Molly Brown's College Friends

“I’m not Miss Kean any more, – I’m Mrs. Kent Brown now. – It was my husband who pitched me and my luggage on the back end of the train.”

“Married! By jiminy! I can’t believe Bob Kean has a married daughter! And your husband aided and abetted you in jumping on the back of fast trains, did he?” and the once grim captain laughed aloud. “Well, I’m glad you got a game husband. I don’t know what your father would have done with a ’fraid cat.”

Judy’s entrance in the Pullman caused some commotion. The old conductor was laughing heartily and the brakeman was in a much pleasanter frame of mind as he handed over Judy’s bag to the grinning porter. There were about eight persons in the chair car as Judy entered and Judy-like, she immediately became intensely interested in them.

Of course, the spot of color made by a flashy dame in lavender attracted her attention first, and then her companion in loud checks cried out to be noticed. What a couple! Race track written all over both of them! Even from three seats off Judy could smell the musk on the woman. The man’s face was hidden by the newspaper and the woman seemed to be engaged in rapt contemplation of her beauty in the narrow little mirror by her chair. To Judy’s disappointment the gaudy dame whirled her chair around so she could not see her face.

“I bet she’s a peacherino!” she said to herself.

There were other persons in the train that proved interesting, too: among them a mother and child who appealed to Judy’s artistic sense; a G. A. R. veteran who was sure he had been in worse battles than the Marne; an ancient lady from Louisiana who made our young artist wild to paint her white hair and patrician nose. Opposite Judy’s chair was a young man, (or was he a young man?) At least he was not an old man! There were a few tiny lines around his twinkling bright blue eyes, but his movements were as alert as a college athlete’s, and his mouth, though very firm, had the saucy expression of a street boy. Judy was sure she had seen his face before. The way his hair grew on his forehead in a so-called widow’s peak reminded her vaguely of someone, – the cleft chin she was sure she had known somewhere. He was interested in her, too, she could plainly see. He had a pleasant, dependable expression, the kind of look one felt meant that in time of trouble he would be a good person to call on. He was making himself generally useful to the madonna-like mother and child; he had assisted the ancient lady from Louisiana to get up and sit down several times since Judy had so unceremoniously boarded the car.

“I wish I knew where I had known him. His face is as familiar to me as my own.”

She felt in her jacket pocket for her sketch book. She must get an impression of the mother and child, and the old lady was destined to be sketched in, too. She longed to do the youngish-oldish person opposite, but he was too close for her to permit herself such a familiarity. She turned over the leaves of her book and suddenly came upon the page given up to the Tucker twins and their friend Page Allison. What delightful girls they were! Suddenly she could place the resemblance seen in the gentleman across the aisle. Of course his forehead and widow’s peak were the same that Dum Tucker owned, and his cleft chin was the identical one belonging to Dee Tucker. Could he be their father?

She remembered what the girls had told her of their delightful father. He was a newspaper man in Richmond, Virginia, and according to the twins was just about the most wonderful person in the world. Page Allison, too, had given him praise, although not quite so wildly unstinted as his daughters.

“I think I’ll drop something and let him pick it up for me and get in a conversation with him,” Judy laughed to herself. “He is such a squire of dames, he is sure to pick it up.”

She turned the pages of her sketch book until she came to the quick impressions she had made of Madame Misel at the war relief rooms.

“The wretch!” was her inward comment, and her thoughts went back to the last days at Wellington. She looked up; her eye was again chained by the gaudy lavender spot and she suddenly became conscious that she could see the woman’s face in the large mirror at the end of the Pullman. Her eyes were down as she perused the pages of a magazine.

Another familiar face! Where under Heaven had she seen just that chin and nose? Her eyes fell again on the open sketch book. Why, it is Madame Misel – no other! With quick strokes she copied the sketch and then cleverly added the beplumed hat, fluffy collar and fashionably cut coat. The woman stood up for a moment to get something from the pocket of her great coat, hanging on the hook at one side, and then Judy took in her general contours standing, and added some draperies to the full length figure she had also obtained of Madame Misel in the work room. High heels were put on the flat, unstylish shoes. The straight severe dress and basque were transformed into the fashionable, if gaudy, creation. Judy was careful not to erase any of the original lines and all of the new parts she sketched in in dots and dashes.

