Billie Bradley and the School Mystery: or, The Girl From Oklahoma
TextCHAPTER XXIII
DAN LARKIN REMEMBERS
Dan Larkin was a character. He stood behind the little counter of his traveling store, sleeves rolled up to display sinewy forearms, small, good-humored eyes twinkling out from masses of puffy flesh, and a derby hat set rakishly on the back of his grizzled head.
He looked from the bill in Billie’s hand to Billie’s face and shook his head waggishly.
“You oughtn’t to startle an old feller like that,” he said. “I ain’t sure where I got that bill, young lady – let’s see, it’s a five dollar one, ain’t it? But one thing’s certain – I come by it honest!”
“I don’t doubt it,” replied Billie, smiling engagingly. “Anyone would know you were honest, just to look at you.”
“Would they now!” exclaimed the old man delightedly. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a powerful long time. I am honest you know – as the day!”
“I’m sure of it,” Billie repeated. “Mr. Larkin,” pushing the bill toward him again, “won’t you please look at this again closely and tell me if you don’t notice anything strange about it?”
“Hm!” said the old man, giving her an extraordinarily shrewd glance from his little, good-humored eyes. “Important, is it?”
“Oh, very, very important!” said Billie.
She waited in an agony of impatience, of mingled hope and fear, while the old man removed one pair of spectacles and replaced them by another. Taking the bill in his hand he peered intently at it.
“A five dollar bill, eh —with a blot on it,” he ruminated. “Now, what’s to be made of that?”
For a long moment he appeared lost in thought, then, with a gesture of regret, pushed the bill across the counter toward Billie.
“Sorry I don’t seem to recollect – ” Then, as Billie’s fingers reached for the bill: “Whoa there! Hold your horses! Sure, I know who give me that five dollars with the spot onto it.” The blue eyes twinkled and danced at Billie from between mounds of flesh. “’Twas Mrs. Maria Tatgood. That’s who ’twas!”
The interior of that quaint place reeled before Billie. She clung to the counter and heard her voice say faintly, joyfully:
“Has – has Mrs. Maria Tatgood been buying much of you lately?”
“Ho! That’s a queer question! But I’ll answer it honestly. That’s my way. Now you come to speak of it, Mrs. Tatgood has been buying quite a lot of me lately.”
“More than she used to?” Billie persisted.
“Quite a good deal more.” The small eyes beamed and danced at her. “Yes, I should say she’s buying quite a good deal more than usual these days. Which is gratifying to an old chap who has to make his living trundling a store about on wheels. Ain’t it, now?”
Billie agreed that it was and, reminded of her own deep obligation to Dan Larkin, she emulated the good example of Mrs. Tatgood and bought several things of him, all of which she could have done very well without.
Scarcely able to believe in her good fortune, Billie returned as quickly as possible to Three Towers Hall. All during the ride in the street car she debated the question as to whether it would be wise to confide her extraordinary news to Laura and Vi.
“Not just yet,” was her decision. “Monday and Tuesday are the days of the tennis tournament. I’ll wait till after that. Meantime,” imitating Mr. Dan Larkin, “I’ll keep my eyes open. Oh, won’t I just!”
The next day Billie went about radiating so much joyfulness that her chums were curious. Some of them even went so far as to be suspicious.
“Billie Bradley looks like the cat who has just swallowed the canary,” said Jessie Brewer. “I wonder,” musingly, “if she could have had a hand in the disappearance of that Gift Club money!”
“Don’t be a goose!” said her companion shortly. “Billie Bradley would never steal anything!”
However, the seed of doubt had been planted, and it grew!
Toward the end of the long pleasant Sunday, Billie’s mood of optimism began to wane somewhat. After all, argued the still, small voice of her pessimism, even though she had turned up a red-hot clue, what right had she to believe that she would be able to follow it through to a successful conclusion? It was not a very convincing clue, she told herself, and she was not very experienced in running down clues or trails of any kind.
If only to-morrow were not the beginning of the tennis tournament! If only – if only —
That night Laura and Vi worked over Billie’s knee, rubbing, massaging, as earnest in their ministrations as any professional trainer.
“I think it will do now,” said Billie, at last. “Thanks so much, girls.”
“But how does the knee feel?” Laura insisted.
“All right, most of the time. Then once in a while when I least expect it, it grows a peculiar kink. I can’t quite explain it, but suddenly all the strength goes out of it and I feel as though I’d either have to sit down or take a nose dive. Never mind!” smiling at their serious faces, “let’s hope it will last through to-morrow. That’s all I ask of it!”
