CHAPTER XXIV. ROMANCE BUDDING
Two weeks have passed since the evening upon which Bobs and her newfriend, Ralph Caldwaller-Cory, drove together in Central Park and toldeach other briefly the story of their lives. It does not take interestedyoung people long to become acquainted and these two had manyopportunities to be together, for were they not solving the Pensingermystery, and was it not of paramount importance that the poor defraudedheir of all those idle millions should be found and made happy with hisrightful possessions? Of course no other motive prompted Ralph, therising young lawyer, to seek the companionship of his detective-partner,not only daily but often, in the morning, afternoon and evening.
They had sought clues everywhere in the mansion, but the great old roomshad failed to reveal aught that was concealed. Too, they had long drivesin the little red car that its owner called "The Whizz," and thesefrequently took them far away from the thronged East Side along countryroads where, quite undisturbed, they could talk over possible clues andplan ways to follow them.
And all this time Roberta really thought that Ralph's interest in her wasimpersonal, for the lad dreaded revealing his true feeling until sheshowed some even remote sign of being interested in him.
"If I tell Bobs that I care for her, it might queer the whole thing," wasone thought suggested to him as he rode home alone one night through thequiet park. Another thought was more encouraging. It suggested, "But agirl's pride won't let her show that she cares. There is only one way tofind out, and that is to ask." And still another assured him, "There isevery reason why Roberta Vandergrift should be pleased. You, Ralph, havewealth and position, and can restore to her all that she has lost."
"Lots you know about Bobs," the lad blurted out as though someone reallyhad spoken to him. "My opinion is that Roberta isn't really grown upenough as yet to think of love. She considers her boy friends more asbrothers, and that's what they ought to be, first and foremost. I'll bidemy time, but if I do lose Bobs, it will be like losing Desmond all overagain."
Meanwhile, although no progress had been made in solving the mystery,much progress was being made in other directions.
Gloria, with Bobs and Ralph, had attended a Sunday afternoon meeting ofthe Boy's Club and Mr. Hardinian had walked home with them and hadremained for tea. He was very glad to have an opportunity to talk with ayoung woman whose interest in welfare work paralleled his own, especiallyas he had one rather wayward boy whom he believed needed mothering morethan all else.
Gloria's heart indeed was touched when she heard the sad story that theyoung man had to tell, and she gladly offered to do what she could.
She invited the wayward boy to one of her game evenings at the SettlementHouse, and in teaching him to play honestly she not only won his ardentdevotion but also saved him from being sent to the island reformatory forpetty thievery.
After that Mr. Hardinian frequently called upon Gloria when he neededadvice or help.
The little old book shop, during the eventful two weeks, had started, orso it would seem, on a very successful business career.
Because of the little memorandum that she had made in her note book onthe day that Nell Wiggin had first telephoned to her, Mrs. Doran-Ashleydid tell the ladies who attended the next model tenement board meetingabout the shop, and asked them to visit it, which they did, beingsincerely interested in all that pertained to their venture. And not onlydid they buy books, but they left others to be sold on commission. Oneglance at the fine face of the lad who was bookseller made them realizethat, crippled as he might be, he would not accept charity.
"How's business this hot day?" Bobs asked early one morning, as she pokedher head in at the door. She was on her way down to the Fourth AvenueBranch of the Burns Detective Agency, where she went every day to do afew hours' secretarial work for Mr. Jewett.
"We had a splendid trade yesterday," the lad replied, as he looked upfrom the old book of poetry which he was reading. And yet, since he helda pencil, Bobs concluded that he was also writing verse as theinspiration came.
"How so?" she inquired.
"The shop had a visit from no less a personage than Mr. Van Loon, themillionaire book collector, of whom you told me. He bought severalvolumes that I hadn't supposed were worth a farthing, and what he paidfor them will more than cover our expenses up to date. I wonder how hehappened to know about this out-of-the-way shop?"
"Oh, I guess he goes nosing around after old books, sort of ferrets themout, like as not. Well, so long! I'm mighty glad our shop is financiallyon its feet."
As Bobs went on her way down the crowded First Avenue she smiled toherself, for it was she who had sent Mr. Van Loon a business-like letterannouncing the opening of an old book shop, feeling sure that he wouldnot miss an opportunity of seeing it if it held something that he mightdesire.
Fifteen minutes after her departure, Dean again heard the door open, andthis time a dear little boy of three darted in and hid beneath abook-covered counter, peering out to whisper delightedly, "I'se hidin'!Miss May, her's arter me."
Almost immediately the pursuer, who was Lena May Vandergrift, appeared inthe doorway. The young bookseller was on his feet at once and there was asudden light in the dreamy brown eyes that told its own story.
"Good morning, Dean," the girl said. "Have you seen Antony Wilovich? Itold him to wait out in front for me so that he could escort me to theSettlement House this morning."
Dean smiled knowingly and replied, which was his part of the game: "Well,well, has that little scamp run away again somewhere, and hidden? I guesshe doesn't love his Miss May or he wouldn't do that."
This always proved too much for the little fellow in hiding, and fromunder the counter he would dart, his arms extended. Then the girl,stopping, would catch him in a loving embrace. "I do so love Miss May,"the child would protest. "I loves her next most to my muvver over dere."A chubby finger would point, or the golden head would nod, in thedirection of the rickety tumble-down tenement across the way, the veryone which Miss Selenski, the former agent of the model tenement, hadcalled a "fire trap."
This little game of hide-and-seek took place every morning, for Lena Mayhad promised the "muvver over dere," who was slowly dying of consumption,that she would call for Tony, take him to the Settlement sandpile andreturn him safely at noon.
If this was a merry moment each day for little Tony, it was to DeanWiggin much more. The sweet, sympathetic girl, in her pretty muslin dressand flower-wreathed hat, suggested to the lad from the country all thathe most loved, the fragrance of blossoms, the song of birds, and thepeace of the meadow-pool at noon time. When she was gone, with a friendlybackward nod at the crippled bookseller, he would always read poetry ortry to write one that would express what Lena May was to him, to littleTony, or to the invalid mother who trusted her with her one treasure.
And so that two weeks had raised the curtain upon three dreams, but oneof them was to become a tragedy.