The gentleman opposite was plainly interested in what she was doing and it evidently required all his self-control to keep from asking to be allowed to see.

“They are the Misels and they are running away!” flashed into Judy’s mind. “It is up to me to stop them – but how? The gent in checks is undoubtedly Misel. They can’t fool me; I remember his ears too well and the way his hands held things.”

She glanced across the aisle and her eyes met the bright blue ones belonging to the widow’s peak and cleft chin.

“What would Bobby do in this case?” she asked herself.

“Use the sense God gave him and get help if he couldn’t cope with a thing single-handed,” she answered herself.

She accordingly let her sketch book slide from her lap, rubber and pencil hopping gaily after it.

“Oh, thank you so much!” she exclaimed as the squire of dames immediately dived for the belongings and restored them to her. “I would not loose my sketch book for worlds.”

“I should say not! I have a daughter who is very much interested in art, – in fact, she is studying in New York now, – her specialty is sculpture, though.”

“Yes, I know her! She is Dum Tucker!”

“You know my Dum! How wonderful! And how did you know she was – I was her father?”

“By your widow’s peak! I also know you are Dee’s father by your chin.”

Mr. Tucker changed his seat, taking the one by Judy.

“By Jove! You artists are a clever lot. You would make a great detective, Mrs. Brown. You must excuse me for knowing your name, but I heard you tell the captain what it was, – Mrs. Kent Brown. My girls have written me how kind you have been to them and I have been dying to make myself known to you, but was waiting for some kind of opening wedge.”

“And I, too, Mr. Tucker, have been wondering where I had seen you, when I found your girls’ pictures in my little book. See! Here they are!”

“And little Page, too!” He exclaimed eagerly scanning the sketches. “You are wonderfully clever at a likeness.”

“Do you think so? I – Mr. Tucker – I deliberately scraped up an acquaintance with you because I want you to do something for me,” and Judy looked frankly into the honest eyes of her new acquaintance.

“Why, Mrs. Brown, you know I am at your service.”

“I was sure of you somehow, even if I had not been almost certain you were related in some way to Dum and Dee Tucker. My little sketch book told me that and it told me something else, too, but I must begin at the beginning.”

Judy, whispering, began with her meeting of the Misels, of her interesting the Greens at Wellington, of Misel’s substituting in French at the college and of Madame’s work in the war relief. Jeffrey Tucker’s eyes flashed as the newspaper man in him scented a rousing good story. When Judy got to the part where she and her friends went out in the night to hunt for adventure and found it in the manly shape of Misel taking strenuous exercise for a cripple, he beamed with joy and felt in his pocket for a pencil. Judy rapidly told him of the puppy’s wounded leg and of the tetanus germs as well as ground glass being found in the dressings. He set his square jaw and looked as though he could eat the kaiser and all his crew at one mouthful.

“And now I have come to the dénouement!” gasped Judy, excitement making her breathless. “If I could recognize you by your likeness to my sketches, I fancy I could also recognize Madame Misel by sketches of herself. I got two of her this morning at the war relief. The detectives did not arrest them, as they want to get others in their dragnet, but in some way the spies must have caught on to the fact that they were under suspicion, as they sneaked away.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as shooting! In fact they are on this train.”

“No!” excitedly.

“Now, Mr. Tucker, you must compose yourself if we mean to catch the creatures!”

“Certainly!” and the eager man sank back in his seat and tried to look as though he were having a mild conversation with the attractive young woman who had jumped on the back of the moving train.

“Now that is better! Keep that nonchalant expression for what I am going to tell you – ”

“All right, fire away!”

“They are on this coach, just three seats down. – Good boy, not to jump out of your skin! Now I am going to show you my sketch of the woman before and after. See, there is no doubt about her! You walk to the smoker and on the way back get a good look at her face and I bet you will be convinced.”

Jeffrey Tucker did as he was bid, giving Madame Misel such a casual look that he aroused no suspicion in her mind.