“That’s all you ask of it, yes,” grumbled Vi. “But that’s an awful lot to ask of a weak knee, Billie. I’m worried about it. If you’d only kept off of it this past week or two, it might be all right now. As it is – why, don’t you know that this tournament is important?”
“Don’t I know that this tournament is important! Of course I know! Don’t be silly, Vi.” Then, seeing that Vi looked a little hurt, she went on: “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. But don’t worry. It’ll turn out all right.”
Next day dawned gloomily, with more than a hint of rain in the sky. However, by ten o’clock the sun had come out to stay, the air was crisp and cool – ideal tennis weather.
Almost the entire student body of Three Towers flocked out upon the grounds. Lessons were suspended for the two days of the tournament. The teachers often came to watch a spirited match. It was not unusual for Miss Walters herself to occupy a camp chair close to the courts during the finals.
Billie crashed through the elimination sets, crushing her opponents without mercy.
“There she goes!” cried Vi, gnawing the ends of her fingers in her excitement. “6 – 0, 6 – 2, 6 – 0. Rose is down, and she waves a wicked racket, too. Oh, boy, there’s nobody can stand before Billie to-day!”
“Amanda Peabody is doing just as well. I never saw such pretty work in my life. She seems to be top form.”
Vi turned toward the quiet voice and saw Ray Carew standing beside her. She regarded the girl steadily for a long moment.
“Sounds to me as if you were rooting for Amanda, Ray. Are you?”
Rachael had the grace to flush. She avoided Vi’s direct glance.
“No,” she said, and in a moment walked over to join a friend.
When Vi turned again to watch Billie’s smashing service, her clever backhand, her choppy, certain net-work, the enthusiasm she had felt before was definitely overshadowed.
“Billie is just throwing away everything she has gained here by sticking to that wretched Edina Tooker. I can’t think what she sees in the girl. I never liked her, anyway – not from the very first!”
When Billie limped from the courts after a day of smashing victories, having reached the finals with a defeat of only one game, her first words were of praise for her adversaries.
“They were all good fighters and game losers,” she cried, her eyes shining. “Oh, what a day – what a marvelous day! Where’s Laura?”
“Here! I just stopped to lace my shoe.”
“You’ve reached the finals, too, haven’t you? Marvelous! We’ll double against Amanda and Eliza to-morrow.”
“But, Billie, how is your knee?”
“Gracious! I haven’t had time to think of it. Now you mention it,” with an experimental wriggle of the injured member, “it does hurt a little. Nothing to speak of, though. Oh, what a day!”
Next day, the great day of the finals, dawned bright and clear, though with a hint of rain which no one took note of on the western horizon. By ten o’clock the ring about the courts was packed solid with spectators.
Billie, warming up her service with Laura, vainly searched the ring of faces for Edina Tooker.
“Hiding up in the dormitory, eating her heart out, poor kid,” thought Billie, and dubbed her ball into the net.
“Hey, Billie!” Laura shouted. “Stop your daydreaming and send me the ball. I can’t pose for the Statue of Liberty all day. My arm waxeth weary.”
For revenge Billie patted a ball neatly over her head. Laura swung wildly for it and missed, while a ripple of merriment swept the audience.
“All right for you,” called Laura, good-naturedly. “I’ll get even with you yet!”
Soon after that the real business of the day commenced.
Billie in the singles, Billie and Laura in the doubles, swiftly eliminated all their adversaries except Amanda Peabody and Eliza Dilks.
Then these two girls went down to a decided but in no sense ignominious defeat before the combined powers of Billie and Laura.
When Billie at last faced Amanda Peabody for the last and deciding match of the tournament, an audible sigh broke from the spectators.
“Now,” said Rose Belser, “we are about to see something!”
“It will be a battle of the century,” predicted Connie Danvers.
On the courts Billie waved good-naturedly to Amanda.
“Your serve,” she called. “Ready?”
CHAPTER XXIV
A SMASHING SET
Amanda Peabody had won first serve and her choice of courts. Billie Bradley was handicapped not only by her knee – which was beginning to pain rather severely – but by the fact that the sun was in her eyes.
As Amanda slowly raised her racket for the serve, there was a pleased look on her face. She, too, had noticed Billie’s limp and her loss in speed.
“Ready!” she called.
The ball floated over the net lazily. It looked like an easy one, but Billie knew that serve of old. The ball had a tantalizing habit of stopping far short of that part of the court where you expected it.
