiently impressed on our young minds how difficult it is to get out again, we should have had an object lesson watching the Wilmot. Will-_not_ would have been a better name, if you don't mind a pun, for it simply wouldn't and--_didn't_. There it was, stuck in ruts of sand worse than Jack and I ever said bad words about in the Sahara. Ed Caspian and his chauffeur did what the German Kaiser used to say he'd do to win a Cowes yacht race--his d.a.m.nedest. The engine groaned and snorted. You could almost see sweat starting from every valve. Nothing doing but noise! Naturally we were all delighted, because pride and falls go so well together when they're other people's; while as for the poor Hippopotamus, it looked _weeks_ younger, in a minute!
Finally, in the midst of a roar that would have turned an elephant green with envy, the Wilmot's teeth were torn from their sockets--I mean the gears were stripped. That was the end; and all our men, looking hypercritically helpful, ran to the rescue. But there wasn't any rescue.
When everything good had been tried and everything bad said, we had to leave. The Wilmot was left to the mercy of the mosquitoes. Ed Caspian was taken aboard the good s.h.i.+p Grayles-Grice, and Jack and I adopted the chauffeur. Our cars backed out of the worst ruts, and it was a long time before we could turn. There, on the way to Montauk Point, the Wilmot remains to this hour, for it was too late to do anything when we got home to the hotel. I wouldn't ”put it past” those mosquitoes to suck off all the paint in the night!
Just here in my budget I was interrupted. Pat tiptoed into the sitting-room, spying my rose-light on the balcony, and whispering my name like a pa.s.sword.
I told you, didn't I, that there was pretty sure to be news at half-past midnight? There _is_--such funny news, entirely different from what I expected!
Peter Storm and Ed Caspian both got telegrams. Peter Storm couldn't understand his. It said, ”Can't recall him immediately, but will day after to-morrow. Most inconvenient to have him here now. This will give you one clear day to try your hand on other car.”
The mysterious message was signed ”L. Shuster,” and it was given to Peter as he was about to dance with Pat (it seems he can dance), and seeing him look puzzled she asked politely if anything were wrong. He said he didn't know, and showed her the telegram. She could make no more of it than he could. Then Mr. Caspian appeared with a telegram in his hand. ”Have you a wire from Mrs. Shuster?” he wanted to know. Peter didn't deny the soft impeachment. ”I'm just wondering,” blundered Ed, ”if by any chance the lady was absent-minded and mixed the messages?
Some one talking to her while she wrote, perhaps. Will you let me have a look at yours?”
Peter let him have a look; in fact, they exchanged; and Peter read in the one apparently intended for Ed: ”Please come home day after to-morrow. Find I need you. L. Shuster.”
”I think this _is_ mine,” said Ed.
”And probably this is intended for me,” said Peter. ”Was it the Grayles-Grice you thought of trying your hand on?”
”I told Mrs. Shuster I could drive it for Miss Moore, rather than break up the party if she needed you. She was to let us know--when her plans were settled,” explained Ed. And Patsey says he stammered.
”After that affair of the Wilmot this afternoon I shouldn't like to advise Miss Moore to exchange chauffeurs, even for one day,” said Peter.
”Mrs. Shuster's very good-natured. I expect she'll wait. If not, she can fill my place with some one else, permanently.”
Pat was amused, though I'm not sure she understood the little play of cross-purposes as well as I understand it. And she doesn't seem to attach any importance to that part of the telegram which is the most exciting, to _my_ idea. _Why_ would it be inconvenient for our fair Lily to have her secretary return to-morrow? Something is _up_ at Kidd's Pines! I vaguely suspected as much when she let us come away without her. When Jack wakes I shall ask him what he thinks. Love.
Your affectionate MOLLY.
P. S. Jack thinks something so wild and woolly that I _daren't_ tell you what it is till I know, for fear he's wrong. Much less will I tell Pat.
And we can't know for two or three days unless we abbreviate the trip which all of us would hate to do.
VII
EDWARD CASPIAN TO MRS. L. SHUSTER
_Easthampton,_ _Wednesday morning._
MY DEAR FRIEND: