The Automobile Girls at Newport: or, Watching the Summer Parade

“Clever Mollie!” laughed Ruth. “I expect it is the golden touch that has been round this ballroom, or the touch of golden dollars, anyway.”

Mollie blushed. “I didn’t mean that,” she said.

Barbara leaned her head against the rose-colored cushion, just the color of the jeweled spray in her hair; she was wearing the coral jewelry her mother had given her. Fortunately the two girls had saved their best party dresses for this ball, having been content to wear their summer muslins at the informal dances at the Casino.

Barbara, in her dainty pink flowered organdie, with her cheeks flushed to match it in color, resembled a lovely wild rose.

Curiously enough, amid all this elegance, Bab felt a little homesick. She kept thinking of her mother and the little cottage.

“It’s a wonderful experience for Mollie and me,” she said to herself. “I hope I can tell mother exactly what it looks like. I am sure fairyland can’t be half so gorgeous; fairies wear only dewdrops for jewels; but here, I believe, there must be nearly all the jewels in the world.”

Barbara did not know how big the world really is, nor how many people and jewels, both real and paste, there are in it. After all, artificial people are no better than paste jewels!

Earlier in the evening Mollie and Barbara had stood with their hands tight together, watching the men and women enter the great reception room to speak to their host and hostess.

“Diamonds,” whispered Mollie to Bab, “seem as plentiful as the strawberries we gathered for the hotel people this summer. We didn’t dream, then, that we were coming to Newport! Isn’t my Mrs. Cartwright the most beautiful of them all?” wound up the loyal child.

Mrs. Cartwright wore a white satin gown, with a diamond star in the tulle of her bodice. In her hair was a spray of diamonds, mounted to look like a single stalk of lilies of the valley, each jewel hanging from the slender stem like a tiny floweret.

The conservatory was almost empty while Bab rested and waited.

During the intermission in the dance nearly all the guests had wandered into the dining-room or into the moonlit garden.

Barbara realized that she was almost completely hidden by the great palm trees that formed an arch over her head and drooped their long arms down over her. She had crept into this seat in order that she might see without being seen.

Yet in spite of the quiet, Barbara was not resting. Her heart was beating fast with the excitement of this wonderful evening, and her tiny feet in the pink silk slippers still kept time to the last waltz she had danced with Hugh.

The conservatory door, leading into the garden, was open. Barbara saw Mrs. Post, Governor Post, Harry Townsend and a woman in a gold-colored brocade enter the conservatory and stop to talk for a few minutes. They had not noticed Barbara nor did she feel it was quite proper to interrupt them, as she did not know the strange woman who was with them.

Governor Post bowed in military fashion to the ladies.

“Now,” he said, “I’ll go, and leave the young man to do the entertaining. We old fellows must make ourselves useful when our ornamental days are over. Mr. Townsend will look after you here, and I shall find a waiter and have him bring you something to eat.”

Barbara saw Harry Townsend talking in his most impressive manner to the two women.

“It is curious,” Bab thought, to herself, “what a society man Harry Townsend is. Gladys says he is only twenty-two. I wonder where he comes from. Nobody seems to know. Oh, yes; Gladys said he was educated in Paris. She met him on shipboard.”

The little girl from her green bower was an interested watcher. It was fascinating to be able to see all that was going on, without being seen. Bab sat as quiet as a mouse, taking no part in the conversation.

Mrs. Post was a handsome woman of about fifty, who looked rather stern to the girls; but Hugh assured them that she was “dead easy,” once you got on the right side of her. Her husband was a prominent lawyer in Washington, and their winters were usually spent in the capital.

Mrs. Post’s gown was nearly covered by a long, light-colored chiffon wrap, with a high collar lined with a curious ornamental embroidery.

“Harry,” she said, turning to the young man with her, “it is warm in here with these tropical plants; will you be kind enough to remove my wrap?”

The conservatory was dimly lighted. Barbara sat in the shadow. Between her and the party she was watching was a central row of flowers and evergreens, dividing the long room into two aisles.

She saw Harry rise and lean over Mrs. Post, who only half rose from her chair. Deftly and with wonderful ease and swiftness, Townsend undid the clasp at her throat; but, for a moment, the embroidery from the collar seemed to have caught in her hair.

Barbara’s eyes grew wide and staring with surprise. As the coat slipped back from Mrs. Post’s shoulders, she saw a string like a tiny green serpent glide with magic smoothness and swiftness from her throat, and drop into the shrubbery back of her, or – into Harry Townsend’s hand?