Billie was ready and returned the ball neatly just over the net. Amanda raced for it, caught it with a clever, backhand stroke, and dropped it over the net. Billie swung at it viciously and sent it sailing over Amanda’s head for her first point.
“That was good, wasn’t it?” called Billie.
Amanda nodded sullenly.
“Fifteen love!” sang Billie, and set herself for the serve.
From that moment the match settled into one of the grimmest contests ever witnessed on the tennis courts of Three Towers Hall.
Each point was contested fiercely. Amanda and Billie were all over the courts at once; they swung at the ball as though it were a personal enemy; they caressed it deftly into incredible shots that left the spectators mute and tingling with admiration.
“I don’t much care who wins,” cried Connie Danvers, dancing wildly on the sidelines. “I don’t care! I don’t care! This is an exhibition worth waiting a hundred years to see. Go it, Billie! Oh boy, what a back hand! Ah – Amanda’s got it.”
“Forty-thirty,” cried Amanda, with a triumphant grin.
The score in games stood five-four in favor of Amanda. Now she needed only one point to win game and set.
It was Amanda’s serve. Cunningly, she changed her tactics at this critical moment, hoping to catch Billie off guard. Instead of her usual lazy, tricky serve, she sent a smashing ball over the net, carrying it far into the back court.
Billie raced for it, forgetting her injured knee, caught the ball by little less than a miracle of skill, returned it, just missing the top of the net.
Amanda slipped it over neatly and Billie had to run for it again.
On the sidelines Vi wailed:
“She’ll never last it, Laura! Her poor knee! How does she do it?”
“But she does it!” shrieked Laura, her eyes on fire. “Vi, look at that return! She’s got Amanda on the run now! Go it, Billie – go it!”
Billie, knowing that she must save her knee, played close to the net. Never so cool as in an emergency, she juggled the ball, sent Amanda dashing all over the courts like a puppet at the end of a string.
It was such a masterly display as the girls had seldom seen. They were on their feet, shouting, groaning, stamping with their feet.
Billie, cool, steady, saw her opportunity. Amanda, red and perspiring, danced around in the back court, expecting a smashing return.
Billie ran backward, caught the ball neatly on the tip of her racket, landed it teasingly, gently, just inside the net.
Amanda made a gallant dash for it, swung for it, and swooped up a handful of sod on her racket.
“Forty-all,” said Billie and added generously: “Well tried, Amanda.”
That was practically the end of the match, so far as Amanda was concerned. At best, a temperamental, erratic player, she was hopeless when mastered by fury. Now she forgot all the skill and artistry of her game, sent smashing shots to Billie that the latter returned with ease.
Billie won that game, making it five-all, and took the next two on points.
Amanda flung down her racket and followed it from the courts without pausing to shake hands with her successful rival.
Those from the sidelines thronged about Billie, showering her with compliments, dwelling on those few moments at the net when she had showed her complete mastery of the game.
“I never saw such marvelous form!”
“But, Billie, what makes you limp so?”
“Billie may limp, but her game doesn’t!”
The praise was sweet to Billie. She drank it in eagerly, knowing that, for that moment at least, all grudges were forgotten and she was once more first in the hearts of her fellow students.
Espying Edina Tooker on the fringe of the crowd, Billie broke away from the adulation of her schoolmates and went straight to the girl. That glimpse of Edina had served to remind Billie that she was at last free to resume her investigations in the girl’s behalf, to continue the attempt to fasten the guilt for the theft of the Gift Club fund upon the real thief and so absolve Edina.
From the courts, her friends watched Billie greet the ostracized girl and a queer silence settled over them. They were remembering their grievance against Billie Bradley. It was as though a damp cloud settled on their spirits, obliterating their enthusiasm.
“I must say,” sniffed someone in the group, “I think Billie might be less open in her friendship with that horrid girl. I can’t think how she can still cling to her!”
Edina met Billie with outstretched hands.
“You were wonderful!” she cried. “I had to come out. I knew I oughtn’t to, but I had to see you beat Amanda Peabody. If I could play tennis like that!”
“Maybe you will some day,” replied Billie.
Edina caught her up quickly.
“Some day! I’m not going to be here that long, Billie. I’ve got to get away from here – and get away quick.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Come away with me, Edina. I have something to tell you that I think will interest you greatly.”
“May we come, too?” The voice was Laura Jordon’s who, with Vi, had come up so quietly they had not been observed.
