The Automobile Girls at Newport; Or, Watching the Summer Parade

“Cheer up, Ruth, dear,” whispered Grace. “What difference does a little rain make? Here is some one coming along the road!”

Ruth’s eyes were full of tears; Aunt Sallie’s threat to stop their trip was more than she could bear; but she was soon smiling.

“Why, Barbara Thurston,” the girls called out together, “it can’t be you!” On came Barbara, riding bareback astride an old horse, the animal’s big feet clattering, its mane and tail soaked with rain.

“Great heavens!” said Miss Sallie, and closed her eyes.

Barbara rode up to the automobile, her hand clasped tightly in the horse’s mane.

“I’m as right as can be, Miss Sallie. I went back to that sleepy old farm, knocked and knocked for help, and called and called, but nobody would answer. Just as I gave up all hope, old Dobbin came to the porch and neighed, as if inquiring what I was doing on his premises. Like a flash I put out my hand, as though to pat him, grabbed him by the mane, hopped up here, and now you see the best lady bareback rider from Rinkhem’s Circus. I led you into this mess; now I’m going to get you out. I shall ride old Dobbin into town and come back with help.” Bab declaimed this, ending out of breath.

“Never mind, Miss Sallie,” Mollie explained, seeing her consternation. “Bab never rode any other way than bareback when she was a little girl. Do let her go!”

“Very well; but she may be arrested as a horse thief. That is all I have to say in the matter.” Miss Sallie sank back on her cushions, but Barbara had clattered off before she could be forbidden to go. She caught the words, “horse thief,” as she rode as fast as old Dobbin would carry her.

“It’s Barbara to the rescue again!” Ruth shouted after her.

CHAPTER VIII—“FOR WE ARE JOLLY GOOD FELLOWS!”

It was after six o’clock, and, because of the heavy storm, was almost dusk. Barbara had decided to go to the end of the lane and find the main road to New Haven, hoping to sooner discover help in that direction.

Before long she came to a fork in the road. By riding close to the sign-post she found a hand pointing: “Nine Miles to New Haven.” On she sped through the mud and rain, slipping and sliding on the horse’s back, but still holding tight to his mane.

“Stop! Hello, there! Why, Mirandy, if that ain’t my own hoss, and that girl astride it running off as fast as she can! Hello! Stop!” The farmer lashed the horse hitched to his rickety old buggy, and dashed after Barbara, who had ridden past without noticing them. “Stop, thief!”

Down to her wet toes sank Barbara’s heart. The worst she had feared had happened. If only she had seen their buggy in time to stop first and ask their help. Now, rushing by them, how could she explain? Horse thief, indeed.

“Oh, please,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “I am not exactly running away with your horse; I am only going for help! My friends——”

The farmer grabbed the horse savagely by the mane. “Come on,” he said. “You can tell your story at the nearest police station. I ain’t got time fer sech foolishness. What I see, I see with my own eyes. You’re plain running away with my hoss!”

“John,” pleaded the farmer’s wife, “you might listen to the young lady.”

But Barbara’s looks were against her. The rain had beaten her hair down over her eyes. Her clothes were wet and covered with mud from trying to help Ruth. What could she do? Barbara was frightened, but she kept a cool head. “I’ll just let the old man haul me before the nearest magistrate. I expect he’ll listen to me!” She was shivering, but she knew that to think bravely helped to keep up one’s courage. “If only it were not so awful for Aunt Sallie and the girls to be waiting there, I could stand my part,” murmured Bab.

For fifteen minutes captors and girl jogged on. Only the old man talked, savagely, under his breath. He wanted to get home to his farmhouse and supper, but this made him only the more determined to punish Barbara.

“I suppose we’ll take all night to get to town at this rate,” she thought miserably.

For we are jolly good fellows, For we are jolly good fellows!

Barbara could hear the ring of the gay song and the distant whirr of a motor car coming down the road. If only she could attract someone’s attention and make them listen to her! She could now see the lights of the automobile bearing down upon them.

Like a flash, before the farmer could guess what she was doing, Barbara whirled around on old Dobbin’s back, and sat backwards. She put one hand to her lips. “Oh, stop! Stop, please!” she cried, looking like a gypsy, with her rain-blown hair and brown cheeks, which were crimson with blushes at her awkward position.

On account of the rain, and the oncoming darkness, the car was going slowly. At the end of one of the choruses the song stopped half a second. One of the young fellows in the car caught sight of Barbara, evidently being dragged along by the irate farmer and his wife.

“Hark! Stop! Look! Listen! Methinks, I see a female in distress,” the young man called out.

The car stopped almost beside the buggy, and one of the boys in the car roared with laughter at Barbara’s appearance, but the friend nearest him gave a warning prod.

“Hold on there!” called the first young man. “Where are you dragging this young lady against her will?”

“She’s a hoss thief!” said the old man sullenly.

“I am no such thing,” answered Barbara indignantly. Then, without any warning, Barbara threw back her head and laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. It was absurdly funny, she sitting backwards on an old horse, one hand in his mane, and the farmer pulling them along with a rope. What must she look like to these boys? Barbara saw they were gentlemen, and knew she had nothing more to fear.

“Do please listen, while I tell my story. I am not a horse thief! I’ve some friends up the road, stuck in the mud with a broken tire in their automobile. I saw this old horse in the farm-yard, and I borrowed or rented him, and started for help. The old man wouldn’t let me explain. Won’t you,” she looked appealingly at the four boys in their motor car, “please go back and help my friends?”

“Every man of us!” uttered one of the young fellows, springing up in his car. “And we’ll drag this old tartar behind us with his own rope! We’ll buy your old horse from you, if this young lady wants him as a souvenir.”

It was the farmer’s turn to be frightened.

“I am sure I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, humbly enough now. His wife was in tears.

“Oh, never mind him,” urged Barbara. “Please go on back as fast as you can to my friends. You’ll find them up the lane to the left. I’ll ride the old horse back to the farm, and settle things and join you later.”