What should she do? Announce that she had seen her string of emeralds disappear? Mrs. Post was talking and laughing gayly with her friend in the gold-colored dress. Harry was smiling quietly by them. Barbara rubbed her eyes. Surely she was mistaken. She had been dazzled by the wonderful sights she had seen that night. While she hesitated her opportunity passed.

Governor Post returned, saying to his wife: “Come, my dear, I have found Miss Stuart and a friend. They have a table out in the garden, and want us to join them.”

Mrs. Post again drew her wrap over her shoulders and turned to leave the conservatory. As she rose she saw Barbara.

“You there, my child?” she said in a friendly way. “Why didn’t you speak to me?”

Barbara could only answer her stupidly. “I was waiting for Hugh.”

When Hugh returned he found Barbara looking as pale as though she had just seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter?” he asked at once. “Are you ill?”

But Bab shook her head. “I’ll go find Miss Stuart,” the young man suggested.

“You’ll do no such thing, Hugh!” Barbara had recovered her breath. “There’s nothing much the matter with me – at least, I am not sure whether I ought to tell you.”

“Bab and Hugh! Well, I like this!” Grace’s voice sounded from the doorway, as she and Donald Cartwright came in, followed by Ruth and Ralph. “Here you two have run away by yourselves, when we promised to stick together this evening, in order to keep up each other’s courage. You ought to see Gladys! She’s as angry as can he, and is wandering round with Mollie and the freshman. Harry has been gone somewhere for a long time, and she has no partner for the next dance.”

“Are you sick, Bab?” inquired Ruth. She, too, noticed that Bab was unusually pale. Before she received an answer, Governor and Mrs. Post came into the conservatory, followed by Harry Townsend, Miss Stuart and the woman in yellow.

“You are just the fellow I want to see, Hugh,” said his father, so quietly that no one except those near him could hear. “Your mother has lost her emerald necklace, and she thought she had it on when she was last in here. We don’t want to create any excitement, or to let Mrs. Erwin or the servants know until we have made a thorough search. She very probably dropped it among these flowers. Lock the door out there, will you? Miss Carter, you and Donald, please keep guard at the other door while these young people help me look.”

“I thought – ” said Barbara.

“Why, you were in here, child, when we were. You were on the other side of these evergreens,” said Mrs. Post. “What did you say?”

“I thought it might be in these evergreens,” Barbara finished, lamely, getting down on her knees to assist in the search. Dared she speak of what she thought she had seen? Dared she speak with no evidence but her own word? Could she have been in error? First, she would look with the others.

Every palm, every flower, every inch of space was carefully gone over. No sign of the missing emeralds!

“Did anyone enter the conservatory after I left, Miss Thurston?” inquired Mrs. Post coldly. She was worried by the loss of her jewels, which were of great value, as well as annoyed by the excitement she was causing.

“Nobody came in,” Bab said, “only Hugh.”

“I am exceedingly sorry,” the governor said at last, “but Mrs. Erwin will have to be notified. The jewels were either lost or stolen, and must be found. If the servants find the necklace a liberal reward will induce them to return it.”

The older people left the conservatory.

Just as the younger ones turned to leave, Barbara, whose strange expression had not escaped the sharp eyes of Ruth, laid her hand on Hugh’s arm.

“Ask Harry Townsend to stay here a minute with us, won’t you please, Hugh?” said Barbara hoarsely.

“Say, Townsend,” Hugh called, “come back a moment. I want to speak to you. Or, rather, Miss Thurston does.”

“Mr. Townsend,” said Barbara, her face pale as death, “did you not see Mrs. Post’s necklace when you took off her wrap in here?”

“No,” said Harry quietly. “Did you?”

“Ask him, Hugh,” said Barbara, desperately, “to show you what he has in his pockets!”

“Oh, say, Barbara!” Hugh answered. “I can’t do that. It’s a little too much.”

But Ralph stepped forward. “We don’t know what Miss Thurston means, but she most certainly doesn’t mean to insult Mr. Townsend unnecessarily. Why, then, should he mind turning out his pockets? Here Hugh,” Ralph turned, “search me first. Then Mr. Townsend won’t object to the selfsame process.”

Hugh’s face was crimson, but he looked through Ralph’s pockets in a gingerly fashion.

When he finished Harry Townsend turned quietly to Barbara. “I don’t know why you wish to insult me,” he said to her, “but I am perfectly willing to have Mr. Post search me. You were the only person in the conservatory after the jewels were lost!”

