The Motor Girls on the Coast: or, The Waif From the Sea

Penrose Margaret

The Motor Girls on the Coast; or, The Waif From the Sea

CHAPTER I

A FLASH OF FIRE

Filled was the room with boys and girls–yes, literally filled; for they moved about so from chair to chair, from divan to sofa, from one side of the apartment to the other, now and then changing corners after the manner of the old-fashioned game of “puss,” that what they lacked in numbers they more than made up in activity. It was a veritable moving picture of healthful, happy young persons. And the talk – !

Questions and answers flew back and forth like tennis balls in a set of doubles. Repartee mingled with delicate sarcasm, and new, and almost indefinable shades of meaning were given to old and trite expressions.

“You can depend upon it, Sis!” drawled Jack Kimball as he stretched out his foot to see how far he could reach on the Persian rug without falling off his chair; “you can depend upon it that Belle will shy at the last moment. She’s afraid of water, the plain, common or garden variety of water. And when it comes to ripples, to say nothing of waves, she – ”

“Cora, can’t you make him behave?” demanded the plump Belle in question.

“Belle’s too–er–too–tired to get up and do it herself,” scoffed Ed Foster. “May I oblige you, Belle, and tweak his nose for him?”

“Come and try it!” challenged Jack.

“Let Walter do it,” advised Bess, who, the very opposite type of her sister Belle, tall and willowy–æsthetic in a word–walked to another divan over which she proceeded to “drape herself,” as Cora expressed it.

“Well, let’s hear what Jack has to say,” proposed Walter Pennington, bringing his head of crisp brown hair a little closer to the chestnut one of Bess. “He has made a statement, and it is now–will you permit me to say it–it is now strictly up to him to prove it. Say on, rash youth, and let us hear why it is that Belle will shy at the water.”

“It’s a riddle, perhaps,” suggested Eline Carleton, a visitor from Chicago. “I love to guess riddles! Say it again, Jack, do!”

“Why is a raindrop – ” began Norton Randolf, a newcomer in Chelton. “The answer is – ”

“That you can bring water to a horse, even if you can’t make him stand still without hitching,” interrupted Walter. “Go on, Jack!”

“I don’t see much use in going on, if you fellows–and I beg your collective pardons–the ladies also–are to interrupt me all the while.”

“That’s so–let’s play the game fair,” suggested Eline. “Is it a riddle, Jack? Belle is afraid of the water because–let me see–because it can’t spoil her complexion no matter whether it’s salt or fresh–is that it?” and she glanced over at the slightly pouting Belle, whose rosy complexion was often the envy of less happily endowed girls.

“I’m not afraid of the water!” declared Belle. “I don’t see why he says so, anyhow. It–it isn’t–kind.”

“Forgive me, Belle!” and Jack “slumped” from his chair to his knees before the offended one. “I do beg your pardon, but you know that ever since we proposed this auto trip to Sandy Point Cove you’ve hung back on some pretext or other. You’ve even tried to get us to consent to a land trip. But, in the language of the immortal Mr. Shakespeare, there is nothing doing. We are going to the coast.”

“Of course I’m coming, too,” said Belle. “Stop it, Jack!” she commanded, drawing her plump hand away from his brown palm. “Behave yourself! Only,” she went on, as the others ceased laughing, “only sometimes the ocean seems so–so – ”

“Oceany,” supplied Walter.

“Now Jack–and you other boys also,” said Cora in firm tones, “really it isn’t fair. Belle is nervous about water, just as the rest of us are about some other particular bugbear, but she is also reasonable, and she has even promised to learn to swim.”

Cora brushed from the mahogany centre table a few morsels of withered lilac petals, for, in spite of the most careful dusting and setting to rights of the room, those blooms had a persistent way of dropping off.

“Belle swim!” cried Jack, rising to his feet, since his advances had been repulsed, “why she would have to be done up in a barrel of life preservers, and then she’d insist on being anchored to shore by a ship’s cable. Belle swim!”

“Indeed!” retorted his sister, “you’ll soon find that the more nervous a girl is, the more persistent she is to learn to swim. She realizes the necessity of not losing her head in the water.”

“If she lost her head she wouldn’t swim very far,” put in Ed with gentle sarcasm.

“Put him out!” ordered Walter. “But say, when are we going to get down to the horrible details, and make some definite plans? This sort of a tea party suits me all right–don’t mistake me,” he hastened to add, with a glance at Cora, “but if we are going, let’s–go!”

