CHAPTER XIII
WASHINGTON MONUMENT
"You're up early!" the gentleman greeted Betty cordially. "Guessyou're ahead of even Esther, who usually leads the van. Sleep well?That's good," as she nodded. "No troubles this bright morning?"
Betty gave him a grateful glance.
"I can't help it," she said bravely. "You know how I feel, cominghere like this--you don't know me--"
"No-o," drawled Mr. Littell, pulling forward a gay-cushioned chairand motioning for her to sit down. ("Can't have any manners when yourfoot is smashed," he explained in an aside.) "No, Betty, it's true wedon't know you. But mother and I think we know a nice girl when wesee her, and we're glad to have you stay with us just as long as youcan feel comfortable and at home. If I were you, I'd just bury theseuneasy feelings you speak of. Fact is, I'll give you two good reasonswhy you should make us a little visit. One is that if we had had thepleasure of your acquaintance you would have had a regular letterfrom mother weeks ago, asking you to come and spend the summer withus. The second is that I know how your uncle would feel to think ofyou alone in the city or the country. Guess how I'd take it if one ofmy own daughters was waiting for word from me and no one made thingspleasant for her. Won't you shake hands and make a bargain with methat you'll try to see our side of it, your uncle's and mine, andthen just plan to have a happy time with the girls until we can reachhim in the West?"
Betty placed her small hand in the larger one held out to receiveit, and smiled back at Mr. Littell. He had a smile very few peoplecould resist.
"That's better," he said with satisfaction. "Now we're friends. And,remember, I'm always ready to give advice or listen. That's whatfathers and uncles are for, you know. And I'd like to have you lookon me as a second Uncle Dick."
Thus encouraged, Betty briefly outlined for him her story, touchinglightly on her experiences at Bramble Farm, but going into detailabout Bob Henderson, her uncle, and her pleasant recollections ofPineville.
By the time she had finished, the four girls had joined them on theterrace and presently a table was brought out and spread with acloth, and, Mrs. Littell following the maid with a silver coffee urn,breakfast was served.
"The girls will want to go into town to-day, I suppose," said themotherly lady, selecting the brownest muffin for Betty and signalingher husband to see that the maid served her an extra portion ofomelet. "I have some shopping to do, so I'll go in with them in thecar. But I absolutely refuse to 'do' the Monument again."
"Poor mother!" laughed Bobby. "She hates to ride in an elevator, andyet I know by actual count she's gone up in the Monument a dozentimes."
"I suppose every one who comes to Washington wants to gosightseeing," said Betty Littell, or, as she must begin to be callednow, Libbie, "I know how it is in our little town at home. There'sjust one monument--erected to some Revolutionary hero--and I getfairly sick of reading the inscription to all the visiting aunts anduncles."
"Well, I like to go around," declared the energetic Bobby. "But justonce I had an overdose. We had a solemn and serious young theologicalstudent who made notes of everything he saw. He was devoted towalking, and one of his favorite maxims was never to ride when hecould walk. He dragged me up every one of those nine hundred steps inthe Washington Monument and down again, and I was in bed for two days."
"Wait till you see the steps, and you'll understand," said Louise toLibbie and Betty. "If you try to walk down you're apt to get awfullydizzy."
After breakfast Carter brought the car around, and Mr. Littellhobbled to the door to see them off.
"Betty wants to send a telegram to her uncle," he said in an asideto his wife, while she stood at the long glass in the hall adjustingher veil. "Better help her, for she'll feel that she is doingsomething. If Gordon is in the oil regions, as I think from what shetells me he is, there isn't much chance of a telegram reaching himany quicker than a letter. However, there's no use in dampening herhopes."
"Now we'll drop you at the Monument," planned Mrs. Littell, as thecar bore them down the driveway. "You can walk from there to thatpretty tea-room--what is its name, Bobby?--can't you?"
"The Dora-Rose, you mean, Mother," supplied Bobby. "Of course we canwalk. But Carter is taking the longest way to the Monument."
"We're going to the station first," answered her mother. "Bettywants to send her uncle a telegram, and Carter is going to leavedirections to have the trunks sent up to the house. You have yourbaggage checks, haven't you, girls?"
They produced them, and Carter slipped them into his pocket. Bettyhad leisure and opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the handsomebuilding as they approached it this perfect morning, and she couldnot help exclaiming.
"Yes, it is fine, every one says so," admitted Bobby, with thecarelessness of one to whom it was an old story. "Finer, daddy says,than the big terminals in New York."
