Part 7 (1/2)

”Arnold Dempsey, Arnold Dempsey,” repeated Mollie, searching in her memory, but Amy interrupted excitedly.

”That was Professor Dempsey's name, wasn't it?” she asked. ”Oh, Betty, do you suppose it could be his son?”

”Why, of course it is his son--how could it be any one else?” cried Grace, the excitement beginning to communicate itself to her. ”Arnold Dempsey, Junior--and the professor said his sons were over there.”

”Didn't it say something about James Dempey, too, Betty?” asked Mollie, fairly s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper from her chum. ”Yes, here it is. Do you suppose that can be his other son?”

Betty shook her head soberly.

”I don't know,” she said. ”Of course he didn't tell us the name of his other son, but it might easily be James. Oh, I hope it isn't so!” she added, her heart aching for the lonely old man whose one big interest in life was his boys. ”I do hope there has been some mistake.”

”I guess we all do,” said Amy gently, adding with a sigh: ”But I'm afraid there isn't very much hope of it. The Government is usually right when it comes to things like that.”

”Not always,” Mollie retorted quickly. ”Look at the time they reported that Alien was among the missing and he wasn't at all. That is the only mistake we happen to know about, but I fancy there are plenty of others.”

At mention of that dreadful time when she had read Alien's name in the long list of the missing, Betty experienced again something of the emotion she had felt at that time.

She saw again in imagination the dark room where she had gone to be by herself, she heard the thunder of the surf on the rocks outside and the rumble of the thunder overhead. She saw once more the vision of Alien as she had seen it then. Allen stretched out cold and dead perhaps on some sh.e.l.l-ridden battlefield or perhaps, more terrible still, a prisoner in the hands of the Hun, suffering unspeakable torture--

”But this is not as bad as though the boys were missing,” she said suddenly, speaking her thought aloud. ”At least the professor will know that his sons are dead.”

The girls started and looked at Betty queerly.

”I was thinking of Allen,” she explained in response to their rather startled glances, ”and the time when we thought he was missing. If this thing is true about Professor Dempsey's sons I think I shall be able to sympathize with him, almost better than any of you.”

”I guess you will, honey,” said Mollie soberly, putting an arm about her chum. ”It was a terrible time for us all--there at Bluff Point. But it was almost worth the suffering when we found out that Allen was alive and well and never had been missing at all Do you remember how happy we all were then?”

”Happy,” Betty repeated, shaking off her depression and smiling at the memory. ”I'll say we were the happiest girls on earth--especially after we recovered the twins. But what,” she said, coming back to the present subject, ”are we going to do about Professor Dempsey? We ought to do something, you know.”

”I suppose we ought,” said Grace, a little vaguely, ”but I'm sure I don't know just what.”

”I think,” suggested Amy practically, ”that the best thing would be to try to find out first of all whether these poor boys who were killed are really Professor Dempsey's sons or not.”

”Humph, that sounds all right,” observed Mollie. ”But has any one here any suggestion as to just how we will go about it? I'm sure I don't know any one who is acquainted with Professor Dempsey--or his family either.”

”I've got it,” said Betty, leaning forward eagerly. ”It may not be much of an idea, but then again it may.”

”Speak up, speak up, what's on your mind?” urged Mollie slangily.

”Well,” said Betty, ”there is Mr. Haig, princ.i.p.al of Deepdale High. He knows pretty nearly every one at the university where Professor Dempsey used to teach and he is more than likely to know whether the professor has any sons and what their names are.”

”Yes, that is all right as far as it goes,” broke in Mollie impatiently.

”We all know Mr. Haig--” Amy began, but this time it was Grace who interrupted.

”Yes, we all know him,” she said. ”But I'd like to know if there is any one of us--except Betty perhaps--who would have the nerve to go to him and ask him a question like that--”

”Say, who's telling this story I'd like to know,” broke in Betty impatiently. ”I'm not asking any one to go to Mr. Haig with that question or any other--although I would be perfectly willing to brave the lion in his den if there were no other way. My plan is this. Dad knows Mr. Haig, you know--went to school with him--old college chums and all that. I'm sure that if we asked him real pretty he would go to Mr. Haig and find out about Professor Dempsey for us.”