Hugh started his search.

Barbara leaned sick and faint against her chair, expecting every moment to see Hugh draw the jewels forth. She kept her eyes averted while Harry turned his pockets wrong side out and finally opened his vest.

“Barbara,” said Hugh, coldly, and Bab turned around. “We owe Mr. Townsend an apology. He is certainly no thief!”

The jewels were nowhere to be found.

CHAPTER XIV – BARBARA’S SECRET

“Bab, Bab! What is the matter with you!” cried Mollie, for Barbara had thrown herself on the bed after their return from the ball, bursting into a torrent of tears.

“Oh, I don’t know,” sobbed Bab. “I must be wrong, or crazy, or something. Yet how can people doubt their own eyes?”

Mollie stopped spreading out her butterfly dress, in which she had looked so pretty at the party, and flung her arms round her sister.

“Just tell me what is the matter, dear! Has anyone hurt your feelings? If it’s that Gladys Le Baron I’ll certainly get even with her!”

But Bab didn’t answer.

“I’m going to call Ruth,” said Mollie. “I don’t want to waken Aunt Sallie, but you seemed queer all the way home from the ball.”

Bab sat up, when Ruth came in, and dried her eyes.

“I am so sorry you feel so badly, Barbara, dear,” said Ruth, “but, of course, it was a wretched mistake for you to have made. Let’s try to forget that horrid scene. Some servant will pick up the necklace in the morning, and return it to Mrs. Post. Hugh and I have decided that it will be wise for those of us who were in the conservatory just at the last not to speak of what happened. You will forgive us, Mollie, dear, won’t you, if we don’t tell even you?”

“No, I won’t!” cried Mollie, stamping her little slippered foot. “Bab can’t have secrets that make her cry – not from her own sister. And I don’t see, anyway, what Bab has to do with Mrs. Post having lost her emerald necklace. If you think the loss is a secret, you’re wrong, because everybody in the ballroom was whispering it about half an hour afterwards. I heard of it from a perfect stranger!”

“Mollie,” said Ruth quietly, “will you please do me a favor? Don’t ask Barbara to tell you what happened that has worried her. It was nothing but an unfortunate mistake, and will all blow over in the morning.”

“Very well, Ruth,” agreed Mollie. “I won’t ask. But I am not a baby, and I am very sure it would be better if I were told.”

Thus poor Bab had no one in whom to confide, and had to bear her ugly secret all alone.

Ruth kissed her good night, saying: “Cheer up, silly girl, and sleep late as you can in the morning. You know, it’s to be the last day of our tennis practice, and you are going to beat me tomorrow!”

Ruth tiptoed over to Mollie, who was undressing in silence. “Mistress Mollie,” she said, “forgive me; do, please, like a dear. Talking about horrid things only makes them horrider!”

Ruth, in the depths of her heart, thought that Barbara had been most unwise in her hinted accusation of Harry Townsend. For Bab’s sake she thought it best for everyone to forget what had happened. It was a fault in Ruth’s nature that she loved only pleasant things, and would often give up, even when she knew she was right, in order not to make trouble.

The next morning a Barbara of heavy eyes and white cheeks joined the players on the tennis court.

Plainly Harry had confided what had happened to Gladys, for she did not speak to Bab as she came up to her, but tossed her head and bit her lips. Gladys said nothing, however, for Harry had made her promise she would not breathe what he had told her.

As for Mr. Townsend, he treated Barbara with cold politeness. But Barbara was beginning to have her eyes opened. “If I am right about him,” she thought to herself, “then I shall have to be very careful. I believe he is more clever than any of us dream!”

It was Hugh whose manner was most constrained. He could not forgive the scene of the night before, in which he had been forced to take an unwilling part. Not until Ruth called him over to her, and gave him a lecture, did he beg Bab’s pardon, and ask that they all forget the experience of the night before.

“Come on!” he called, cheerily, to the group of tennis players. “It’s do or die to-day – the last test day for us. It will show us who is to represent our crowd at the tournament. The girl and the fellow who can beat all the rest of us stand a good chance of winning the silver cup. Mrs. Cartwright says she has been closely following the game of the star players and she thinks we have them beaten to a finish. Come on, Ruth, let’s show ’em that we’re out for blood!”

Swish! Barbara’s ball flew over the net and curved toward the ground at Hugh’s left. Not too swiftly for that young gentleman; while Ruth’s heart gave a jump of apprehension, Hugh made a left-hand swing with his racquet and sent the ball whizzing back.