“Excuse me, Miss Paul Revere,” disputed a tall, dark boy with a pair of laughing blue eyes that made him oddly handsome, “you’ll do no such thing. Kindly turn over that fiery steed to me, take my seat in the car and show these knights-errant the way to the ladies in distress. I want to prove to you that a fellow can ride bareback as well as a girl can.”

But the farmer was anxious to get out of trouble.

“I’ll just lead the hoss back myself,” he said. “No charge at all, miss.” Evidently afraid of trouble, the farmer made a hurried start homeward, and was soon lost to view, while Barbara rode back to her friends with help.

In ten minutes two motor cars were making their way into New Haven. The passengers had changed places. Ruth sat contentedly with her hands folded in her lap, by the side of a masculine chauffeur, who had introduced himself as Hugh Post, and turned out to be the roommate, at college, of Mrs. Cartwright’s brother, Donald. Barbara, wrapped in steamer rugs, sat beside the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes, whom Miss Sallie had recognized as Ralph Ewing, son of the friends with whom they expected to board at Newport.

It was arranged that Barbara and Ruth were to sleep together the first night at New Haven. The truth was, they wanted to talk things over, and there were no connecting doors between the three rooms. The hotel was an old one, and the rooms were big and dreary. They were connected by a narrow private hall, opening into the main hall by a single door, just opposite Ruth’s and Barbara’s room. The automobile girls were in a distant wing of the hotel, but the accommodations were the best that could be found.

Miss Sallie bade their rescuers a prompt farewell on arrival at the hotel. “We shall be delighted to see you again in the morning,” she said, “but we are too used up for anything more to-night.”

Barbara was promptly put to bed. She was not even allowed to go down to supper with the other girls, but lay snuggled in heavy covers, eating from a tray by her bed. Once or twice she thought she heard light footfalls outside in the main hall, but she had noticed a window that opened on a fire escape, and supposed that one of the hotel guests had walked down the corridor to look out of this window.

In a short time Ruth came back and reported that the automobile girls, including Miss Sallie, were ready for bed.

“I am not a bit sleepy. Are you?” Ruth asked Barbara. “I will just jump in here with you, so we can talk better. We’ve certainly had enough adventures for one day!”

“Oh, no!” replied Barbara; “I feel quite wide awake.” Five minutes later both girls were fast asleep.

CHAPTER IX—ONLY GIRLS

Across the room the flash shone for an instant, then darted on like a will-o’-the-wisp. Both girls dimly saw the outline of a man crouching in the shadow along the wall. His hand slid cautiously up the sides of the bureau, fingering, for a moment, the toilet articles on the dresser. Then the search-light for an instant darted along the mantel and turned to the bed again. The girls were nearly fainting with terror. Ruth remembered that, for once, she had locked her money and her jewels in her trunk.

The man stood absolutely still and listened. Not a sound!

So quiet lay both girls that neither one knew the other had wakened.

The man continued his search, but plainly this was not the room he sought. Still moving, his feet making absolutely no sound, the dark figure with the lantern crept out of the girls’ room, to the front of the corridor, and turned down the narrow, private hallway.

“Aunt Sallie!” Ruth thought with a gasp. She had said she would leave her door open, so she might hear if the girls called her in the night. And Aunt Sallie carried a large sum of money for the expenses of the trip, and her own jewelry as well.

It may be that Ruth made a sound, anyway Barbara knew that her roommate was awake. Both had the same thought at just the same instant.

Noiselessly, without a word, on bare feet, both girls sped down the hall to Miss Sallie’s open door. What they would do when they got there neither of them knew. It was time for action, not for thought! At the open door they paused and knelt in the shadow. Black darkness was about them, save in Aunt Sallie’s room, where a dark lantern flashed its uncanny light. The girls were alert in every faculty. Now they could see more distinctly the form of the man who carried the lantern. He was of medium height and slender. Over his face he wore a black mask through which gleamed his eyes, narrowed to two fine points of steel.

Should the girls cry out? The man was armed and it might mean death to Aunt Sallie or themselves.

Evidently the burglar meant to make a thorough search of the room before he went to the bed, where, he guessed, the valuables were probably kept; but he must know first. The room was bare of treasure. He walked cautiously to where Miss Sallie still slept in complete unconsciousness, this time holding his lantern down, that its light should not waken the sleeping woman.

As he drew near her Ruth could bear the suspense no longer. She saw him drag out a bag from under Miss Sallie’s head and could not refrain from uttering a low cry. It was enough. The man dashed the lantern to the ground and made a rush for the door.

There was no time for Ruth and Barbara to plan. They were only girls; but as the man ran toward them in the darkness, striking out fiercely, Barbara seized one of his legs, Ruth the other. Together, the three of them went down in the blackness. The girls had not the robber’s strength, but they had taken him by surprise and they meant to fight it out.

He kicked violently to free himself, then turned and tore at Barbara’s hands, but she clung to him. He raised the butt end of his pistol and struck with all his force. As the blow fell with a terrific thud, Barbara relaxed her hold, and tumbled over in the darkness.

By this time Miss Sallie realized what was happening. Yet, in the darkness, she could only cry for help, and moan: “Let him alone, girls! Let him go!”

With one leg free it seemed a simple task to get away. The noises were arousing the sleeping hotel guests. Another minute, and the burglar knew that he would be lost! With a violent wrench he tore himself away, and started down the hall, Ruth after him. If she could delay him a few seconds help would come!

The outside door leading from their private hall into the main one was nearly closed; in reaching to open it there was a second’s delay. Ruth flung herself forward, caught the man’s coat and clung desperately, but the burglar was too clever for her. In less than a second he slipped out of his coat, ran quickly to the window leading to the fire escape, and was gone! When assistance arrived, Ruth was standing in the front hall holding a man’s coat in her hand.

“Oh, come!” she said in horror. “A light, please! Aunt Sallie has been robbed, and I am afraid Barbara has been killed!”

Ten or twelve people came running down the hall. The hotel proprietor and several servants made for the fire escape. Grace and Mollie, clad in kimonos, had joined Ruth in the hall, and were shaking with terror. Neither of them had spoken a word, but Grace silently handed Ruth her bath robe.