“Gee! This is great! I’d rather bag some of these spies than do big hunting in the African Jungle. Now, most wise of all female detectives, what do you advise? We must act quickly.”

“I think you should take the conductors, both train and Pullman, into your confidence, and then send telegrams to New York to have the spies met with the proper reception. You can telegraph Bobby, I mean my father, if you think it best, and he can get in cahoots with the Secret Service people in New York. Bobby is the kind of man who doesn’t let things go wrong. When he bores a hole in the mountain it comes out on the opposite side just exactly where he meant it to, – when he swings a bridge across a river it stays swung, – there is no giving way of supports and undermining from washings, – Bobby knows. If you telegraph him, he’ll have detectives there all right and they will have the necessary warrants and handcuffs, too.”

“Well then, Bobby it is!” and Jeffrey Tucker quickly took Mr. Kean’s address. Next the conductors were interviewed, and those good Americans quickly complied with any and every request. A long and explicit telegram was written to the gentleman who did not let mistakes happen, another one sent to the chief of police, in case Mr. Kean should not be at home to receive the telegram, (Jeffrey Tucker being the kind of man who did not let mistakes occur, either,) and then there was nothing to do but sit quietly in the Pullman and wait for the train to steam into New York.

It seemed to Judy to be hours and hours, although the time certainly passed pleasantly with the friends she made on the train. She and Mr. Tucker talked to everybody except the two sporty looking individuals, and they would have had the audacity to talk with them if they had been given the slightest encouragement. But the Misels kept their backs studiously turned to their fellow travelers and did not court sociability.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ARREST

“Suppose they get off at Manhattan Junction and go to the Hudson Terminal instead of the big Pennsylvania Station!” panted Judy, her eyes shining with excitement and her fluffy hair standing on end as though an electric shock had gone through her system.

“Who is giving the game away now?” teased her new friend. “I thought of that and warned the chief when I telegraphed him. If they do get off there, I’ll get off, too, and you can go on to the other station where your father will meet you.”

“Not much I will! I’m going to keep my eye on that lavender spot until I see those wrists with something on them besides gold bracelets. You see, I feel responsible for this pair, having been the one to introduce them to Wellington society. If they get off at Manhattan Junction, so do I. Bobby will understand! He would have no use for me if I didn’t see it through.”

“I believe you are a real patriot, Mrs. Brown.”

“Of course I am! But one thing sure I am not going to give my husband to the cause, and my father, and then let these mean spies go Scot-free. Now my dear friend and sister-in-law Molly, – Mrs. Edwin Green, – is so good that she can’t believe anyone can be bad. She is just as patriotic as I am but she can’t believe in the perfidy of Germany and the Germans. I truly believe she would not have the heart to nab these wretches even if she could not deny their guilt. Molly is an angel herself and I fancy maybe her angelic qualities do rub off some even on the worst characters. She may have helped this Madame Misel some, who knows? But I am going to help her even more by letting her get a taste of real punishment.”

“And I am going to do my best to help you help her,” laughed Mr. Tucker. “We are nearing Manhattan Junction now and I do not see our friends making ready to get off.”

The pair sat quietly while the train stopped for a moment for passengers to change for the downtown station. Judy and Mr. Tucker were on the alert to leave the train if they saw the slightest movement on the part of the Misels, but the latter sat in evident certainty of their disguise not having been penetrated.

“Now the curtain is to go up in a moment!” cried Judy. “I have never been in such a stew of expectation!”

The train had entered its under-water tunnel and in what seemed hardly a minute they found themselves in the Pennsylvania Station. Jeffrey Tucker, true to his nature, must assist the old lady from Louisiana and the mother and child, but this time he assisted them by calling the porter and, with a generous tip, put them in his hands. He had other and more urgent fish to fry.

“There’s Bobby!” cried Judy. “They have let him through the gates!”

So they had, and others, also. Mr. Robert Kean was eagerly scanning the windows of the coaches as they slowly passed in review. By his side were several alert looking men in plain clothes and near them were some brass-buttoned policemen.

“You go out first,” whispered Mr. Tucker to the impatient Judy, who looked like a hunting dog straining at the leash. “I’ll bring up the rear in case of a bolt.”

