Part 17 (1/2)

”Better not let Ruth hear you use that expression, child,” laughed Agnes. ”But what about being observant--or _un_observant?”

”He told us,” Tess went on to say, ”to watch closely, and then asked for somebody to give him a number. So somebody said thirty-two.”

”Yes?”

”And Mr. Marks went to the board and wrote twenty-three on it. Of course, none of us said anything. Then Mr. Marks asked for another number and somebody gave him ninety-four. Then he wrote forty-nine on the board, and n.o.body said a word.”

”Why didn't you?” asked Agnes in wonder. ”Did you think he was teaching you some new game?”

”I--I guess we were too polite. You see, he was a visitor. And he said right out loud to our teacher: 'You see, they do not observe. Is it dense stupidity, or just inattention?' That's _just_ what he said,”

added Tess, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

”Oh!” murmured Dot. ”Didn't he know how to write the number right?”

”So,” continued Tess, ”I guess we all felt sort of hurt. And Belle Littleweed got so fidgety that she raised her hand. Mr. Marks says: 'Very well, you give me a number.'

”Belle lisps a little, you know, Aggie, and she said right out: 'Theventy-theven; thee if you can turn that around!' He didn't think we noticed anything, and were stupid; but I guess he knows better now,” added Tess with satisfaction.

”That is all right,” said Agnes with a sigh. ”I heartily wish you and Dot had been observant when those women gave you the basket and you had found the bracelet in it before they got away. It is going to make us trouble I am afraid.”

Agnes told the little ones nothing about the strange junkman and his claim. Nor did she mention the affair to any of the remainder of the Corner House family. She only added:

”So don't you take the bracelet out of the house or let anybody at all have it--if Neale or I are not here.”

”Why, it would not be right to give the bracelet to anybody but the Gypsy ladies, would it?” said Tess.

”Of course not,” agreed Dot. ”And _they_ haven't come after it.”

Agnes did not notice these final comments of the two smaller girls.

She had given them instructions, and those instructions were sufficient, she thought, to avert any trouble regarding the mysterious bracelet--whether it was ”Queen Alma's” or not.

The junkman, Costello, certainly had filled Agnes' mind with most romantic imaginations! If the old silver bracelet was a Gypsy heirloom and had been handed down through the Costello tribe--as the junkman claimed--for three hundred years and more, of course it would not be considered stolen property.

The mystery remained why the Gypsy women had left the bracelet in the basket they had almost forced upon the Kenway children. The explanation of this was quite beyond Agnes, unless it had been done because the Gypsy women feared that this very Costello was about to claim the heirloom, and they considered it safer with Tess and Dot than in their own possession. True, this seemed a far-fetched explanation of the affair; yet what so probable?

The Gypsies might be quite familiar with Milton, and probably knew a good deal about the old Corner House and the family now occupying it.

The little girls would of course be honest. The Gypsies were shrewd people. They were quite sure, no doubt, that the Kenways would not give the bracelet to any person but the women who sold the basket, unless the right to the property could be proved.

”And even if that Costello man does own the bracelet, how is he going to prove it?” Agnes asked Neale, as they ran the car out of the garage after dinner. ”I guess we are going to hand dear old Mr. Howbridge a big handful of trouble.”

”Crickey! isn't that a fact?” grumbled Neale. ”The more I think of it, the sorrier I am we put that advertis.e.m.e.nt in the paper, Aggie.”

There was nothing more to be said about that at the time, for Mr.

Pinkney was already waiting for them on his front steps. His wife was at the door and she looked so weary-eyed and pale of face that Agnes at least felt much sympathy for her.

”Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Pinkney!” cried the girl from her seat beside Neale. ”I am sure Sammy will turn up all right. Neale says so--everybody says so! He is such a plucky boy, anyway. Nothing would happen to him.”

”But this seems worse than any other time,” said the poor woman. ”He must have never meant to come back, or he would not have taken that picture with him.”