They turned and the three girls followed the rescuers, who were hastening toward Aunt Sallie’s room. That elderly woman had already risen, struck a light and was in her kimono.

Barbara was leaning against a chair, white as a sheet, but unhurt!

“O Bab!” said Ruth, flying toward her, forgetting everything else in her relief, “I thought you were killed!”

“I thought so, too,” nodded Barbara, calmly smiling, as she reached for one of the blankets and wrapped herself in its folds, “but I wasn’t. When the burglar raised the end of his pistol to strike me, I knew what was coming and ducked. He struck the side of the chair, and I tumbled over under it.”

The hotel proprietor came into the room carrying a chamois bag.

“Madam,” he asked, “is this your property? I found it outside here. Evidently the man dropped it in trying to make his escape. I cannot understand what has happened. The hotel is securely locked. The fire escape goes down into a closed court. The man could not have made his way down five stories, without being seen when we reached the window. It is incredible!”

By this time the halls were swarming with frightened visitors.

Grace had gone out to speak to them, and came in holding the burglar’s coat in her hand. “How curious!” she said, handing the garment to the proprietor. “This is a gentleman’s coat. I can tell by the lining and the whole appearance of it. It was not worn by a common thief!”

“Ruth, my child, and Barbara,” said Aunt Sallie, when everyone had left their apartments, “I shall never forgive you!”

“Why not, Aunt Sallie?” both girls exclaimed, at once.

“Because, my dears, you didn’t just scream and let the wretch escape at once. In my day girls would never have behaved as you did!”

“But, Aunt Sallie,” protested Ruth, “the jewels and money are both safe, and neither Barbara nor I am hurt. I don’t see how we could have done any better, even in your day.”

“Kiss me,” said Aunt Sallie, “and go back to bed at once. It is nearly morning.”

When Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright drew up in front of the New Haven hotel, at a little after two o’clock next day, they found Miss Sallie and the four girls surrounded by a circle of college boys. With them stood a policeman.

“What has happened?” said Mrs. Cartwright in astonishment, jumping out of her car, as Donald Cartwright, Hugh Post and Ralph Ewing came down to meet her. “Are those my girls, to whom I am to introduce you to-day?”

“Goodness!” demanded Hugh. “Did you think we would wait twelve hours for an introduction! Do come and hear all that has happened.”

Miss Stuart, looking a good deal shaken by her adventures, came forward to meet Mrs. Cartwright. “Listen!” she said dramatically, for Barbara was talking to the policeman.

“No, we would neither of us know him, because neither my friend nor I ever saw him before. It was dark and he was masked. But he was slight—not a big, rough kind of man—and his hands were soft, but strong as steel. I don’t believe,” she leaned over and whispered, “he could have been a servant, or an ordinary burglar.”

“We have discovered, miss, that no entrance was made from the outside. Any guests who left the hotel this morning will be followed and examined. The chief will report to you later,” the policeman said, with a low bow to Miss Sallie.

“Well, is this the way you see a nice, quiet, old college town?” Mrs. Cartwright inquired. “I suppose you mean to take the next train for home.”

“No such thing!” retorted Ruth, smiling, and looking as bright and fresh as ever. “We don’t mind a few weeny adventures, do we, Aunt Sallie?”

Miss Sallie held up her hands in horror. “Weeny adventures! What shall we expect next! However, I’ve promised the girls to go on. I think we need the trip, now, more than ever, and I want to ask Mr. Cartwright to keep the matter as quiet as possible. I do not wish my brother to know.”

“Do please come on,” said Hugh Post, turning to Ruth. “We are going,” he explained, “out to the athletic grounds in our motor cars. The girls came to see the university, and we haven’t shown them a blooming thing.”

“We are going to the dance to-night, just the same,” announced Mollie to Mrs. Cartwright. “Aunt Sallie is to rest this afternoon, so she will be equal to it. We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright joined the party, and, in a few minutes, the two motor cars had covered the two miles between the college campus and the thirty acres Yale devotes to college sports. The visitors saw the athletic grounds thoroughly; here the football champions of the world had been trained, and there was the baseball diamond.

“Ralph’s the crack oarsman of the lot,” said Donald Cartwright; “but—great Scott! We can’t show these girls anything, after the way they tackled the burglar last night.”

“We’ll get up a regatta in your honor, if you’ll come again next year, Miss Thurston,” said Ralph.

Barbara only laughed at him. “Look out,” she warned. “I may make you keep your promise.”

“Barbara,” said Mollie that night, as they were getting ready for the dance which was to take place in the Old Alumni Hall, “are you sure you feel well enough for the ball to-night?”

“Nonsense, child, why shouldn’t I? I feel as fine as a fiddle. It isn’t doing things that uses one up, even tackling a burglar; it is thinking about them. Ruth and I didn’t have any time to think about our burglar.”

“Well,” said Mollie, a little wistfully, smoothing the folds of her muslin dress, “I don’t believe I am as anxious to go to the dance as I thought I was. Does this dress look very shabby? I wouldn’t go, now, only it seems kind of hateful of me to refuse Mrs. Cartwright’s invitation.”

“Now, Molliekins,” Barbara answered quite seriously, “it’s your dress, isn’t it? Of course, I have thought about mine, too. These are just simple muslins that we have worn before; but, when we left home, we neither of us dreamed we would go to a party in them. Let’s just make the best of things. Anyhow, I’ve made up my mind to one thing, and I wish you would, too. You and I must not worry about being poor while we are on this trip. Let us not pretend that we are rich, because everybody we meet seems to be. Ruth knows we are poor, knows about our little cottage and not keeping a servant, and she doesn’t mind. I don’t believe really nice people care whether young girls are rich or poor, if they happen to like them. I don’t mean to preach.” Barbara put her arm around Mollie and waltzed her around the room. “Let us pretend we are both Cinderellas before the arrival of the fairy godmother.”