The Misels got up quickly and without any delay moved towards the door. They seemed perfectly unconcerned, the woman patting her curls and hat into shape and Misel actually having the hardihood to cast an ogling glance at Judy. That young woman returned his admiring look with a saucy toss of her head, entering into the game with her usual vim.

One hug for Bobby and a whisper in his ear:

“The handsome dame in lavender and the lout in checks!”

He in turn handed the information on to the plain clothes men, who were ready with their bracelets not made of gold.

The arrest was made so quietly that the mother and child who were in the midst of it never did know what was going on, and the old lady from Louisiana took her serene way right by the handcuffed Madame Misel without knowing that that lady had had an addition made to her bangles. Misel was inclined to give some little trouble. When he realized they were trapped, he started back into the chair car, but was met in a head on collision by Jeffrey Tucker, who had a few football tricks left over from his not so far distant youth.

“Get out of my way! You fool!” cried the enraged Misel.

“Softly, my friend! The exit is the other way,” purred the redoubtable Mr. Tucker, at the same time putting up his guard, seeing the foreigner was about to spring upon him. “Madame has gone out by the door behind you.”

Bang! Misel’s fist shot out, but Jeffrey Tucker was a match for any ordinary boxer, having practiced that manly art to keep up with his daughters who always put on the gloves to settle any difficulty, and, as they expressed it, to let off steam when the family atmosphere got too thick. He dodged the blow, holding his guard ready for the next.

Before the furious creature could recover himself after having given the empty air such a drubbing, the detectives approached him from the rear and in a twinkling he was overcome.

“What does this mean?” he asked, attempting an air of dignity.

“You shall have to come and find out!” was the laconic reply deigned him by the grim policeman who had him in charge.

“Mr. Kean, I am sorry to tell you, but your daughter will have to come to the police court to tell what she knows of these persons,” said the leader of the plain clothes men.

“I’m not sorry! I want to see it through!” cried Judy.

“And so, we are to thank you for this indignity,” hissed Madame.

“Thank me or the picturesque garden by your cottage – whichever you choose. It is a stirring thing to creep in that lovely garden on a romantic night and suddenly to see a poor lame man who has won the sympathy of the community, come springing out in running togs and have him beat Douglas Fairbanks and George Walsh in his jumping. Then to have the gentle, courteous Madame Misel boldly state that Wellington is composed of blockheads, – all in perfect German, too, which was a strange language for such good Frenchmen to employ in the bosom of the family.”

“Judy, I wouldn’t say any more!” said her father, but his eye was twinkling as he tucked his daughter’s hand under his arm.

Mr. Tucker and Mr. Kean met as long lost friends. They were what Judy called soul brothers from the first. The old train conductor stopped to exchange greetings with his one-time acquaintance. He was loud in his praise of the young lady who had scared them all to death by jumping on the rear end of the moving train. He said nothing of the scolding he had given her before he found out she was Bob Kean’s daughter.

The sketch book was convincing evidence that the sporty couple were no other than Monsieur and Madame Misel. Judy told her story well to the chief, showing the clever sketches taken before and after.

While they were at the police court, a long distance message was received from Wellington with the news that the flitting of the spies had been discovered by the detectives sent there on the case.

“It would have been too late if you had not been so wide awake,” the chief informed Judy.

“And I could have done nothing if Mr. Tucker had not taken hold,” declared Judy.

“Why, my dear Mrs. Brown, you would have found some other way, I am sure. You do not come of a breed that lets accidents happen.”

The Misels turned out to be pure Prussian, with not one drop of the blood of Alsace in their veins. Their name was Mitzel and they had many crimes to answer for. They had been on the stage prior to the war and the man was a noted acrobat and prestidigitator; the woman had traveled with her husband and assisted him in his work on the stage, being the hypnotized lady, the Herodian mystery, the disappearing spirit, the person who got tied up in the chest and had a sword run through her, – anything, in fact, that is usually required of the assistant in such a business. They were employed to act as spies and to disseminate all the German propaganda in their power.