“Fifteen!” Ralph called out, in a bored tone. He had failed in his return.

The battle raged all morning.

Grace and Donald Cartwright, Gladys and Mr. Townsend were soon out of the running. When they had finished they sank gratefully on the ground, to watch the others play.

The field was thus left to Barbara and Ralph, to Ruth and Hugh. The sets stood even, and two more games would decide.

A small crowd of visitors stood around the court. Mrs. Cartwright, having finished her own game, came over to look on. Miss Sallie was trying to be impartial, but she was really deeply interested in Ruth’s success. Mrs. Erwin, Mrs. Post, the governor, all their friends, were lined up to behold the battle.

A subdued discussion of the lost emeralds had been going on at the Casino all morning. After a thorough search of every inch of Mrs. Erwin’s house and grounds, there was still no sign of the jewels; but Governor Post and Mrs. Erwin had made every effort to have the scandal of the necklace hushed up. They had seen the Newport detectives, and had telegraphed to New York for two experts to be sent down to handle the case. In the meantime they had been advised not to talk.

Now the only upright person, who could have given them any information had, for just a little while, forgotten all about it. Whatever Barbara did she did with her whole heart. Today she played tennis.

“Ralph,” Hugh called, “remember, now, it’s two straight games to finish the way we stand!”

There was no more conversation. Even the watchers held their breath. The referee sat on the ground, rapidly calling out the score – “forty – thirty – deuce!”

“Is this game to go on forever?” Miss Sallie inquired, plaintively. “My girls will be wholly worn out.”

“Advantage in!” shouted the referee.

Ralph sprang forward for his ball; his foot slipped. Barbara, who had been expecting him to return it, was not ready.

“Game!”

Ruth and Hugh shook hands with each other. But Hugh called over: “Say, Ralph, was this game all right? You turned your ankle, didn’t you?”

“Surely I did,” said Ralph. “I was an idiot, but it is your game just the same. I’ll make it up next time, Barbara – see if I don’t!”

“My dear Ruth,” said Miss Sallie, “I cannot permit it. You will be exhausted.”

“Here, Barbara,” said Mollie, “do try to get your breath, and let me fix up your hair.”

“No prinking!” Ralph called out. “This is business, ladies!”

The good old Casino courts never saw a finer tennis battle. Ralph and Bab played as though they had forgotten their talk in the woods that day when they had tea at Mrs. Duffy’s. Ruth and Hugh were foeman worthy of their best steel.

The game stood forty-all, and it was Bab’s serve. Bab’s serves were what made her tennis remarkable. They were as swift and straight and true as a boy’s.

Hugh stood ready waiting. Barbara caught a look in Ruth’s face, on the other side of the net. Her big blue eyes, frank and clear as a baby’s, were glowing with interest, with hope, with ambition! Like a flash the thought of all Ruth had done for them came into Bab’s mind. Did it weaken the force of her drive? Or was it because her mind was distracted? The ball fell just inside the net on her own side.

“Try again, partner mine!” shouted Ralph, “show ’em what you’re made of!”

This time Barbara was plainly nervous. She felt that nearly all the friends around them wanted Ruth to win. They would be delighted, of course, with her success and kind to her, but open-hearted and open-handed Ruth was the favorite with them all; at least, Bab thought so.

With returning courage, Bab hit her last ball a hard blow. It rose high in the air! Hugh sprang on his tiptoes to receive it and gave a mighty shout. The ball had fallen outside the line.

Ralph and Barbara were the first to congratulate the victors. Barbara cleared the net with a bound, forgetting both her age and her audience.

“There, Ruth, you and Hugh are the best players that ever happened!” Barbara spoke with a glowing face. Then she turned to Ralph: “I lost the game for you,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t, my lady,” said Ralph. “I lost the game before this one, so we’re even.”

An admiring circle had formed around Ruth and Hugh.

“Your father will be delighted, I know, child,” said Miss Sallie.

“I haven’t won the cup yet, Auntie,” protested Ruth.

“But you must, child,” said Mrs. Cartwright, smiling. “I am betting on you and Hugh in the tournament, and you mustn’t make me lose my box of candy.”

“Barbara,” said Ralph, shyly, as they walked off toward home a little later, “I don’t like to ask you, but did you mean to miss those last serves?”

Barbara shook her head. “No,” she said, “I don’t think I meant to. I don’t know. But they were the best players, weren’t they, Ralph?”

“Certainly,” Ralph answered.

