CHAPTER XXV. ABEL STROUT AT THE ROOT OF IT
The shock of seeing the chimney on fire did not overcome Janice Day as much as the thought that daddy was lying down, resting, in the living room, and that she would never be able to get him up and into his wheelchair and out of doors before the whole house was in a blaze.
For those lurid flames darting out of the chimney looked very terrifying indeed. Bertha Warring ran out into the street, screaming; but Janice darted back into the house.
Somebody outside screamed. "Fire! Fire!" Janice believed it must have been Miss Peckham. Little ever got past the sharp eyes of that neighbor in the next cottage.
Janice heard her father ejaculate some exclamation, but she did not go to him first. She rushed, instead, to the telephone in the hall.
Seizing the receiver, she rattled the hook up and down, hoping to get a quick response.
"Janice!" she heard her father call.
"Yes, Daddy. I'm coming!" she cried. Then her ear came the leisurely question:
"Number, please?"
"Central! give me the Fire Department—please!" ejaculated the excited girl.
"Number, please?" again drawled the unruffled Central.
"Oh, quick! Quick!" cried Janice into the instrument. "Give me the Fire Department. Our house is on fire!"
"Great heavens!" ejaculated her father from the living room. He was awake and heard Janice now.
"Do be quick, Central!" cried Janice. "The Fire De—"
"Market, two, three hundred," said Central.
"It's a wonder," thought Janice, even in her present state of mind, "that she doesn't call 'Information'!"
"Janice! Where is the fire?" called her father.
"It's the chimney. Wait, Daddy! I'll come and help yon. The kitchen chim— Oh!"
Somebody on the wire just then said crisply: "Central Fire
Station. What's wanted?"
"Fire!" shouted Janice. "Our house! Eight-forty-five Knight
Street!"
"I hear you!" exclaimed the man at the other end, and Janice almost threw the receiver back on the hook, and darted into the living room.
Mrs. Carringford happened to be out. Janice, now that Bertha Warring had deserted her, was all alone in the house with the injured man.
"Oh, Daddy!" she gasped, seeing him already in his chair.
"Give me a push, child. Where is the fire? This is something new—the first time the Days were ever burned out."
"It's the kitchen chimney. But I can't get you down the front steps—"
Meanwhile she was pushing him out on the porch. People were running toward the house now and many were shouting. But it did not look like a very helpful crowd.
Just then Janice saw a wagon being driven rather wildly along the street toward the house. It was not a part of the Fire Department equipment, although she looked eagerly for that. The nearest fire station was fully half a mile from the Day house.
The children in the street scattered as the horse's pounding feet on the macadam warned them of his approach. The driver stood up, his feet braced against the dashboard, yelling to the horse to stop as he swung back on the reins.
It was Gummy!
"Hi, Janice! Your chimneys on fire!" he shouted, when he had stopped the horse.
"Well, for goodness sake!" exclaimed Janice, "doesn't he suppose we know it, with all this crowd—and noise —and everything?"
Gummy tumbled out of the covered wagon. He came down on all fours, he was in such a hurry; but he was up again in a moment.
"Hi, Janice! I can put it out, if I can get out on to that ell roof through that little window up there." he cried.
"That's the hired' girl's room," gasped Janice.
"What's he going to do? Take pails of water out there and throw them down the chimney?"
"Give the boy a chance," said daddy. "Maybe he can do something." And to Janice's amazement, her father was smiling.
Gummy ran around to the back of the wagon. He dropped the tailboard, backed around, and got a bag on his shoulders. With this he staggered toward the house.
"Oh, Gummy!" screamed Janice, "what have you got in that sack?"
"Salt," replied the boy, panting up the steps. "Half a shushal of balt. I was takin' it out to Jones's.
"Salt?" gasped Janice, in her excitement not noticing at all that Gummy had again "gummed up his speech," to quote his own expression. "Why, what good is salt? That chimney is blazing."
"Salt will do the trick. Show me the way to that window. Salt will put out a fire in a chimney better than anything else."
"Let him have his way, Janice," said her father quickly.
She thought she heard the gong of some of the fire apparatus approaching; but she was not sure. She gave Gummy a hand, and they ran upstairs with the sack of salt between them.
Here was the small room. She flung open the door and Gummy flung up the lower sash of the window. He almost dived out upon the tinned roof of the kitchen ell.
"Quick! Give me that salt I" he cried reaching in for it.
Janice helped him lift the bag out of the window. He dragged it along the roof toward the chimney that now vomited black smoke and flames in a very threatening volume. Fortunately the light wind drifted it away from the main part of the house.
"Oh, Gummy, you'll be burned to death—and then what will your mother say?" cried Janice.
Gummy was so much in earnest that he did not even laugh at this. He dragged the sack of salt as close to the burning chimney as he dared. Then he got out his pocketknife and cut the string.
Everybody in the street below was yelling to him by this time, telling him what to do and how to do it. Gummy gave them little attention.
The smoke choked him and occasionally a tongue of flame seemed to reach for him. But Gummy Carringford possessed a good deal of pluck, and he was strong and wary for so young a boy. Shielding his face as best he could from the heat and smoke, he began to cast double handfuls of salt into the chimney.
The chimney was fortunately not as high as his head and Gummy could do this as well as a man. The soot which had gathered in the chimney (perhaps it had not been cleaned out since the house was built) was mostly at the bottom, and the flames came from down there; but the hot bricks would soon set the roof on fire, if not the walls inside the house.
The salt smothered the fire wherever it landed. It was better than sand for such a purpose, for salt is damp and seems to possess smothering qualities all its own when rained upon the flames.
Before half the contents of the bag had been thrown down the chimney the flames no longer leaped above its top. The smoke continued to roll up, and Gummy had pretty well smothered it himself when the Fire Department apparatus came clanging up to the house.
One of the fireman with a portable extinguisher rushed upstairs, got out at the small window and reached Gummy's side quickly.
"Good boy, kid," he said. "Let's give it the lad," and he began to squirt the contents of the fire extinguisher down the chimney.