Mollie didn’t answer; but she tucked some pink roses in her belt. “It doesn’t really matter about me, anyway,” she decided. “I can’t expect these grown-up boys to dance with me. I will just stay by Miss Sallie.”

“All right, little Miss Wall-flower,” laughed Bab, as she pinned on a knot of blue that Ralph Ewing had asked her to wear, as a tribute to the Yale colors.

It was Mollie, after all, who was the belle of the party. Perhaps this was because the other girls whispered to their partners that Mollie was afraid nobody would dance with her; or, perhaps, because she was the youngest, and the best dancer among them all.

“I am going to take this little lady under my special protection at Newport,” Mrs. Cartwright said to Miss Stuart, late that evening. “I don’t mean my ‘butterfly girl’ to be losing her beauty sleep.”

Mollie looked at her “lovely lady” with eyes as blue as myrtle blossoms. Mrs. Cartwright was so exquisite, so young and so wealthy, she seemed to Mollie to have stepped out of a book.

Miss Sallie was vainly trying to collect her four charges all at once, in order to take them home.

“Aunt Sallie,” Hugh Post said roguishly, as that lady made a last determined stand, and gathered her girls together, “you know, from your experience yesterday, that Miss Ruth can’t handle a motor car, even though she can tackle a burglar. So we are going to follow you in my automobile to-morrow and see that you get to New London all right.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” protested Ruth. “This I will have you know is an automobile girls’ excursion and nary a man allowed.”

“This one time, kindly permit us to follow you at a respectful distance, won’t you?” Hugh urged. “It’s only a short trip to New London. To tell you the truth, the governor’s yacht is over there and I hope to be able to persuade you to go aboard. It is not disrespectful of me, Miss Stuart, to speak so of my father; he was once governor of the state, and he rather likes to be reminded of it. Mother has a number of friends on board the yacht, and we shall be cruising up to Newport in a few days. I think it would be jolly for father and mother to know you.”

CHAPTER X—ENTER GLADYS AND MR. TOWNSEND

“Why, Gladys Le Baron, this is a surprise!” gayly said Grace Carter next afternoon, when the two parties of girls and men had left their automobiles and had come aboard Governor Post’s yacht, the “Penguin,” that lay just outside the New London harbor.

Grace was awaiting her turn to be introduced to her host and hostess, when she spied Gladys, in a pale blue flannel suit and a cream felt hat, strolling down the deck, looking very much at home.

“How ever did you get here?” queried Grace, smiling.

Gladys gave Grace’s cheek an affected peck with her lips.

“I have a better right to ask that question of you,” Gladys pouted, “only I am not surprised. Harry Townsend came over from New London, yesterday, and told me you had arrived the night before. He went over with Hugh for the dance, but I didn’t feel like going, so he came back early yesterday morning. I am amazed Hugh did not speak of it to you.”

“Oh, Mr. Post didn’t know we had ever heard of Harry Townsend, or you either. We met most unexpectedly, and we had plenty of excitement of our own. I must tell you about it.”

At this moment, Hugh came over for Grace to introduce her to his mother.

“This is Miss Carter, mother,” he said. “Will you introduce her to Mrs. Erwin and father? She seems to know Gladys already.”

Harry Townsend had seen the newcomers, and came forward to speak to them with his most charming manner.

“Say, Townsend,” challenged Hugh, “what made you run away from us? We thought, of course, you’d stay over for the dance. Thought that was your plan in going over to New Haven.”

Harry turned to Miss Stuart. “I heard of your arrival in New Haven, the other evening,” he said. “The fellows told me of your experiences; but I got away from the hotel too early next morning to pay my respects.”

“Then you didn’t hear of the burglar, did you?” queried Hugh.

In spite of Miss Sallie’s protestations the whole story had to be gone over again.

Barbara was talking to Ralph Ewing and had not looked at Harry Townsend during the conversation, until he came over to speak to her.

“I have half an idea, Miss Thurston,” he said, “that you do not like me, and I am sorry. I was looking forward to our having good times together at Newport, as I am to be Mrs. Erwin’s guest, with your cousin Miss Le Baron. Mrs. Post asked us on for the yacht trip a day or two sooner than we expected. We are all going up to Newport together.”

“Mr. Townsend,” said Barbara, her usually laughing, brown eyes now steadfast and serious, “I wonder why you think I do not like you?”

“Miss Stuart,” begged Mrs. Post, after the governor had conducted the party over his trim little craft, “you must stay and dine with us on board the yacht to-night. I refuse to take no for an answer. I wish I could keep you over until morning, but unfortunately the yacht is too small.”

Miss Sallie protested. No; they couldn’t think of it. They had come aboard only for a call, and must get back to their hotel before night. But Hugh swept all her arguments aside. He was an adored only son, and accustomed to having his own way. To tell the truth, Miss Sallie was not averse to the idea of staying; it was pleasant to be meeting Newporters in advance. Miss Stuart was a woman who thought much of appearances, and of this world’s goods, and their new acquaintances seemed to have plenty of both.

“It’s an ill wind,” she thought to herself, “and I must say, for my young niece, that she has a habit of falling on her feet.”

But aloud Miss Sallie accepted the invitation with much decorum.

On the deck aft, where the young people had gathered, there was much laughter.

Gladys was really pleased to see Ruth. As for her cousins, they were a bore, but she had no idea of being openly rude to them. She simply meant to ignore them.

It was not easy to disregard two such popular girls. Barbara and Mollie seemed to be well able to get on without her patronage. Barbara was already smiling and chattering with Governor Post, while the boys described her mad ride of two days before.

“Father,” said Hugh, “I forgot to introduce you to Miss Thurston by her proper title, ‘Miss Paul Revere.’”

“Harry,” asked Gladys, as they stood on the outside of the circle, “don’t you think it is disgusting the way that forward cousin of mine always manages to put herself before the public?”

“Well,” said Mr. Townsend—was there a little admiration in his tone?—“she seems to have plenty of grit.”

It was really Mollie, not Barbara, who saw through Gladys’s treatment of them. Barbara was too open-hearted and boyish to notice a slight, unless it was very marked.