“That’s what I say,” came from Belle. “You won’t find me holding back,” and she crossed the room to look out of the parlor window across the Kimball lawn.

“My! That’s a stunning dress!” exclaimed Jack. “Fish-line color, isn’t it?”

“He’s trying to make amends. Don’t you believe him,” echoed Walter.

“Fish-line color!” mocked Cora. “Oh, Jack, you are hopeless! That’s the newest shade of pearl.”

“Well, I almost hit it,” defended Jack. “Pearls are related to fishes, and fish lines are – ”

“Oh, get a map!” groaned Ed. “Do you always have to make diagrams of your jokes that way, old man?”

“Let’s go outside,” proposed Cora. “I’m sure it’s getting stuffy in here – ”

“Well, I like that!” cried Belle. “After she asked us to come, she calls us stuffy! Cora Kimball!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way at all,” protested the young hostess. “But it is close and sultry. I shouldn’t wonder but what we’d have a thunder-shower.”

“Don’t say that!” pleaded Jack, in what Walter termed his theatrical voice. “A shower means water, and Belle and water – ”

“Stop it!” commanded the pestered one. “Do come out,” and she linked her arm in that of Cora. “Maybe we can talk sense if we get in the open.”

The young people drifted from the room, out on the broad porch and thence down under the cedars that lined the path. It was late afternoon, and though the sky was clouding over, there shot through the masses now and then a shaft of sun that fell on the walk between the tree branches, bringing into relief the figures that “crunched” their way along the gravel, talking rapidly the while.

“Looks like a rare old reunion,” spoke Jack. “I guess we’ll do something worth while after all.”

“Don’t distress yourself too much, old man,” warned Ed. “You might get a sun-stroke, you know.”

“That’s the time you beat him to it,” chuckled Walter. “Do they do this sort of thing out your way?” and he addressed pretty Eline.

She blushed a charming pink under her coat of tan–a real biscuit brown, it had been voted by her admirers. She reminded them of a little red squirrel, for she had rather that same timid appearance, and she nearly always dressed in tan or brown, to match her complexion.

“Sometimes,” she murmured.

“Chicago – ” began Jack in rather judicial tones.

“You let Chicago alone!” advised Walter. “I’m looking after Eline. I won’t let them hurt you,” and he moved closer to her. She seemed to shrink, whereat the others laughed.

They walked about for a little while, strolling out to the Kimball garage–a rebuilt stable, where three fine machines now stood, two of them having brought the visitors. Then when they had acquired the necessary breath of air, they went back into the house.

Eline matched herself up to a Chippendale chair, while Belle, always fond of plenty of room, found it on a divan. Bess had secured one of those Roman chairs curved up at both ends, seemingly intended to prevent anyone from sitting anywhere but in the exact center. She assumed a graceful pose–everything Bess did had that attribute.

“My! it is certainly getting warmer!” complained Walter. “Maybe we should have stayed out.”

“We can talk better in here,” was Cora’s opinion. “We’ll need all the breeze that we can get on high gear if this keeps up,” said Ed, with a sigh.

“Oh, but the dust!” exclaimed Bess. “I know I’ll simply choke, and – ”

“Chew gum!” broke in Cora. “That absorbs the dust.”

“Couldn’t we chew chocolates as well?” asked Belle. “I would rather swallow half the dust of the roads from here to Sandy Point Cove and have my throat macadamized, than chew gum.”

“We’ll allow you to make yours chocolate,” conceded Jack, “though chocolates do not allow space for – ”

“Gab,” put in Norton Randolf, who seldom said anything really nice to the girls. Yet he always managed to interest them with his drawl and indifference. “We ought to get out something that would stop the talk when we get to a close turn,” he proceeded. “I’m always afraid some one will release the emergency brake on a down grade, with a rude remark.”

“He’s real bright!” chuckled Ed. “I don’t think!”

“Now, please, let’s get down to business,” suggested Cora, crisply. “The time passes so quickly, and we have a lot of matters to arrange. Bess, I put an extra wrench in your tool-box. I remembered your ability in losing those handy little articles.”

“Thanks,” drawled Bess. “But why stop at a wrench? Why not duplicate all the fixings? What I don’t lose Belle does. But then,” and she turned mocking, pleading eyes on Jack, “your brother is such a dear for fixing us up. I guess the Flyaway will be there at the finish.”