Gummy staggered back and sat down, coughing. His face and hands were pretty black and he was breathless. When he got back downstairs and the firemen had declared the conflagration entirely extinguished, Gummy found himself quite a hero.
The excitement had hurt nobody, after all. Janice was glad Mrs. Carringford was not there at the time, or she certainly would have been worried about Gummy.
"You are an awfully smart boy, Gummy," Janice declared, clinging to the boy's hand. "I won't ever make fun of you again when you get mixed up in talking."
Mr. Day overheard this and laughed heartily. He too, shook Gummy cordially by the hand.
"You have a head on you, son," he said. "How came you to think about the salt?"
"I saw a chimney on fire in the country once, and they put it out with salt," the boy replied. "I've got to hurry back to the store and get more salt for the Jones's now. I guess Mr. Harriman will be mad."
"Oh, no he won't. I'll call him up on the telephone and tell him to put this sack on my account. He won't scold you, I am sure," said Mr. Day.
In fact, everybody who heard about the matter praised Gummy Carringford. They began to say "that boy with the funny name is considerable of a boy," and things like that. Mr. Day gave him a little money, although Gummy did not want to take that.
"You treat your little brothers and sisters with it, Janice's father said laughing. "They didn't have the fun of seeing you put out the fire."
"We-ell," said the thoughtful boy, "I'll see what Momsy says about it first."
When Mrs. Carringford returned to the house Mr. Day himself told her of the fire and of what Gummy had done, and how proud she should be of him, too. And Mrs. Carringford was proud—Mr. Day could see that.
"Boys are awfully nice to have around the house, aren't they, Daddy?" Janice said that evening as they sat alone. "I never did think before that I'd care to have a brother. You see, you are just like a brother to me, Daddy."
"I see," said Daddy, chuckling. "When it comes to chimney fires and such excitement, a boy comes in handy, is that it?"
"Why—ye-es, Berta Warring ran away, crying, and I couldn't do much but squeal myself," said Janice gravely.
"And telephone for the Fire Department, and help me out, and aid
Gummy to carry up the salt, and—"
"Oh, but, Daddy, those are all such little things!" sighed
Janice.
Janice thought things were going pretty well after that. They were so glad to have their house saved from destruction, and so proud of Gummy, that everybody seemed all right. But there was trouble coming, and one afternoon Amy brought it to the Day house.
Amy, in tears, came to see her mother. Janice chanced to be in the kitchen when she entered from the Love Street gate. Amy had in tow a curly-haired dapper little man who looked too oily to be honest, and with little gimlet eyes that seemed to bore right through one.
"Oh, Mother!" gasped Amy, "this—this man's come to take our house away from us!"
"What is this now?" exclaimed Mrs. Carringford, in as much surprise as fear.
"Yes, he has. He said so. He's got papers, and all," sobbed
Amy.
"Ahem! the young lady puts it very crassly indeed," said the curly-haired man. "You, I presume, are Mrs. Josephine Carringford," he went on, reading from a paper.
"Yes."
"I am serving you in the suit of Mrs. Alice G. Blayne, of Croydon, Michigan, my client, to recover a certain parcel of property situated on Mullen Lane and now occupied by you and your family, Mrs. Carringford," said the man glibly, and thrusting a paper into the woman's hand.
"But I bought my home through Mr. Abel Strout, of Napsburg," gasped Mrs. Carringford. She did not recognize Jamison, the farm hand, in the transaction at all. She now felt that man was but Abel Strout's tool.
"Oh! As to that, I have nothing to say," said the curly-haired lawyer, smiling in a way Janice did not like at all. "I merely represent my client. The property has been claimed by several people, I believe, and may have been sold a dozen times. That will not invalidate my client's claim."
"But I never even heard of this Mrs, Blayne," murmured Amy's mother.
"A poor widow, ma'am," said the lawyer blandly. "And one who can ill afford to lose her rights. She as heir of old Peter Warburton Blayne who lived in that house where you now reside for a great many years. He died. His heirs were not informed. The place was sold for taxes—for a nominal sum, ma'am. Of course, a tax-deed has no standing in court if the real owner of the property comes forward ready to pay the back taxes, accrued interest, and the fixed court charges."
"But I got a warranty deed!" cried Mrs. Carringford.
"That is a matter between you and the person you say you bought the house of," said the lawyer calmly. "If you consider that you have a case against him you will have to go to court with him. Ahem! An expensive matter, my dear madam, I assure you. Probably the man who sold to you had every reason to believe he had a clear title. It has passed through several hands since Peter Blayne died, as I say.
"I cannot advise you as to that, ma'am," pursued the lawyer. "Those papers are in regard to this suit that is already entered against you. Of course, it would be cheaper for you to settle the case out of court; but you will probably want to fight us. Most women do."
At this point Janice got to her feet and ran out of the room. She rushed in to where her father was writing on a lapboard across the arms of his chair.
Meanwhile Mrs. Carringford and Amy were clinging together and facing the dapper, voluble, little lawyer in the kitchen. Amy was sobbing excitedly; but her mother said firmly:
"Abel Strout is at the root of this—"
"I assure you," said the lawyer politely, "my client is Mrs.
Blayne. I have nothing to do with Abel Strout."
"He is at the root of it, nevertheless," said Mrs. Carringford confidently. "I saw it in his eye when he was last in my house. He means to turn me and my children out, and ruin us!"
CHAPTER XXVI. THE CLOUDS LOWER
Janice was so excited she could scarcely speak intelligibly for a minute. But finally she made her father understand what was going on in the kitchen.
"And he's come to take their house right away from them," concluded the girl. "He's given her a paper, and she's got to give him the house—and everything!"
"Oh, no; not so bad as all that," said daddy, soothingly. "Things aren't done in just that way— not even by shyster lawyers. This is just a notice of suit he has given her. But you run, Janice, and tell them to come in here. I will hear what this man has to say."
So Janice ran back to the kitchen. She held the door open, and, with rather a commanding air for so young a girl, looking straight at the curly-haired man:
"You and Mrs. Carringford come into the living room. My father wants to see you."
"Hey?" said the man. "Who is this?"