CHAPTER XV – RUTH IN DANGER

Hugh, looking much embarrassed, came up early next morning to see Ruth.

“I have an invitation to deliver to you, Ruth, but I am rather ashamed to do it, for I am afraid you will be angry. Mother told me to come over and ask Miss Stuart and yourself and the girls – except Barbara – to come out with us for the day on the yacht.”

“Why, Hugh Post!” cried Ruth. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like this,” Hugh said, desperately; “mother told me to explain to you exactly how things stand, so you will not think her rude. You see, mother is visiting Mrs. Erwin, and of course Mrs. Erwin, Gladys, and her devoted Harry Townsend have to go along on the yacht with us. Well, Gladys told mother that neither she nor Mr. Townsend could go if Barbara went. Gladys would not tell mother why, and, as you told me to keep that scene in the conservatory a secret, I didn’t know what it was wisest for me to do.”

“Thank you,” Ruth answered; “but tell your mother that none of us can accept.”

“O Ruth!” exclaimed Hugh. “I am fearfully disappointed, and mother I know will be angry.”

“I am afraid I don’t care, Hugh,” was Ruth’s reply. “I don’t like your mother’s inviting any of us, if she had to leave Bab out.”

As Hugh turned to leave the front porch, where he had found Ruth alone, she called after him: “Wait a minute, please. I don’t know what to tell Aunt Sallie. Your mother will be sure to speak to her of her invitation, and Auntie will think I should have let her refuse for herself. Oh, I know!”

Ruth’s face cleared. “I will go tell Aunt Sallie that she and Grace and Mollie are asked. I’ll stay with my dear Bab,” she finished a little defiantly. “If I am also left out of the party, no one will think anything of it.”

“Oh, I say, Ruth,” Hugh urged, “please come.”

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head decidedly.

“I expect you’re right,” Hugh replied.

Miss Sallie, Mollie and Grace accepted Mrs. Post’s invitation with pleasure. As Mrs. Post’s yacht was small, they did not think it strange that the other two girls were left out.

How angry Mollie would have been, had she guessed the truth. Not a step would she have gone. As it was, she begged Barbara to go in her place.

But Bab was too clever. She understood what had happened, and was glad to be left out of the party. She put her arm around Ruth’s waist, whispering coaxingly: “Do go along with the others, old story-teller. You know you were asked.”

Ruth shook her head decidedly. “Not on your life,” she slangily retorted. Fortunately, Miss Sallie did not hear her.

“What shall we do this afternoon, Bab?” inquired Ruth after luncheon. “Suppose you and I go for a long walk?”

“Don’t think I am a lazy good-for-nothing, Ruth,” Barbara begged, “but I have a little headache, and I must write to mother. Mollie and I have been neglecting her shamefully of late. I haven’t even written her about the wonderful ball.”

“Are you going to tell her what happened, Bab?” Ruth inquired.

“I suppose so,” sighed Bab. She was half inclined to discuss the unfortunate affair with Ruth, but changed her mind.

“Well, Bab,” Ruth declared, “I shall go for the walk ‘all by my lonesomes.’ I’ll be back in time for dinner. The others are to dine on the yacht, so we need not look for them until bedtime. I think I’ll take the cliff walk, for the sea is so splendid to-day.”

Left alone, Barbara got out her writing materials and sat down by the window, but she did not begin to write.

“I wonder,” she asked herself, “why we have been mixed up in burglaries ever since Ruth began talking about our trip to Newport? First, our poor little twenty-dollar gold-pieces disappear; then we have that dreadful robber at New Haven. Now Mrs. Post’s emerald necklace is stolen! It could not all have been Mr. Townsend!” Barbara sat with her hands clenched.

“If it is true,” she went on, “and I saw the necklace disappear with my own eyes, then we have another Raffles to deal with. Mr. Raffles, the second! I believe I am the only person that suspects him. Well, Mr. Harry Townsend!” Barbara’s red lips tightened, “you are successful now, but we shall see whose wits are better, yours or mine!”

Barbara’s face turned a deep crimson. “I understood. He wanted to suggest I was the thief. Only he didn’t dare to accuse me openly the other night. I won’t tell mother,” Barbara at last decided. “I’ll just watch – and wait!”

Barbara wrote her mother a long, happy letter, without a hint of the troubles she began to feel closing in on her. Then she straightened her own and Mollie’s bureau drawers and arranged their clothes in the two closets. Still Ruth did not come.

Twice Barbara went into her room. It was half past five – six – Mrs. Ewing’s early dinner was served at half after six.