“Is it very far where you are going–to Sandy Point Cove?” asked Eline.

“Oh, yes,” answered Walter, “it’s miles and miles, and then more miles. But we are all going, little girl, so don’t worry,” and he struck a stiffly-heroic attitude to show his valor.

“It is a good thing you have a livery-stable-sized garage,” remarked Ed to Cora. “It holds all the cars very nicely.”

“Yes, there isn’t another in Chelton, except the public ones, so well arranged,” added Walter. “But we might have waited until morning to bring the machines here.”

“No, I thought it was best to have them here the night before we were to start,” explained Cora, who was to assume the leadership of the prospective trip. “Some of us might have been tempted to go out on a little spin this evening, and an accident might have occurred that would delay us.”

“Did the Petrel get off safely?” inquired Ed.

“Yes,” replied Jack. “It’s in a regular motor boat crate that the man said would stand the journey. I saw it put in the freight car myself, and well braced. It will be there waiting for us when we get to the Cove.”

“I hope it runs,” murmured Walter.

“Don’t be a pessimist–or is it an optimist? I never can tell which from what,” spoke Belle. “I mean don’t be one who’s always looking on the dark side. Look for the silver lining of the clouds.”

“Say, it’s clouding up all right,” declared Jack, as he glanced from the window.

A distant rumble was heard at that moment.

“That’s thunder!” exclaimed Belle, “and we have no umbrellas.” She glanced at her sister and Eline.

“Better have it rain to-night than to-morrow, when we want to start,” said Cora, philosophically.

“Sit by me, Belle,” pleaded Jack. “I won’t let the bad thunder hurt you.”

“We’ll all sit by each other!” proposed Walter.

This was a signal for a general change of places, each boy pretending to protect a girl.

“Now don’t let’s get off the track,” went on Cora, when quiet had been restored. “Are you all sure that you want to go directly to the Cove, and don’t care for a little side trip before reaching there? Of course it’s going to be fine at the shore, and there’s enough variety so that each one can find something she or he likes–rocks, ocean, sandy beach, a lighthouse – ”

“Where they do light housekeeping?” asked Ed, softly.

“Please don’t,” Cora begged.

“Any nice girls down there?” asked Jack, making eyes at Eline.

They all started as a particularly loud clap of thunder followed a vivid flash of lightning, and the wind rose suddenly, moaning through the trees.

“I don’t believe it will amount to much,” was Walter’s opinion. “Probably only a wind storm.”

“But I guess I’d better put down the windows on the West side,” remarked Cora. “I’ll be back in a moment – ”

As she spoke there came a dash of rain against the side of the house, and another flash of lightning was followed by a vibrating peal.

Cora screamed.

“Oh, what is it?” demanded Bess, nervously. Jack clasped her hand.

“Look!” cried Cora. “The garage–it’s on fire. I just saw a flash of flame! Our autos will be burned!”

“We’ve got to get ’em out!” declared Jack. “Come on, fellows!”

He made a dash for the door. Ed leaped through the low, open window. Walter followed Jack. The girls stood uncertain what to do.

“The lightning struck it!” gasped Eline.

“We must help to get out the autos!” cried Cora. “We must help the boys to fight the fire!”

“Telephone in an alarm!” suggested Bess.

“The autos first! The cars first! We must get them out!” Cora cried as she hurried out of the door, the three other girls trailing after. “If we get the cars out the barn can go!”

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGE WOMAN

Only for an instant had Cora Kimball hesitated. Usually she was even more prompt than her brother Jack to get into action, but the flash of fire she had seen in the garage, and the thought of the valuable cars stored there–cars in which they were to make their delightful summer trip–seemed to paralyze her for the time being. Then she was galvanized into life and action.

“Cora, there comes your car out!” cried Bess, as the Whirlwind, the powerful Kimball auto, was seen to poke its hood from the now blazing barn. Ed had been the first to reach the structure, and, quickly switching on the self-starter, had run the machine out.

“I guess they can get out the others!” said Belle, as Walter and Jack dashed inside.

Cora suddenly turned and ran back toward the house.

“Where are you going?” asked Eline. “Oh dear! The whole place will soon be afire!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” Cora called back, over her shoulder. “I’m going to get some extinguishers! Maybe the boys can’t reach the one in the barn. It’s our only chance–an extinguisher. Water is the worst thing you can put on a gasoline fire. Get some pails of sand, girls!”