"Mr. Broxton Day," said Mrs. Carringford, quietly. "I think we had better see Mr. Day before we go any farther in this matter."
"Oh, I have no interest in seeing anybody else, ma'am," said the lawyer hastily. "Of course, you can take advice if you wish to. Every move you make, however, will cost you money, as you'll find. It will be throwing good money after bad money, I assure you."
"Now if you feel like settling the matter out of court—"
"We will go in, and you can say all that before Mr. Day," said Mrs. Carringford firmly. "It seems to me I shall understand it better in front of him."
"Daddy is waiting for you," said Janice urgently. "He has a broken leg so he can't come here to get you," she added looking at the lawyer significantly.
Maybe the fact of this assurance—that Broxton Day was practically helpless physically—led the lawyer to take a chance in the living room. But he was manifestly very ill at ease from the moment he heard Mr. Day's name mentioned.
"Will you oblige me with your name, sir?" said daddy in his ever-courteous way.
The curly-haired man fumbled for a card and finally handed one to
Mr. Day.
"'Mr. Jonas Schrimpe,'" repeated daddy. "Are you practising at the bar here in Greensboro?" "My office is in Napsburg, Mr. Day. Three Forty-two Main Street."
"Ah! Are you acquainted with Mr. Abel Strout?"
"I have nothing to do with Mr. Strout," said the man, rather sharply. "I have already told the lady that. My client is Mrs. Blayne—"
"I understand," said Mr. Day suavely. "I merely asked you a question, Mr. Schrimpe. Do you know Mr. Strout?"
"Well—I know him by sight."
"Naturally. As I chance to remember his office is in the same building on Main Street as your own. I remember the number," said Mr. Day smiling. "Three Hundred and Forty-two Main Street."
Mr. Schrimpe fidgeted and turned very red in the face. Mr. Day went on quietly:
"Is this client of yours in Napsburg?"
"She lives in Croydon, Michigan."
"In Michigan! How came she to pick out you Mr. Schrimpe, for an attorney in this matter? Forgive the question; I am curious."
"Why—I—I was recommended to her."
"Ah! By a friend, I suppose."
"She—she heard of me down here, and wanted to put the case in a lawyer's hands on the spot."
"'On the spot,'" repeated Mr. Day. "Why not in some lawyer's hands in Greensboro, rather than Napsburg?"
Mr. Schrimpe seemed very confused, as well as angry; but he did not dare to assert himself. Mr. Day held out his hand for the paper the lawyer had given to Mrs. Carringford.
"Just leave it to me, Mrs. Carringford," he said confidently. "I know just what to do. Possibly had I not broken my leg I would have been able to warn you of this."
"Then that Abel Strout is at the root of it, just as I said," she cried.
"Not a doubt of it," replied Mr. Day. "That John Jamison was but a dummy."
"I assure you," began the red-faced lawyer, but Mr. Day interrupted:
"Your assurances would not be accepted before this court, I am afraid, Mr.—ah Schrimpe. Now would you mind, as you are in town, calling upon Mrs. Carringford's legal adviser in regard to this affair?"
I—oh—"
"Oh, Mr. Day!" interjected Mrs. Carringford, "a lawyer's services cost so much."
"This man is my own lawyer," said Mr. Day promptly. "I assure you that he will look into this suit without charging you much, Mrs. Carringford. If Mr. Schrimpe—"
"Oh, if it's not out of my way as I go back to the railroad station," growled the curly haired man.
"Not at all. It is over the bank—the Farmers and Merchants
Bank. Mr. Randolph E. Payne is the gentleman."
"Great Scott!" gasped Mr. Schrimpe, actually appearing to
shrivel, "Mr. Payne?"
"Yes. He is known to you?"
"Everybody knows Mr. Payne."
"He is well known. As good a lawyer, I believe, as we have in this part of the State. You do not mind meeting him?"
"Er—will he see me, Mr. Day?"
"I will telephone to him at once. I assure you he will give you a hearing—and thank you. Good day, Mr. Schrimpe."
Although daddy could not leave his chair, Janice saw that he had a way of getting rid of visitors promptly when he wanted them to go. Mr. Schrimpe scuttled out in a hurry.
"Wheel me to the telephone, Janice," said Mr. Day cheerfully. "I hope Payne frightens that little shrimp out of a year's growth. If ever I saw a shyster lawyer, I saw one when that fellow came into the room."
"Oh, Mr. Day! but this suit? That summons? What shall I do?"
"Do nothing yet! assure you, Mrs. Carringford, you will have one of the best lawyers in the State to tell you what to do when the times comes. Of course, if the matter comes to court, you will have to go into court and meet them. But don't worry till that time comes. That is my advice."
"Then they can't take our home away from us?" cried Amy joyfully."
"Hold on!" advised Daddy. "I do not say that. I don't wish to encourage you with any false hopes—nor to discourage you, either. I know nothing—absolutely nothing—regarding the legal status of this case. I have my suspicions that Abel Strout is behind it."
"Oh, I am sure of that!" cried Mrs. Carringford.
"Nevertheless, it may be that there is an unsatisfied claimant of the old Peter Warburton Blayne property. This Mrs. Alice G. Blayne may be perfectly honest in her contention."
"But in that case won't Mr. Strout or Mr. Jamison give me my money back?" asked Mrs. Carringford.
"If there was much chance of that, do you think Strout would have stirred up any such suit as this?" asked Mr. Day quietly. "No. Strout at least thinks he sees his way to making you lose the house. Jamison was his dummy—used by him in order to keep, himself out of trouble."
"Oh, Mr. Day! Don't say that"
"I say he thinks he has a chance. But he may be mistaken. Strout is sly. This may be merely 'strike suit' started in the hope of scaring you into making a disastrous settlement with him. He wants to get the property back. The foundations for that factory are already being laid. Property values Mullen Lane are going up."
"Oh, dear me!" sighed Mrs. Carringford, starting back toward the kitchen, "this is a wicked world."
"Nothing the matter with the world," said Mr. Day, cheerfully.
"It's some of the folks in it."