Libbie had the advantage of being the only one of the girls who hadbeen to New York.
"This has lots more ground around it," she pronounced critically."Course in a city like New York, they need the land for otherbuildings. But you just ought to see the Pennsylvania Station there!"
"All right, take your word for it," said Bobby. "Where do we go tosend a telegram, Momsie?"
Mrs. Littell smiled.
"Betty and I are all who are necessary for that little errand," shesaid firmly. "The rest of you stay right in the car."
Carter opened the door for them and then went in search of thebaggage man. Betty and Mrs. Littell found the telegraph window and ina few minutes a message was speeding out to Richard Gordon, FlameCity, Oklahoma, telling him that his niece was in Washington, givingher address and asking what he wished her to do.
"I'll write him a letter to-night," promised Mrs. Littell when thiswas accomplished. "Then he'll know that you are in safe hands. Youmust write to him, too, dear. Flame City may consist of one shack anda hundred oil wells and be twenty miles from a post-office, you know."
Carter reported that the trunks were already on their way toFairfields, and now the car was turned toward the gleaming Monumentthat seemed to be visible from every part of the city, Betty, hermind relieved by the sending of the telegram, abandoned herself tothe joys of sightseeing. Here she was, young, well and strong, in aluxurious car, surrounded by friends, and driving through one of themost beautiful cities in the United States. Any girl who, under thosecircumstances, could remain a prey to doubts and gloom, would indeedbe a confirmed misanthrope.
The car was stopped at one of the concrete walks leading to the baseof the Monument, and with final instructions as to the time and placethey were to meet her, Mrs. Littell drove away.
"Why, there's a crowd there!" cried Libbie in wonder.
"Waiting to be taken up," explained Louise. "Come on, we'll have tostand in line."
The line of waiting people extended half way around the Monument.The girls took their places, and when the crowd streamed out and theywere permitted to go inside, Betty and Libbie, the two strangers,understood the reason for the delay. The elevator seemed huge, but itwas quickly filled, and when the gates were closed the car began tomount very slowly.
"We'd be sick and dizzy if they went up as fast as they do indepartment stores and office buildings," said Bobby. "It takes aboutfifteen minutes to reach the top. Watch, and you'll see lots ofinteresting things on the floors we pass."
Betty was wondering how Bobby had ever survived the climb up thestairs and the trip down again with the enthusiastic theologicalstudent, when a cry somewhere in the back of the car startled her.
"What's the matter?" demanded the elevator operator, without turninghis head.
"John isn't here!" declared a hysterical feminine voice. "Oh, can'tyou stop the car and go down and get him? He pushed me in, and Ithought he was right behind me. Aren't you going back?"
"Can't, Madam," was the calm answer. "Have to finish the trip. Youcan go right back with the next load."
"Oh, goodness gracious," moaned the voice. "What'll I do? If I gobac
k I may miss him. If I wait at the top it will be half an hour.Suppose he walks up? Maybe I'd better start to walk down to meet him."
Bobby stifled a giggle with difficulty.
"Bride and groom," she whispered to Betty. "Washington's full of'em. Guess the poor groom was lost in the shuffle. Is she pretty--canyou see?"
Betty tried to look back in the car, though the press of passengersstanding all about her made it difficult. The bride was easilyidentified because she was openly crying. She was an exceedinglypretty girl, modishly gowned and apparently not more than twentyyears old.
"We'll get hold of her and persuade her to wait," planned Bobby."I'll show her the sights to amuse her while we're waiting for thenext elevator load to come up. Here we are at the top."
A crowd was waiting to descend, and as they walked from theelevator, the bride meekly following, Bobby plucked her sleeve.
"Excuse me," she said bluntly, but with a certain charm that was herown, "I couldn't help hearing what you were saying. Your husbandmissed the elevator, didn't he?"
The bride blushed and nodded.
"Well, don't try to walk down," advised Bobby. "I did it once, andwas in bed for two days. He'll come up with the next load. No oneever walks up unless they are crazy--or going to theologicalseminary. Your husband isn't a minister, is he?"
"Oh, no, he's a lawyer," the bride managed to say.
"All right," approved Bobby, noting with satisfaction that theelevator gate had closed. "Come round with us and see the sights, andthen when your husband comes up you can tell him all the news. Thisis Betty Gordon, Libbie Littell and Louise, Esther and Bobby Littell,all at your service."
"I'm Mrs. Hale," said the bride, stumbling a little over the nameand yet pronouncing it with obvious pride.