“That’s right–sand!” yelled Ed, as he leaped from Cora’s car, having taken it a safe distance down the drive. He went back on the run to help Jack and Ed. The rain was now pelting down, but unmindful of it, the girls drew nearer the burning barn, while Cora sped toward the house.

“Sand–pails?” asked Belle.

“Yes!” cried Bess. “There are some pails over there!” and she pointed toward a pile of gardening tools. “The watering can will be good, too. Scoop up the sand–use your hands!”

She rushed over and picked up one of the pails, an example followed by her sister and Eline.

“Oh, why don’t those boys come out!” cried the latter. “Maybe they are–burned!” she faltered.

“Perhaps they can’t get our car started,” said Bess. “Sometimes it just won’t respond!”

Quickly they filled the pails with sand, and while this is being done, and other preparations under way to fight the fire and save the autos I will take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the characters in this story, and how they figured in previous books of the series.

The first volume, in which Cora Kimball and her chums were introduced, was entitled “The Motor Girls,” and in that they succeeded in unraveling a mystery of the road, though it was not as easy as they at first thought it might be.

Then came “The Motor Girls on a Tour; Or, Keeping a Strange Promise,” and how strange that promise was, not even Cora realized at the time. But in spite of difficulties it was kept and a restoration was made. In the third book, “The Motor Girls at Lookout Beach,” there came the quest for two runaways.

That girls–even young girls–do things on impulse was made clear to Cora and her friends when they sought after the rather foolish creatures who ran such a risk. That only good came of it was as much due to Cora as to anyone else.

“The Motor Girls Through New England” gave Cora and her companions a chance to see something of life under strange circumstances. That one of them would be captured by the gypsies never for a moment entered their heads. But it happened, and for a time it looked as though the results might be serious. But once again Cora triumphed.

The volume immediately preceding the present one is entitled “The Motor Girls on Cedar Lake; Or, The Hermit of Fern Island.” Who the hermit was, and the strange secret he kept so long, and how it was finally solved you will find set down in that book. Then came the return to normal life, but with the prospect of more adventures, on the verge of which we now find Cora and her friends.

They were ready for the summer vacation, and had voted to spend it at Sandy Point Cove–a resort on the Atlantic coast. It was the evening before the start, and they had gathered at Cora’s house to arrange final details.

They were to motor to the cove, taking their time, for it was no small distance from Chelton where our friends lived. The motor boat Petrel sometimes just called Pet for short, had been shipped on ahead.

I think I have already mentioned the names of the young folks. Cora generally came first, by reason of her personality. She was a splendid girl, tall and rather dark, and had somewhat of a commanding air, though she was not at all fond of her own way, and always willing to give in to others if it could be made plain that their way was best. Her mother was a wealthy widow, and there was Jack, Cora’s brother, taller than she, darker perhaps and was he handsomer? Cora had, some time before, been given a fine large touring car, and Jack owned a small runabout.

Walter Pennington was Jack’s chum, both of them attending Exmouth College, where, of late, Ed Foster had taken a post-graduate course. Ed was very fond of hunting and fishing, and considered himself quite a sportsman.

The Robinson twins were daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Perry Robinson, the father being a wealthy railroad man. He had given the girls a fine car–the Flyaway it had been christened–while Jack called his the Get There. Sometimes it did, and sometimes it didn’t. To go back to the girls. Belle, or Isabel, as she had been christened, was plump and rosy, and her sister Bess, tall, willowy and fair, her rather light hair contrasting with the brown locks of Belle.

Eline Carleton, from Chicago, a distant cousin of Cora had been invited to spend the summer with the Kimballs, and was to go to the Cove. Norton Randolf was a newcomer in town, said to be of a wealthy family. He had only lately made the acquaintance of Jack and his chums, but was rather well liked.

Chelton, as my previous readers know, was a most charming semi-country town, nestling in a bend of the Chelton River, a stream of picturesque beauty. The location was in New England, not so far from the New York line that the trip to the metropolis was a fatiguing one. The young people had often taken it on pleasure bent. And now, not to keep you any longer from the story, which I am afraid I interrupted at a rather critical point, I will merely remark, in passing, that other characters will be mentioned from time to time, some of whom have appeared in previous books.

In the excitement attending the fire, Bess was puffing on her way to the garage, carrying a pail of wet sand that she had scooped up from the driveway. She was followed by the other girls.

“Oh, see the smoke!” cried Eline. “That must be gasoline burning!”