He called Mr. Randolph E. Payne's office then and talked to the successful lawyer for some time. To Janice, afterward, he would say nothing more encouraging than he had said to the widow.
"When one mixes up with a sharper like Abel Strout, one is likely to be burned before he is through. Strout is always and forever trying little, nasty, legal tricks. And Schrimpe is an instrument fitted to Strout's hand.
"Perhaps they have found some ignorant woman who really was a relative of Peter Blayne, and who may have a small claim on the property. It is enough to invalidate the deed Mrs. Carringford has and yet she will be unable to prove that Strout and his man Jamison knew about the fault in the title.
"If he makes her sue to recover the thousand dollars she paid the legal fees will eat up that sum—and he can afford to hire lawyers and dribble along through the courts better than she can."
"Oh, Daddy!"
"Yes, I am afraid, if Strout—or, rather, Schrimpe— has a good case it will be better to settle it out of court."
"But, dear Daddy! Mrs. Carringford has no money to pay lawyer's fees, or settle cases," urged Janice.
"True. And that is the unfortunate part of it. Let us wait and see what Mr. Payne advises after he has looked into the matter. Whatever he says, she would better do."
This ended the matter for the time being. But all the dark clouds of trouble seemed to have lowered upon the Carringfords again. Janice Day was sorry for them, but this was a case in which she positively could not "do something" to help. She could only offer her sympathy.
CHAPTER XXVII . INFORMATION THAT IS TOO LATE
During the days immediately succeeding the fire and the Carringford's poignant trouble, Janice Day had a mental problem to solve which occupied her thoughts a good part of the time.
Daddy's broken leg was getting along nicely. With the aid of crutches he could get around very well indeed. He had even gone down to the bank in an automobile.
So Janice did not have to give him quite the close care and attention that she previously had. Daddy declared she was making a mollycoddle of him, anyway—that she babied him too much.
She had more freedom of action, therefore, and now she proceeded to put a certain plan she had made into effect. Janice had not forgotten what Bertha Warring had said regarding the information Stella Latham had hidden from her, Janice, at the time school closed.
Could it be that, after all was said and done, the Olga who had broken Mrs. Latham's dish was the same Olga that had run away with the Day's treasure-box? Was it Olga Cedarstrom, with her name changed, and Stella had known it to be so, all the time?
Really, when Janice thought of this she felt exceedingly angry with Stella. She had intended, after Stella had acted so meanly toward Amy Carringford, to let the farmer's daughter strictly alone in the future. She would have as little to do with her as it was possible, considering that she had to go to school with her. That was at first. Then her anger had cooled. Now it was aflame again.
But if Stella knew positively that the Swedish girl who had visited Mrs. Johnson had been married, and therefore her name was no longer Cedarstrom, Janice was determined to find it out. Unpleasant as might be to ask Stella, Janice would do just this.
She knew Stella had returned from her visit to the lake shore resort. Janice had seen her flying past in the Latham car more than once within the week. Janice could not stop her at such times; she could not expect Stella to put herself out at all to give her any information. So she set forth one August morning to trudge through the heat and dust out to the Latham farm. There was no interurban car that would take her near there; and how she did wish daddy could afford an automobile!
Indeed, just as she turned up the road leading to the door of the
Latham house a motor-car turned, too, into the road, powdering
Janice with dust. The latter saw the malicious smile of Stella
Latham, driving the car herself, as the farmer's daughter looked
back over her shoulder at the pedestrian.
Janice kept grimly on; nor would she show Stella that she was hurt or ruffled in temper. Stella waited on the porch for her schoolmate to approach. A man came to take the car around to the garage.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Stella, when Janice came within hearing. "Are you begging more old clothes for that protegee of yours, Amy Carringford?"
"I have come on my own business, Stella," said Janice gently.
"It is something that I want to know, and you can tell me."
Stella was smiling broadly; but it was by no means a pleasant smile. She was spiteful. She had found since coming back from her summer vacation that the girls had not forgotten her behavior toward Amy Carringford and some of them still resented it. She was nowhere near as popular as she had been; and even her father's motorcar could not regain the friendship of many of her schoolmates whom she wished to be chums with.
Stella laid all this to "that sly Janice Day." She dared not so speak of Janice before her mother; for Mrs. Latham liked Janice. Just now, however, Stella's mother was not at home, and she felt free treat Janice in any way she chose.
"Of course, you expect me to tell you everything you want to know, Janice Day," said Stella. "But I don't know why I should."
"You will tell me, won't you, Stella, if you really know that the Swedish girl who broke your mother's dish is the same girl who used to work for daddy and me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because it is the right thing to do, isn't it? You do not know what it means to us if we can find that girl—"
"And why should I care?" snapped Stella "You never did anything for me, Janice Day."
"I think I tried to—at least once," her schoolmate said mildly.
"Nothing of the kind! You did something for Amy Carringford—the pauper! You were spoons with her then, and you wanted to get her to my party. You begged an invitation for her and then dressed her up. like a freak so she could come, and—"
"That is not so, Stella," Janice interrupted with some spirit.
"But I want to talk about Olga, not about Amy."
"Go along with your old Olga!" cried the other angrily. "I wouldn't tell you anything about her if I knew."
"I shall go to Mrs. Johnson again then. And if Mrs. Johnson is not willing to tell me, I shall come back and see your mother."
"Oh! you will?" sneered Stella. "So you think the Johnsons will tell you about Olga's last name do you?"
"I will ask them."
"Good luck to you!" jeered Stella, as Janice went on through the Latham's yard. "You can ask anybody you like, but you'll get nothing out of me I assure you!"
Janice made no further reply. She was hurt to the quick, for she did not believe she deserved any such treatment from her schoolmate. And it did, too, worry Janice Day when she knew she had an enemy.
"Friends are so much nicer to make than enemies," was one of daddy's sayings; and his little daughter always bore that fact in mind when in contact with her schoolmates.
But really, one could do nothing with Stella Latham, once that subborn person had made up her mind to be "mad." Stella gloried in showing all the perversity with which she was cursed; so Janice sighed and gave it up.
"No use. I hope I won't have to ask Mrs. Latham. Then there will be trouble, I fear."