Gladys had asked Ruth and Grace to her stateroom, and Mrs. Post had put the other two girls into her unoccupied guest chamber. It was a little gem of a stateroom, upholstered in pale green to relieve the glare from the water.

“Bab,” Mollie chuckled, rubbing her cheeks until they were pink, “do you remember the story of ‘The Water Baby’?”

“Yes,” Bab answered absently; “I do, after a fashion. But why do you ask? You haven’t turned into a water baby, have you, just because you are on board a yacht for the first time in your life?”

“No,” laughed Mollie. “I was thinking of the story in it of the salmon and the trout. Have you forgotten it?”

“Of course I have,” admitted Barbara.

Mollie chuckled gleefully. “Our high and mighty cousin, Gladys, reminds me very much of the salmon, who thought the trout a very common fish, and disliked him all the more because he was a relation. Feel like a trout, Bab?”

“Not at all, Mollie; but do hurry and go out on deck. That young freshman, who came down in the automobile with us to amuse you, is wandering around outside, looking frightened to death. You must go and talk to him.”

As Barbara stepped into the big salon, which was fitted up like a library, she saw one of the young men disappear quickly through the open door. Bab went over to their wraps, which they had dropped in a heap on a couch when they boarded the yacht, and selected her own jacket. Ruth’s pocketbook was in full view among their belongings, and Bab covered it over before she went on deck.

Before dinner ended the moon had risen, the pale crescent hanging like a slender jewel in the sky.

Barbara was standing alone, for a second, when Mrs. Erwin approached her.

“Pardon me, dear,” she said, “but did you or your sister see a small pin on the dressing table of the guest room, when you went in there before dinner? I have misplaced a ruby and diamond circle of no great value. I went into the guest chamber this morning, while the maid was cleaning my room, and I thought perhaps I had laid it down in there.”

“No,” said Bab, frowning. It did seem curious how losses were following them! “I didn’t look, although it was probably there. I am most unobservant. I will ask my sister.”

“No, no,” said Mrs. Erwin, hastily; “please don’t. I shall probably find it again. I don’t want Mrs. Post to hear.”

The next morning, when Grace and Ruth were donning their best motor veils and coats, Ruth suddenly looked surprised and began to search hurriedly through her pocketbook.

“Grace,” she said, “I can’t find fifty dollars. I am sure I had it yesterday, because I looked carefully after that wretched burglar had gone, though I knew all my money was safe in my trunk. Now it’s gone!”

Ruth turned her pocketbook upside down. “Don’t tell Aunt Sallie, please,” she begged. “I don’t know what she would say to have this item added to our adventures.”

Miss Sallie’s voice was heard calling from the next room.

“Girls, are we or are we not, going to Newport to-day? I, for my part, wish to spend no more time on the way!”

CHAPTER XI—NEWPORT AT LAST!

Ruth slowed down obediently.

“Open my bag, Mollie,” said Miss Sallie, decidedly, “and you, Grace, look under the seat for my other hat. We shall probably arrive in Newport at five o’clock, the hour for the fashionable parade. I, at least, shall do what I can to give our car an appearance of gentility. I advise you children to do the same.”

“Would you like a little cold cream, Miss Sallie, to wipe off your face?” Mollie spoke timidly, remembering how Barbara had laughed at her.

“Certainly I should, my child, and very intelligent of you to have brought it along.”

“Well,” said Ruth, “if you must ‘fix up,’ and I am to take a party of belles and beauties into Newport, instead of true lovers of sport, there are lots of new veils under my seat. Bab, take them out and pass them around. Only the chauffeur shall be dusty and dilapidated enough to look the part.”

Behold their dream had come true! The automobile girls were at last in Newport, watching the summer parade!

Ruth, at the expected hour, turned her car, with a great flourish, into Bellevue Avenue, Newport’s most fashionable thoroughfare. For a few minutes the girls beheld a long procession of carriages and automobiles; a little later, they swung round a corner and stopped in front of a beautiful old Colonial house, with a wide veranda running around three sides of it, and a hospitably open front door.

Miss Sallie descended first, to be greeted by Ralph’s mother, who was expecting them.

“I don’t like her. She’s not a bit like Ralph,” thought Barbara. Then she gave herself an inward shake. “There, Barbara, you know what mother would say to you about your sudden prejudices!”

Mrs. Ewing, who had been a great beauty in her day, looked as though life had disagreed with her.

Barbara had wondered how a private home could accommodate so many people, never having seen a handsome old New England house, but their three rooms occupied only half of one side of the long hall on the second floor. “And they think they are poor!” smiled Bab, to herself, as she looked admiringly at the handsome furniture. “I wonder what they would think of our little five-room cottage.”

“I want some clean clothes before anything else,” sighed dainty Mollie, standing before a mirror, gazing with disdain at her own appearance. “I believe I have one clean shirtwaist left, but I must still wear this dusty old skirt.”

But Ruth was staggering into the room under an immense box.

“Fifteen dollars express charges, mum; not a cent less! Them’s my orders. And extry for carrying the box upstairs. It ain’t my business. I’m too accommodating I am! Where shall I put it down, mum?”

Ruth dropped the heavy bundle on the bed; she couldn’t carry it a moment longer.

“Why, Ruth Stuart!” said Mollie, dancing with glee. “It’s some clothes for us! How did mother get them here in such a hurry? Oh, joy! oh, rapture! I was just fussing about having to wear this old suit to-night.”

Bab was tugging at the heavy cords.

“Foolish Bab!” scoffed Ruth. “You’ll never get it open that way,” and she cut the cord in a business-like fashion with a little knife she always carried.

“Now I’ll run away and leave you,” Ruth continued. “Grace is calling that it is time for my bath. Your turn next. I’ll see the pretty things when I come back.”

Ruth would like to have stayed to see the girls open the box, but she had an instinctive feeling that they would prefer to be alone.

“Here’s a letter from mother. Let’s read that first,” said Bab.