“It is,” assented Belle. “Oh, do hurry–somebody!”

Cora came running out of the house, carrying long tin extinguishers, one in each hand, and one under her right arm. She had just bought a new lot, and had intended hanging them in the garage, but had forgotten it.

“These will be just the thing!” she cried. “Don’t be frightened! There’s not much gasoline in the barn. If we can get out the cars – ”

“Something must be the matter!” cried Bess. “The boys–they are in there yet–they may be overcome!”

As if to deny this startling suggestion Jack fairly shot out of the smoke in the Flyaway– the car of the twins.

“They have left their own car to the last!” gasped Belle.

“They had to!” Cora panted. “They could only take them as they stood, you know. They were in line. Mine was first, then yours. Oh Jack! is it very bad?”

“A mean little blaze, Sis! Did you ’phone in an alarm?” He wiped his streaming eyes, and, bringing the car up alongside the Whirlwind, leaped out to go back to his chums.

“Here! Take these extinguishers!” his sister cried. “I’ll get the department in a minute!”

She tossed the tin tubes to Jack, who, catching them, ran back toward the barn. It was raining harder than ever now, but no one seemed to mind it. The girls were totally oblivious of their smart gowns, now badly bedraggled.

“Take this sand!” wailed Belle. “I don’t know what to do with it!”

“Grab this sand from the girls!” yelled Jack to Ed, Walter and Norton, who, at that moment came out in Jack’s car. “Throw it on the blazing gasoline! What kept you?”

“Your car wouldn’t crank!” cried Walter. “It’s all right now, though–just scorched a little in the rear!”

The three lads, Norton clinging to the run-board, got the car to safety, and then raced back, grabbed the sand from Belle, Bess and Eline, and followed Jack into the garage, which was now under a pall of smoke.

The tin tops of the extinguishers were yanked off, and the chemical powder sprinkled toward the blaze. Sand was also cast on it, but the fire had spread more than the boys had thought. The choking fumes, too, drove the amateur blaze-fighters back.

Again Cora came running from the house through the drenching rain.

“I can’t get the fire department on the wire!” she cried. “Something is wrong with the telephone!”

“It’s the storm, I guess,” answered Jack, coming to the door of the old barn that had been converted into a garage. He had to have a breath of air.

“Oh, can we help?” cried Eline.

“Better stay out,” gasped Ed, as he too, came for a little relief. “I guess we can keep it from spreading.”

By this time several men had run in from the street.

“Where’s your water?” asked one.

“Don’t want any!” cried Jack. “It’s gasoline. Get more sand if you want to–dry, if you can find it!”

He kicked one of the empty pails toward the men. A flash of lightning blazed over the structure, and the thunder rumbled as the rain came down harder than ever.

“This rain’ll put it out soon enough!” shouted one of the men helpers. The boys had gone back into the barn, leaving the girls outside.

“I can get some sand in that!” cried Belle, as she saw a pan in front of the dog’s kennel–it was used to contain his dinner. The girl began scooping up in it some of the damp gravel from the drive.

“Don’t! Don’t!” cried her sister. “Drop it. You mustn’t hold metal in a thunder storm.”

“Oh, I’m going in!” exclaimed Eline. “I can’t bear to be in the open when it lightens.”

She darted toward the garage. Instinctively the others followed. There seemed to be less smoke coming out now, and no blaze could be seen.

“I guess they can stop it,” murmured Cora. “Oh, I do hope they can!”

“Let’s go in and help!” cried Bess. “They may need us!”

Bravely the motor girls entered the garage. A shift in the wind had blown the smoke away from the door. They could see the boys and men fighting the flames that were in a far corner of the main room.

Belle suddenly ran forward and dashed on the blaze the pan of sand that she had not relinquished.

“Bravo!” cried Jack. “You’re a heroess!”

He held his hand to his smarting eyes.

“Let me take that extinguisher!” begged Belle, plucking a half-emptied one from him.

“Here’s one for me!” exclaimed Bess, picking it up off the floor. It had not been opened. She knocked off the top and, doing as the others did, she sent the powder in a sweeping motion toward the flames. Some of the men ran out for more sand. The blaze was being well fought now. There was really no need for the fire department.

Above the place where the autos were stored were rooms formerly occupied by the coachman and his family, before Mrs. Kimball disposed of her horses. The stairs to these rooms were boxed in, a door leading directly to the path that went to the driveway.