The walk over the hill and down the lane, crossing the brook Gummy Carringford had once spoken of, was a pleasant walk, after all. It was not dusty, and there were shade trees part of the way. By the time Janice came to the little house which her father and she had once visited to look for Olga, she was quite cool and collected again.
But as soon as she drew near to the tenant house the girl was startled. There was not a sign of life about it. There were no wagons or farm tools about the sheds or barnyard. There were no cattle in the stable, nor pigs in the pen, nor poultry in the wired run.
"Goodness me! have the Johnsons gone, too?" cried Janice.
She hurried to the little house. There were no curtains at the windows, and she could see right through the empty house.
"That's what Stella meant!" exclaimed Janice. "Oh, the mean, mean thing! To let me walk away over here without telling me that they had gone! And now she is waiting back there to laugh at me when I return!" Janice Day did not like to be laughed at any more than other people. And she particularly shrank from facing the sarcastic Stella on this occasion.
"At least, I will make some inquiries elsewhere, first," she thought, and set forth along the public highway, on which the little house fronted, toward another dwelling that was in sight.
There were people in this house, that was sure. There were children playing in the yard and a pleasant-faced woman on the front porch, sewing and keeping an eye on the children.
She did put out a somewhat forbidding air when Janice turned in at the gate; but then she saw the girl had no bag or sample case, so she brightened up again.
"You haven't anything to sell, I guess?" the woman began, even before Janice uttered a word.
"Oh, no," answered the girl.
"Come up and sit down," said the woman. Then she added: "Dear me, you are only a little girl. It's hot walking. Will you have a drink of water?"
"No, thank you. I got a drink at the well back there," and
Janice pointed at the tenant house on Mr. Latham's place.
"Oh, yes; Latham's cottage."
"The Johnsons used to live there, did they not? asked the caller.
"Swedes—yes," said the woman.
"I was looking for them."
"But goodness, you're not a Swede!" exclaimed the woman.
"Oh, no," laughed Janice. "But I wanted to see them about a friend of theirs—a girl who used to work for us."
"Oh! I thought you couldn't be a foreigner," said the woman. "Well," she added, "I'm afraid you'll have to go a long way to find out anything from the Johnsons."
"You don't mean—"
"I mean they've left the country," said the woman.
"Left this part of the country?"
"They have gone back to Sweden," said Janice's informant, nodding over her sewing. "Yes. They had a stroke of luck. Mrs. Johnson told me herself in her broken talk. Near's I could find out her grandfather had died and left her a bit of property, and she and her family were going back to the place they came from ten years ago, to attend to it. Lucky folks, some of them foreigners. I don't see for the life of me why they ever leave their homes and come over here, when they've got money and land comin' to them at home."
The woman talked on, even faster than Miss Peckham was wont to talk. But her volubility gave Janice a chance to recover her self-possession. She saw quite clearly that her errand had come to naught. Even if the Lathams positively knew the missing Olga had been named Cedarstrom before her marriage they probably did not know where Olga now was.
The people who were the more likely to know, these Johnsons, had gone back to their native land. Janice wondered, despairingly, if Olga had gone back to Sweden too.
But the girl was able to hide her trouble from this new acquaintance. The woman was glad to have her stay— and talk. Rather, the hostess did the talking. It was evident that she got little chance for conversation, living as she did on this rather lonely road.
Janice planned what she would do, however, while she listened. Rather than go back and perhaps have another quarrel with Stella, she decided she would go home and tell her father what she had found out. He might write to Mrs. Latham for information—if the farmer's wife had any—regarding Olga.
At least, it was one sure thing, that such information as Janice had obtained was much too late. An ocean separated her now from the Johnsons, Olga's friends.
CHAPTER XXVIII. GUMMY COMES INTO HIS OWN
Janice bade her new acquaintance good-bye with some difficulty. The woman by the roadside did love to talk. But when the girl was well rested she went on.
She remembered very clearly the way she and daddy had come to the little Johnson cottage in the automobile. So she knew she could find her way back. One thing she did not take into consideration, however; that was, that an automobile gets over the ground a great deal faster than one can walk.
An hour later, past mid-afternoon, dusty and footsore, she was still marching towards Greensboro along a very pleasant, but a very wearisome, road. She heard the rumble of wheels behind her, but she was too tired to turn to look.
Motor car after motor car had passed her while she was trudging along in the dust, and not one driver stopped to offer her a lift.
But a friendly voice now hailed her as a horse was drawn down to a walk. It reached Janice Day's ear like an angelic whisper:
"Don't you want to ride, Miss?"
She wheeled about with almost a scream of joy. "Gummy
Carringford!"
"Jicksy! Is that you, Janice?" gasped the boy. "I'd never know it, you're so smothered in dust. What are you doing away out here? Get in—do!"
He offered her a hand and pulled her up to the high step into the front of the covered wagon. She almost fell to the seat.
"You are the best boy!" she gasped.
"Ain't I? They can't get along without me at my house. What under the sun are you wandering around for away out here?"
She told him in broken sentences, and he sympathized with her because of her disappointment.
"I could have told you the Johnsons had gone, if you'd asked me. But I did not suppose you were interested in them any more," he said.
"And daddy, being out of the bank, did not know that Mr. Johnson had withdrawn his account and sailed for Europe. Oh, dear me, it is so exasperating! Everything about that Olga, and connected with her, is so mysterious."
"I wonder if I couldn't find out something about her in
Pickletown?" suggested Gummy.
"Daddy has been there often, I believe," she said doubtfully.
"But not of late."
"Why, no, I suppose not. He's been tied to the house with a 'glass leg,'" cried Janice laughing a little.
"You know I deliver orders over there twice a week for Mr. Harriman. A lot of those people can't even talk English. We've a Swede for a clerk in the store. They write down what they want for me, and he puts up the orders.
"But I know a lot of them to talk to—especially the boys that work in the pickle factories I'll begin by asking them," said Gummy, with eagerness, for he wanted to help.
"That will be nice of you, Gummy," Janice said. "You never do know when we might come across some news of her."