Inside the letter lay two crisp ten-dollar bills!

“I have had a windfall, children,” the letter read, “through the kindness of Mr. Stuart. He told me that some of my old stock that I thought of no value was paying a dividend again. Curiously, your Uncle Ralph had not mentioned it to me; but, when I wrote and told him of Mr. Stuart’s advice, he sent it to me at once. So here’s a little spending money. And oh, my darlings, I hope you will like your new clothes! Mr. Stuart is so kind to me, I am not lonely,” the letter ended, “so have the best time you possibly can. I shall send your trunk to-morrow with your summer muslins and underwear.”

“Mollie mine, don’t tear the paper in that fashion,” remonstrated Barbara. “Let me open the box. Behold and see!” She held up two dainty organdie frocks, delicate and airy. Mollie’s gown was white, with little butterfly medallions of embroidery and lace sprinkled over it.

“Mollie, Mollie! How could mother have guessed your new name was ‘the butterfly girl’? Isn’t it too lovely!” Bab almost forgot to look at her own frock, so enraptured was she with her sister’s.

But Barbara’s frock was just as charming, and as well suited to her. A circle of pink wild roses outlined the hem and encircled the yoke, which was of delicate pink tulle.

Mollie was rummaging with impatient fingers. “Party capes, I do declare—the very newest style! I never reached the point of expecting capes even in my wildest dreams. See, yours is all white, and mine has a pale blue lining with a dear little ‘blue riding hood cap.’ Oh, won’t I be charming?” murmured Mollie, putting the cape over her shoulders and pirouetting before the mirror. “Surely no sensible wolf would want to eat me up!”

Two light flannel suits, one of cream color for Bab, and a pin-stripe of blue and white for Mollie, completed the glories of the box.

“Now,” said Bab, “what more can we want, for tennis, for rowing, for yachting, for driving? Are there any more entertainments that the rich enjoy, Mollie? Because, if there are, I should like to mention them.”

  Oh, the girls will all declare,
  When they see me on the square—
  Here comes a millionaire,
  Mollie darling!

“What do you think of that for poetry made while you wait? You don’t half appreciate my talents, Miss Mollie Thurston,” ended Bab, with a final hug.

“Hurry, children,” called Miss Sallie, appearing at their door. “You know we are to meet Mrs. Cartwright at the Casino to-night. She wants to introduce us to the place where a large part of Newport’s gayety occurs.”

“What is the ‘Casino’?” whispered Mollie, when Miss Sallie had disappeared.

“Oh, it’s only a big club, where you play tennis and have dances, and any sort of entertainments. Nearly all the nicest people in Newport belong to it. Mrs. Cartwright says we’ll have most of our fun over there.”

Bab put her arm round her sister, as they walked downstairs.

“Mollie,” she said, “I have the queerest feeling. I am so happy, it frightens me. I never had such a good time before. I wonder how it will all turn out?”

Barbara could not guess that there were to be tears for her, as well as joys, at Newport. It was as well she did not know, or her pleasure would have been marred.

The girls finished dinner as quickly as possible.

“There’s time for a stroll on the cliffs, isn’t there, before eight?” inquired Ruth. “Do you feel equal to exercise, Aunt Sallie? Everyone takes the cliff walk the first thing after arrival in Newport.”

“Certainly,” Miss Sallie agreed. “I suppose I can manage it, though I have ridden so far that I may have lost the use of my limbs. However, I can sit down if I grow tired, and you children can go on without me. It’s perfectly safe, isn’t it, Mrs. Ewing?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ewing replied; “though it looks fairly dangerous, the cliffs are so high, the highest on the Atlantic Coast from Cape Ann to Yucatan. But very few accidents have occurred there—so far.”

Ruth and Barbara led the way. They could hear the sea booming and pounding below them. From the edge of the cliff they looked down a hundred feet at the sea, washing in on the level stretch of beach.

Ruth shivered and turned pale. “Oh,” she shuddered, “it makes me horribly nervous! I am ashamed of it, so I don’t often mention it, but I simply can’t look down from great heights. It even makes me a little sick to look out of a high window, and I’m a miserable climber, I get so dizzy. Let us go back. Do you mind, Bab?”

“No, Ruth,” Bab answered. “I suppose I am a tomboy; I used to play hare and hounds with the boys at school, and I learned to climb like a goat over the rocks at Kingsbridge; but these Newport cliffs are a different matter.”

Barbara’s powers were to be tested, but neither she nor Ruth thought anything more of their talk. Miss Sallie and the other two girls had joined them, and they made their way along the narrow, winding path that dipped in hollows and curves, and stretched for two miles ahead of them.

“How hard it is,” said Miss Sallie, “to tell which view is the more beautiful!”

On the inland side of the cliffs, beautiful, shaded lawns, luxuriant with flowers, ran down to the edge of the path. Set in their midst were the marble palaces of Newport’s millionaires. Toward the sea, great points of land jutted out into the harbor, where the water was violet with the shadows of the closing day.

“Miss Stuart! Miss Stuart!” Aunt Sallie heard a gay voice calling her.

Running across the lawn, and waving her scarf at them, came Mrs. Cartwright.

“Were you coming to see me first?” she asked.

Miss Stuart confessed that she had not the shadow of an idea which house belonged to Mrs. Cartwright.

“You must see it for a minute, since you are already here,” urged Mrs. Cartwright, and led the way up the graveled path to her veranda.

“Mollie,” she said, addressing the young girl, “I think it is peculiarly appropriate for my butterfly girl to be introduced to my piazza. It is made to look like a Japanese teahouse,” she explained to Miss Sallie.

The sides of Mrs. Cartwright’s veranda were of heavy Japanese paper stretched on bamboo poles which opened and closed at will. The paper had been painted by a famous Japanese artist to represent springtime in Japan. There were whole rows of cherry trees in full blossom, with little Japanese children playing beneath them. Opposite this scene was another painting—a marshy lake, surrounded by queer Japanese birds.

The veranda was lighted by a hundred tiny shaded lamps. Japanese matting covered the floor, while the tea tables were set with tea services bought in old Japan. The girls had never seen anything so lovely.