Misel, or Mitzel, was to have insinuated an anti-draft spirit at Exmoor, the male college near Wellington. Also to influence the girls at Wellington, who in their turn were to influence their brothers and sweethearts.

“Oh, Bobby! Only suppose we had not gone out that night in search of adventure!” cried Judy, when she was safe under her mother’s wing.

“Why don’t you just suppose you had never been born?” boomed the delighted Bobby. “When you were once born you were sure to be out hunting adventure. You are made that way, eh, Mother?”

“Yes, I am afraid she is,” sighed that tiny lady. “You and Judy are exactly alike.”

“Do you mind?” asked her big husband humbly.

“No, I would not have either one of you different. But I fancy Kent and I are in for lives of anxiety.”

“Well, he likes us the way we are, too,” declared Judy, blushing.

“Well, I have two things to say:” declared Mr. Kean, giving a mighty yawn, “I am glad I let you have a Parisian education if with it you can make clever enough sketches to catch these German spies; and the other is, that it is high time we were all of us in bed.”

Madame Mitzel, before she was sentenced to the imprisonment that she so richly deserved, requested an interview with Judy, which was granted, although Judy was most reluctant.

“I can’t bear to see her again! She looked like a snake caught in a net.”

“I – want – you – to tell – Mrs. Green – that – I – am sorry for – her to – know – about me – That is all! If – I could – have – had a woman – like that – to – be – my friend – in my – youth – I would have – been different.” She spoke in the faltering manner she had used at Wellington, one she employed in speaking English, and then she plunged into voluble German, so rapid that Judy could hardly follow her:

“But you! You have outwitted me and I cannot but admire you for it, but I hate you with all my heart.”

“That is all right! I’d rather have your hate than your love! I’ll tell Molly, though.”

Before we leave the Misels, or Mitzels, for good, I must tell you that the shipment of paint arrived at Wellington as the mysterious dealer had informed Monsieur Jean Misel it would. One of the Secret Service men remained in Wellington to receive it. It was light grey, as was promised; at least, it was marked light grey on the outside of the six large cans. On opening these cans, which I can assure you the detective did with the utmost caution, many things besides paint were disclosed, – in fact, there was no paint there at all. He found various chemicals, necessary for the making of the modern bomb; poisons of all sorts, and innocent looking little vials containing deadly germs. Those six cans if let loose on the unsuspecting community would have caused as much damage as the imps in Pandora’s box.

Even Molly had to confess that the Misels were not very good persons, and when her husband gave her to understand that her own little Mildred and Dodo might have been poisoned by polluted water had the foreigners accomplished all they no doubt intended to with some of those bottled germs, the young mother came to the conclusion that they were not only not very good but they were extremely wicked, and perhaps just imprisonment was too mild a punishment to be meted out to them.

CHAPTER XXIII

THEY ALSO SERVE

There was a very serious meeting of students of Wellington being held in the library of the Square Deal. Twenty of the leading spirits of the student body had asked Mrs. Edwin Green to let them confer with her on a most important matter.

The college authorities had announced that the H. C. of L. had affected Wellington just as it had every person and every institution, and students’ board would have to be raised for the ensuing year. This came as a blow to the majority of girls. Going to college is an expensive matter at best, and while there are many rich girls gathered in those institutions, the majority come from homes of moderate incomes and many from actual poverty. It will never be known how many sacrifices had been made to educate some of those Wellington girls, and the H. C. of L. had affected their families just as much as it had the institution; and the news that the following year college expenses would increase had caused much consternation in the student body.

“We won’t stand for it!” said one tense little girl from Indiana, who had been working her way through three years of college by doing all kinds of odd jobs, which reminded Molly of her own strenuous student days.

“It’s harder on you than me, Mary Culbertson,” said a sturdy sophomore. “You haven’t but one more year. At least I haven’t wasted as much time in this old joint as you have.”

“But, my dear, please don’t look upon it as wasted time,” begged Molly.

“Well, I came for a degree and if I don’t get it, I consider I have wasted two years. I might just as well have taken a job at home. A teacher’s place was open for me then and now it may be filled for good. A degree will give one a better salary, but two years of college won’t get you anywhere.”