"And you say you think she's married?"
"It may be so. To Willie Sangreen. At least, she was going with a man by that name when she worked for us."
"Don't know any Sangreens over at Pickletown," said Gummy, shaking his head. "And of course I haven't seen your Olga."
"That is so, Gummy. But if the girl at Johnson's that night was really Olga Cedarstrom, you'd know her again, wouldn't you?"
"Guess I would if I saw her," declared the boy. "No fear about that. I'll keep my eyes open, Janice."
With this promise he chirruped to the horse, that jogged along without paying very much attention to Gummy. He knew the road better than the boy did, for he had been over it many more times.
"Do you suppose that lawyer that came to see my mother will cheat us out of our home, Janice?" asked the boy suddenly, showing where his thoughts were anchored.
"Not if it can be helped, Gummy," returned the girl sympathetically. "I know daddy's friend, Mr. Payne, will do all he can for her."
"He hasn't sent any word to her, or anything," sighed Gummy. "We just don't know what to do."
"All you can do is to sit tight and hold on, I guess," Janice said. "That is what daddy says he does when things look stormy for him."
"But, you see, it means so much to us," said the boy, shaking his head. "Jicksy! And me with such a miserable old name!"
"Why, Gummy!"
"How'd you like to be called Zerubbabelbubble, or something like that?" he demanded. "Nice enough for you. 'Janice'! That's a fancy name. But 'Gumswith'! Jicksy!"
"Why, Gummy!" exclaimed the girl again, didn't know you hated it so."
"I do. I don't talk about it. I know Pa gave it to me because he thought a heap of his half brother. And Uncle John Gumswith was a nice man, I guess. He set my father up in business in the first place, when he was married."
"Oh, is that so, Gummy?'
"Yes! Don't kick about the old name before Momsy. You see, I guess Uncle John wanted them to name a boy after him; and maybe they thought if they did so it might do me some good sometime."
"Oh, Gummy! That your uncle would give you money because you were named after him?"
"Yes," said Gummy, nodding. "I don't know. But—"
"And your uncle's never been heard from? You never saw him, even?"
"Nor he me," grinned Gummy. "He went off to Australia and never wrote. He was always traveling around the world, Pa said; and he never did write. Just walked in on his folks without announcing he was coming." "A regular wanderer," said Janice.
"And now, jicksy!" exclaimed Gummy, vigorously, "how I'd like to have him walk in on us now."
"Oh, Gummy" she said eagerly, catching the drift of his desire.
"With his pockets full of money!"
The boy nodded vigorously. "You see, Janice, it would be worth while being called 'Gumswith' then, sure enough."
Janice could not blame Gummy Carringford feeling as he did. He really should have something to pay him for being called by such an atrocious name! And Janice herself would be glad to have rich relative walk into the Day house and present daddy—with an automobile, for instance.
They came in sight of the house at Eight Hundred and Forty-five Knight Street just as the very kind of automobile Janice would have loved to own was drawing up before the front door—a handsome, great, big touring car, big enough for her to have taken most of her friends out riding in at once.
"Oh, who is that?" she cried.
"Man. Don't know him," said Gummy, cheerfully, as the single occupant of the tonneau stepped out of the car and entered the gate.
He was a well-dressed man, of more than middle age, and Janice's heart began to beat faster. It did seem as though something must be about to happen.
Daddy was on the porch and she could see him greet the gentleman without rising. The stranger took a seat at Mr. Day's request. And if Janice had been near enough to have heard the first words that passed between them, she would have suffered a great drop in the temperature of her excitement.
"How's the leg, Broxton?" asked the visitor.
"Coming on, Randolph. What's the news?"
"Well, yes, I have news," said the lawyer, nodding.
"I know it. Or you would not have found time to get up into this part of the town. Well, what can you tell Mrs. Carringford?"
"Nothing much about that Mullen Lane property, I fear, that she will want to hear."
"Too bad, too bad," said Broxton Day. "I am sorry for her. She is a hard working woman—and proud. No chance of helping her?"
"I can settle the case for five hundred dollars. I cannot connect Abel Strout with this shake-down—for that is what it is. The woman up in Michigan never heard of her great-uncle's property down here till this little Schrimpe told her. But we can't connect him with Strout. Strout's skirts are clear. And this Schrimpe had a perfect legal right to drum up trade. He's that kind of lawyer," said Mr. Payne, with disgust.
"Five hundred dollars—and she will still owe Abel Strout a thousand on the mortgage," sighed Mr. Day.
"Yes. But I suppose, in time, the property will be worth it."
"It's worth it now," said Mr. Day. "That is what is the matter with Strout. But Mrs. Carringford hasn't the money to spare. And at the present time nobody would put a second mortgage on the property."
"I suppose the woman up in Michigan gets about twenty-five—maybe fifty—dollars out of it. That would settle any quitclaim of this character. Half a dozen other heirs were bought off at the time; but she was overlooked. The rest of the five hundred Mrs. Carringford can raise it—will be split between Schrimpe and his principal."
"There are some mighty mean people in this world," said Broxton
Day, grimly.
"You've said it," agreed the lawyer. "Now, maybe I'd better see
Mrs. Carringford. I understand she is here?"
"Yes."
"Do you know much about her?"
"I know she is a fine woman. They came here from Napsburg after the husband died—"
"Alexander Carringford, wasn't he?" asked Mr. Payne, taking some papers from his pocket.
"I believe so."
"They came originally from Cleveland?"
"Maybe."
"A correspondent of mine in Cleveland has written me about a family of Carringfords, and I shouldn't be surprised if these were the same people. If they are—"
"What's all the mystery, Payne?" asked Broxton Day, with sudden interest, for he saw that the lawyer meant more than he had said.
"If this is Alexander Carringford's widow, I don't know but my news is in two pieces."
"Meaning?"
"Bad news, and good news. Let's call the woman."
At that moment Janice, who had gone into the house through the back way, appeared at the open door.
"This is my little housekeeper, Randolph," said Broxton Day, smiling proudly upon his daughter. "Janice, this is Mr. Payne."