“You are officially invited to have tea with me here, any or every afternoon you are in Newport. Now I will run and get Mr. Cartwright,” added their hostess, “and we will go over to the Casino.”

Outside, the Casino looked like a rambling, old Dutch mansion, with peaked gables and overhanging eaves.

“We’ve a Dutch house, English lawns and a French chef,” Mr. Cartwright laughingly explained to Miss Sallie as they entered.

“And we’ve dozens of tennis courts,” added Mrs. Cartwright. “We are working dreadfully hard, now, for the tournament that is to take place in a few weeks. It is really the social event of the whole year at Newport. Is there a star player among you girls? Why not enter the tournament and compete for the championship? We are to have a special match game, this year, played by the young people. Let us keep these tennis courts busy for a while. You’ll come over, too, Miss Stuart, won’t you, and play bridge while we work. Or you’ll work at bridge, while we play tennis. Perhaps you think that is the way I should have put it.”

CHAPTER XII—A WEEK LATER

“Barbara, I wouldn’t play tennis with Gladys and Harry Townsend, if I were you,” said Mollie to her sister, one morning a week later. “They were horrid to you yesterday. Didn’t you notice, when you called to Hugh and Ruth that their last ball had gone over the line, Gladys just shrugged her shoulders, and gave a sneery kind of smile to that Townsend fellow, and he lifted his eyebrows! Is your score the best, or Ruth’s? I know you’re both ahead of Gladys and Grace. I am sure Gladys doesn’t play a bit better than I do; so she needn’t have been so high and mighty.”

Mollie shrugged her dainty shoulders. “You see, she told me, the first day she arrived, that, of course, I didn’t play in the class with the others, so you had just the right eight for the two courts—four girls and four men.”

“Why, Mollie!” Bab looked surprised. “I thought you said you didn’t want to play. You can take my place any time.”

Mollie smiled. “No,” she answered; “I don’t want to play. It’s not that. But it annoys me when you let Gladys Le Baron, cousin or no cousin, snub us all the time, and you not notice it. Ralph certainly wouldn’t like to have me play with him now, when you’re in for a match game.”

“Mollie,” said Bab, tying her tennis shoe, “I do notice how rude Gladys is. She left me standing all alone the other afternoon, when Ruth and Grace had gone into the club house to speak to Aunt Sallie. Friends of Gladys’s came up, and she deliberately turned her back on me and didn’t introduce me. I felt so out of it! Mrs. Post and Mrs. Erwin soon joined them, and they shook hands with me. I found the other people were some guests who had come down for Mrs. Erwin’s ball, next week, and were staying at her house.

“I know,” she continued, “Gladys is furious that we are invited to the dance. Mrs. Erwin was so cordial and nice. She said, right before me, that though the ball was a grown-up affair, she knew Gladys would want her cousins and friends, and she had invited us on her account. Wasn’t it funny? Miss Gladys couldn’t say a word. Goodness knows, she doesn’t want us. She has been lording it over us, for days, because she and Harry were to be the only very young people invited. Gladys imagines herself a woman of society, and is in reality merely a foolish little girl,” said Barbara. Then she added reflectively: “Miss Sallie says we are all too young to ‘go out,’ and she doubts the propriety of allowing us to attend Mrs. Erwin’s ball. Last night she told Ruth she had almost decided against our going. Ruth championed our cause on the strength of the shortness of our stay in Newport, also that we should be permitted to go as a special favor to our hostess. You know Miss Sallie hates to refuse Ruth anything. Consequently we will be ‘among those present’ at Mrs. Erwin’s ball whether Miss Gladys approves or not.”

“I just wish I could tell my lovely Mrs. Cartwright how mean Gladys is,” said Mollie. “She would not ask her to her charity fair.”

“Please don’t say anything, Mollie,” pleaded Barbara, taking her tennis racquet from the bed. She had already answered Ralph’s impatient whistle from the garden below. “It won’t do any good for us to be horrid to Gladys in return; it will only make us seem as hateful as she is. Things will come around, somehow. I don’t mind her—so very much.”

“Well, I do,” answered Mollie. “But you haven’t told me how your score and Ruth’s stand.”

“Oh, I think we are pretty nearly even.” Barbara was half way out the door. “Be careful, Molliekins,” she urged, “if you go rowing with that freshman this afternoon. Why do you want to know about Ruth’s score and mine? It’s a week before the game, and anything may happen before then. We all play pretty evenly; Hugh Post and Ralph Ewing, too.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything, Bab,” Mollie said, thoughtfully. “Only Ruth’s awfully anxious to play in the tournament. She’s just crazy about it.”

“Of course she is, child. So are we all, for that matter,” answered Bab. “You don’t mean——”

“I don’t mean a single thing, Bab Thurston!” said Mollie, a little indignantly.

“Yes, I am coming, at last, Ralph,” Barbara sang softly over the banisters. She had not overcome her awe of Mrs. Ewing. Ralph’s mother was by no means pleased with the idea that her adored Ralph preferred Barbara to any of the other girls.

“It’s like Ralph,” she complained to his father, “to pick out the poorest girl of the lot, when the rich ones are so much more charming. A great way for him to retrieve the family fortunes!”

“We will hope,” said Ralph’s father quietly, “that Ralph will not try to restore our fortunes by marrying for money.”

As Barbara walked down to meet Ralph she looked grave, and her face was flushed. Ruth did want to play in the tournament, but so did she, for that matter! Could she resign in Ruth’s favor? Then Barbara laughed to herself. “Catch a girl like Ruth letting me give up to her! I wonder if it would be fair of me to disappoint Ralph?”

“Come on, Miss Day-dreamer,” ordered Ralph, hurrying her along. “The others have been waiting for us for fifteen minutes down at the Casino courts. Do you know that there is a party on for the afternoon? Ruth and Hugh are to pile as many of us as they can into their motor cars, and take us ten miles out the Ocean Drive. We are to stop at Mrs. Duffy’s English tea place on our way back.”