The girl came forward without timidity, but without boldness, and accepted the visitor's hand.
"Is Mrs. Carringford out there?" asked Janice's father.
"Yes, Daddy. And Gummy."
"'Gummy'!" ejaculated the lawyer. "What's that? A game, or something to eat?"
Janice's dear laughter rang out with daddy's bass tones. "Oh, no, sir," she said. "Gummy is 'Gumswith Carringford.'"
"My soul!" ejaculated the lawyer, getting up quickly from his chair, "it is the right family. Come inside. Let's see Mrs. Carringford somewhere where we can talk without the neighbors seeing and hearing everything."
For he had noticed the bowed blinds of Miss Peckham's cottage only a few yards from the end of the porch.
"Tell her to come into the living room, Janice," said Mr. Day, rising slowly and reaching for his crutches. But it was evident that he understood the lawyer's excitement no more than Janice did.
The girl ran back to the kitchen and urged Mrs. Carringford to come in. "And Gummy, too," she said. "Maybe he wants you. It is Mr. Payne, and he is daddy's lawyer."
"It's about the home, Gummy!" ejaculated Mrs. Carringford.
"Oh, I hope he'll tell us how to beat out that Abel Strout!"
"Maybe it's to say that Mr. Strout can take our home," faltered
Mrs. Carringford.
"Come on, Momsy!" said her big boy. "I'm not afraid. If worse comes to worst, it won't be so long before I can support you and the kids, anyway."
Now Janice thought that was a very nice speech and she remembered to tell daddy about it afterward.
They went into the living room and Mr. Day introduced Mrs.
Carringford to his companion. The latter looked hard at Gummy.
"What is your name, boy?" he asked rather sternly.
"Carringford, too, sir," said Gummy, politely.
"The whole of it!" commanded the lawyer.
"Er—Gumswith Carringford," said the boy, with flashing eye but cheeks that would turn red.
"Indeed?" returned the lawyer, staring oddly at Gummy. "You are something of a boy, I take it." Then he wheeled to confront Mrs. Carringford.
"I am told," Mr. Payne said, "that your husband was Alexander
Carringford, of Cleveland?"
The woman was somewhat surprised, but said that that statement was correct. She could not see, during the next few minutes' cross-examination, what these questions had to do with that little cottage in Mullen Lane, and whether her family was to be turned out of it or not.
After even his legal suspicion was satisfied as to Mrs.
Carringford's identity, Mr. Payne said, again looking at Gummy:
"Did you and your husband name this boy after a certain relative named John Gumswith. Mrs. Carringford?"
"My husband's elder brother. Yes, sir. Gumswith is named after his Uncle John."
"Humph! I should consider it something of a punishment if I were the boy," muttered the lawyer. Then he asked:
"Have you heard from this relative—this John
Gumswith—recently?"
"No, sir. Not for fifteen years," said Mrs. Carringford, her face suddenly paling.
"Do you know where he is?"
"I only know that he started for Australia fifteen years ago."
"Sit down, Mrs. Carringford," said Mr. Day softly. "I assure you this is nothing to worry about."
I—should—say—not," agreed the lawyer. "Quite the opposite. And the boy need not look so scared, either. If he can stand that name he carries around with him—"
"Boy!" exclaimed Mr. Payne, "what would you say if somebody gave you two thousand pounds?"
"Er—what, sir?" gasped Gummy. "Two thousand pounds of what?
Must be an elephant! That's a ton."
How Mr. Payne did laugh at that! But neither Gummy nor Janice saw anything funny in his speech. Mrs. Carringford was watching the lawyer's face, and she said nothing.
"I mean two thousand pounds in money. That is something like ten thousand dollars. How about it?" asked Mr. Payne again.
"Me?" exploded Gummy.
"Yes. Because your name is 'Gumswith Carringford.' Isn't it worth it?" chuckled the lawyer.
Gummy looked all around, paling and flushing by turn. Then he grinned widely and looked at Janice.
"Jicksy!" he murmured, "the old name is worth something, after all, isn't it?"
CHAPTER XXIX. "BUT WE LOSE"
It was such a happy surprise for Mrs. Carringford— and for Gummy as well—that they were well prepared for the piece of bad news which Mr. Payne had first told to Mr. Broxton Day. A five hundred dollar loss on the Mullen Lane property did not look so big when it was understood that, through Gummy, the Carringfords were going to get almost ten thousand dollars.
It seemed that more than a year before, Mr. John Gumswith, of Melbourne, Australia, had died, leaving a considerable fortune to friends he had made there and with whom he had lived for more than a dozen years. But he had left a legacy, too, "to any son that my brother, Alexander Carringford, of Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A., may have had who has been duly christened 'Gumswith' after me, to perpetuate my family name."
"Of course," said Mr. Payne, dryly, "nobody challenged the will, and so it was probated. I should, myself, doubt the good sense of a man who would fasten such an ugly name upon a boy whom he had never seen, and who never did him any harm—"
"Mr. Payne," breathed Gummy, when he heard this, and earnestly, "for ten thousand dollars I'll let anybody call me anything he wants to. Names don't break any bones."
At that Mr. Payne and Mr. Day laughed louder than they had before. But Janice knew that Gummy was not selfish, nor did he think so much of money. He was delighted that he could help his mother in her sore need.
"At any rate," said Mr. Payne, "the administrator of Mr. John
Gumswith's estate had his legal adviser communicate with
Cleveland lawyers; and they traced the Carringford family to
Napsburg. Then I was requested to find them, and—they have
found me!" and he
smiled.
"I congratulate you, madam. Of course, the courts will allow a proper amount to be used by you for Gumswith's support."
"I guess not!" said Gummy. "I'm almost supporting myself—am I not, Mother? The money's for you and the children."
"Oh, no, Gumswith, I—I cannot use your fortune," cried the mother quickly.
"I have not yet finished," resumed the lawyer, with a queer smile. "The boy has been left two thousand pounds for his name. The father receives a thousand pounds, payable either to him, or, if he be dead, to his widow. So you see there will be another five thousand dollars coming to you, Mrs. Carringford."
At that, Mrs. Carringford for the first time lost control of herself. She hugged Gummy and sobbed aloud.
"Pretty fine boy. Pretty fine boy," said Mr. Payne.
"He is that," agreed daddy, smiling across at Janice. "He put out the fire our chimney, didn't he Janice?"
So this made them all laugh and they were all right again. There was much to talk over before Mr. Payne went, besides the bad fortune about the Mullen Lane property. And Mrs. Carringford and the Days talked after Gummy had rushed out to drive back to Harriman's store. The dinner was late that night in the Day house.
Indeed, Janice forgot, in all the confusion and excitement, to tell her father where she had been that afternoon, what she had gone for, and how sadly she had been disappointed.
All this wonderful fortune for the Carringfords continued to create so much excitement at the Day house, as well as in the little cottage in Mullen Lane, that for several days Janice scarcely thought about Olga Cedarstrom and the lost treasure-box.
For out of the good luck of the Carringfords, bad fortune for the Days suddenly raised its head. Mrs. Carringford had a good deal of extra work to do, anyway, for she had to go to the lawyer's office and to the court, and interest herself in many things she had known little about before. She was fighting to save her home.
Indeed, Amy declared the Carringford family did not know "whether it was on its head or its heels." Only Gummy. Nothing seemed to disturb Gummy. And he would not give up his place with Mr. Harriman.
"He keeps saying," Amy told Janice, laughing and sobbing together, "that the ten thousand dollars is for the family. He is going to keep on working until school begins, and even then after school and on Saturdays. Really, Janice, he is darling brother."
"I believe you," said Janice wistfully, for of late she had begun to realize that a household of just two people was awfully small.
It became quite shocking when she suddenly understood that Mrs. Carringford must give up looking after the Day household and attend thereafter strictly to her own family. Of course, Mr. Day had seen this from the first; but it came as a shock to his little daughter.
"Oh, but Amy, and Gummy, and the little ones get everything! They get their money and are going to own their home, and get their mother all the time, too. It is fine for them, Daddy, but we lose!"
"I am afraid we do," said her father, nodding soberly. "We shall have to go back to the mercies of the intelligence office, or go to boarding."
"No, no!" cried Janice to this last. "Not while vacation lasts, at any rate. Why! I've learned a lot from Mrs. Carringford, and we can get along."
"You are a dear little homemaker, Janice," he said. "When you get a few more years on your shoulders I have no doubt that we shall have as nice a home as we once had before dear mother went away. But you cannot do everything. We cannot afford two in service—a cook and a housemaid. We shall have to struggle along, 'catch as catch can,' for some time I fear."
"But no boarding-house," declared Janice. "No giving up our own dear home, Daddy."
"All right. I am going to get down tomorrow, crutches or no crutches, and I will make the rounds of the agencies."
"Oh, dear!" she sighed. Then suddenly, for she was looking out of the window: "Who do you suppose that is, Daddy, coming in at the side gate? Why! It's a black woman—awfully black. And she—"
Janice left off breathlessly and ran to the kitchen door. A woman of more than middle age but, as said herself, "still mighty spry," approached the porch.
Hers was not an unintelligent face. Her dark eye beamed upon Janice most kindly. Her white, sound teeth gleamed behind a triumphant smile. She carried a shabby bag, but she dropped that and put out both hands as she came to the door.
"Ma bressed baby!" she cried in a voice that shook with emotion. "Nobody's got to tell me who you is! You's your darlin' mamma's livin' image! Ma sweet Miss Laura, back a little chile ag'in!"
The dark eyes were suddenly flooded and the tears ran down the negro woman's plump cheeks. She was not wrinkled, and if her tight, kinky hair was a mite gray, she did not have the appearance of an old person in any way. Her voice was round, and sweet, and tender.
"You don' know me, honey. You kyan't 'member Mammy Blanche. But she done hol' you in her arms w'en you was a mite of a baby, jes' as she held you dear mamma —my Miss Laura. Ah was her mammy, an' she growed up right under ma eye. Don' you understun', honey? The Avions was mah white folks.
"When Mistah Day come co'tin' an' merried yo' mamma, and kerrled her off here to Greensboro, Ah come along, too. An' Ah nebber would o' lef' you, only ma crippled brudder, Esek, an' his crippled wife done need me to tak' care ob dem.
"But Esek's daid. An' here Ah is back, chile—Ma soul an' body! ef dar ain' Mistah Brocky Day on crutches!"
"Blanche! Mammy Blanche!" exclaimed the man with real warmth, as well as wonder, in his tone. "Is it really you?"
"It's mah own brack se'f!" cried the woman, as daddy came hobbling forward to meet her just as though she were the finest company that had ever come to the Day house.
"You couldn't be more welcome if you were a queen, Mammy
Blanche," he cried. "You know—?"
He halted, and his own countenance fell. The old woman clung tightly to his hand with both of hers.
"Ah, yes; Ah got yo' letter long, long ago, Mistah Brocky. It nigh broke my heart. Ma lil' Miss Laura! But, glory!" and she turned suddenly to Janice, "here she is ober again!"
"I know it," said Broxton Day, wiping his eyes. "Come in and sit down, Mammy. Janice does not remember you, I suppose. But I remember well enough that we never had any housekeeping troubles when Mammy Blanche was on hand."
"Sho' not! Sho' not," chuckled the old woman. "And Mammy Blanche jest as spry now, an' able to do for you, as she used to be."
"What? Have you come to stay with us awhile, Mammy Blanche?" asked Broxton Day. "Your brother?"
"Esek is daid. His wife's gone back to her own people. Ah ain't got nobody, nor nohin' of mah own in dis here worl' Mistah Brocky, onless dey is under dis here roof. I has come to stay, sah, if you is of a min' to give mah ol' bones house room."
Janice had been breathless. But she had listened, and gradually she had begun to understand. She could remember a good deal that her dear mother had told her about Mammy Blanche. And this was she!
The girl put her hand confidently into that of the black woman's.
She looked up at her father brightly.
"I take it all back, Daddy," she murmured. "I was ungrateful and suspicious of fate, wasn't I? We don't lose."