Bab was certainly not playing in good form today. She even missed one of Gladys’s serves, which were usually too soft to count. When the morning’s practice was over, Ruth’s and Hugh’s score was two points ahead.

“Who is going to play in the tournament from these courts?” asked Mrs. Cartwright, crossing the lawn, her tennis racquet swinging in her hand. Mollie was close beside her, also “that freshman,” who followed Mollie wherever she went.

“Bab,” answered Ruth, coming up to smile at Mrs. Cartwright, who was looking prettier than usual in her tennis blouse of pale pink madras with a linen skirt of the same shade.

“What a funny Gladys!” Mrs. Cartwright laughed as the other girls joined her. “You are following our latest Newport fad, are you not, of having your head wrapped in a chiffon veil while you play tennis. You look like a Turkish girl, with only your eyes peeping out.”

Gladys had tied up her head in a pale blue chiffon veil, with a fetching bow just over the ear. The other women who were playing on the courts, with the exception of Mrs. Cartwright and the automobile girls, were draped in the same fashion.

“That suggests a game to me,” continued Mrs. Cartwright. “You must come to my veranda some night and we will play it. It is called ‘eyeology.’ I won’t tell you anything more about it now. Just you wait! But to go back to my first question. Then I am to enter Barbara for the tournament?”

“I should say not, Mrs. Cartwright,” said Barbara, who was standing near. This time she would not let Ruth speak.

“Ruth is certainly the best player among us,” drawled Gladys; “she and Mr. Post; but,” she went on in insinuating tones, “you know there are strange things that can happen in tennis!”

“If you mean, Gladys, that I cheated the other day,” broke out Barbara fiercely, “I simply won’t bear it! I know it is horrid of me to make a scene,” she turned to Ruth with her eyes full of tears, “but this is the second time.”

“Please don’t get excited, Miss Thurston,” cried Gladys scornfully. “I have not said you cheated. It looks a little bit like a case of guilty conscience.”

Harry Townsend smiled knowingly.

Bab, nearly in tears, couldn’t answer, but Ralph and Hugh Post both protested indignantly.

“Please don’t discuss a thing of this kind here,” said Mrs. Cartwright, angrily. “We don’t allow quarreling on the Casino courts. I am surprised at you, Barbara. You were accused of nothing.”

Mollie’s eyes were black, instead of their usual lovely blue. She was very indignant, but she was always more of a diplomat than Barbara.

“Lovely lady,” she said, putting her hand in Mrs. Cartwright’s as they moved away, “Gladys did mean that Bab cheated. This is the second time she has said it. Wouldn’t you answer back if you were accused of not playing fair with your very best friend?”

Mrs. Cartwright gave Mollie’s hand a squeeze. “Tell Barbara I am sorry if I was too hard on her, but I don’t like scenes!”

“I wish I could get an excuse to pummel that Harry Townsend!” muttered Ralph indignantly to Hugh, when the girls had gone home. “I can’t take it out on Gladys, for she’s a girl. That Townsend fellow’s nothing but a sneak. He just stands round and smiles and says nothing, until he puts me in a rage!”

“Oh, don’t fight, Ralph,” Hugh protested. “I hate that Townsend man, though, as much as you do. He is too infernally polite, for one thing, and he walks on his tiptoes. He comes right up behind you, and you never know where he is until he speaks. I believe he wears rubber soles on his shoes!”

That afternoon, when the automobile parties had finished drinking their tea, Barbara asked Ralph to take a little walk with her in the woods. She wanted to ask him something.

“Ralph,” she began, “if I should fall down in my tennis, in the next few days, would you and Hugh play a test game to see which of you is the better man to help Ruth out in the tournament?”

Ralph shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You are not losing your nerve, are you, Bab? Ruth and Hugh are wonderfully good players, but we are as good as the rest of ’em. I’ll take my chances with you.”

“Would you be very, very much disappointed if we lost?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ralph, cheerily, “but I could bear it all right.” He looked hard at Barbara for a minute. Then he said: “Go ahead, Barbara; I think I understand. I am game. And I’ll never breathe it to a soul. Hugh and Ruth would never forgive us, if they found out!”

“Well, Ralph,” said Barbara, “I don’t think there’s going to be any reason for my trying to let Ruth win; she’s a better player than I am, and she will win anyhow, but, in case she shouldn’t, Ruth has been a perfect dear to Mollie and me!”

“Gladys,” said Ruth that night, when the young people were having an informal dance at the Casino, “I shall never forgive you for accusing Barbara of cheating, as you did today. Barbara is perfectly incapable of cheating. I can’t understand why you don’t like her.”

Ruth’s frank face clouded. She was incapable of understanding the petty meannesses in Gladys’s nature.

“Mr. Townsend and I thought differently concerning Miss Thurston,” Gladys replied, “but I have made no accusations, and will make none. You will find things out for yourself, though, when it is too late!”

Mollie was very sympathetic with Barbara that night. Things had not been going well with Bab for several days; she had an unfortunate habit of speaking her mind without thinking, and this trait had gotten her into trouble with Miss Sallie several times. That lady had a profound respect for the rich, while Barbara had been heard to say that some of the most fashionable ideas of Newport were “just nonsense.”

“Bab,” comforted Mollie, “Mrs. Cartwright told me to say she was sorry she had been cross to you. She wants you to be the gypsy fortune-teller at her bazaar. She says you are very clever, and would do it better than anyone else; besides, she thinks no one would know you. She has lots of gypsy things to dress up in.”

“I would much rather be a waitress, like you girls,” Bab declared.

“But you will do what Mrs. Cartwright wants you to, won’t you?” urged Mollie.

“I’ll see,” said Bab.

The automobile girls were seeing Newport indeed! Mrs. Erwin and Mrs. Cartwright were both leaders in society. The girls had not only been invited to Mrs. Erwin’s ball, but to the big dance which took place after the tennis tournament, and Mrs. Cartwright was arranging for a Charity Fair, which was to be the most original entertainment of the Newport season.