“Of course!” cried Billie eagerly. “I wasn’t sure you’d care to hear what I have to say. But I think you will like it —when you hear it. Come along!”
The four girls walked for some distance into the woods along the lakeshore. Then, making sure they were not observed, Billie recounted for the benefit of her interested audience the story of her adventurous day in town and the identification of the smudged five dollar bill by Dan Larkin.
“You see,” she explained, “that five dollar bill with the ink blot on it was part of my contribution to the Gift Club fund. I remember noticing it at the time and thinking that it was a pity to have to give in such a soiled-looking bill. When I recognized it that day in town I decided to trace it back in the hope of finding a clue to the person who stole the rest of the Gift Club money.”
“Did you?” breathed Vi.
“Did I? Listen! I found that an old peddler by the name of Dan Larkin had given the bill to my storekeeper and when I followed up that lead, who do you suppose I found had given the bill to Dan Larkin? A Mrs. Tatgood!”
“Tatgood!” repeated Laura. “Why, that’s the name of one of the dormitory maids, isn’t it?”
“Maria Tatgood has charge of Edina’s dormitory,” Billie pointed out. “The Mrs. Tatgood mentioned by Dan Larkin must be some relative, her mother perhaps.”
“But, Billie, if you think this Mrs. Tatgood is the thief, shouldn’t we notify the police?”
“I thought of that the first thing,” Billie confessed. “But, after all, we have only suspicions to go on so far. What the police want is proof.”
“Then why not get busy and produce the proof?” cried Laura.
“Exactly! We may have to call in the boys to help. In fact, I think it would be a good idea to ask their help. We may need it.”
Vi, who had been eying Billie thoughtfully, blurted out:
“You have some definite plan in mind, Billie. I can tell by the look of you. Come clean now. What is it?”
“Well, I’ll tell you.”
Whereupon Billie outlined her plan. It was that she and Laura and Vi, Edina too, if she liked, would enter into a plot to search Maria Tatgood’s room.
“Vi and I will look through the maid’s things – she is almost certain to have some of the money hidden about the house – while you and Edina, Laura, keep watch to see that we are not interrupted.”
“Now is a good time,” Vi suggested. “Nearly everybody is still on the courts discussing the tournament. Whatever we do will be likely to pass unnoticed.”
“All right. Come ahead!” replied Billie.
The four girls returned to the Hall, entered cautiously by the rear way, and went directly to the servants’ quarters, where they found Maria Tatgood’s room without difficulty.
Billie tried the door and found it unlocked. Feeling like the most desperate of conspirators, she opened the door and slipped inside, motioning to Vi to follow her.
“We’ll have to be quick,” she whispered. “Maria may come back at any time.”
The room contained a bed, a dresser, a washstand, two chairs and a trunk.
“You take the dresser,” Billie directed. “I’ll attend to the trunk.”
The trunk was opened, but on lifting the lid, Billie found it almost empty. A brief search served to assure her that nothing was there.
Vi had a little luck with the dresser. She unearthed fifteen dollars in bills, but at sight of them Billie shook her head in disappointment.
“No good, if we don’t find more than that,” she said.
At the moment there came a soft, insistent scratching at the door, the agreed-upon signal that trouble was brewing.
Billie slammed down the trunk lid. Vi shoved things into the dresser drawer. Outside the room they found Laura and Edina in an agony of impatience.
“Some one is coming! Hurry!”
They whisked about a turn in the corridor just in time to avoid the person whose room they had ransacked. Careful to keep themselves hidden, they watched Maria Tatgood go into her room and shut the door.
When Billie’s companions would have slipped away, anxious to get back to the dormitory, she detained them.
“Let’s watch for awhile,” she proposed. “We may see something of interest. You never can tell.”
Billie afterwards said that her suggestion was prompted by a “hunch.” Be that as it may, the fact remains that Maria Tatgood emerged from her room almost immediately, wearing hat and coat as though ready for an outing. She turned down the corridor toward the servants’ entrance to the Hall.
“Come along!” said Billie impulsively. “Let’s follow her!”
CHAPTER XXV
CAUGHT – CONCLUSION
Billie Bradley and her three companions were without wraps, though they were too excited to think of that. Also, they had had no time to inform the boys at Boxton Military Academy as to their purpose and enlist their help. They were too excited to think of that, either.
They followed Maria Tatgood, always at a discreet distance, through the school gates and along the dusty road.
“Where do you suppose she’s going?” Laura whispered.
“Home!” said Billie “I’ve a notion we are going to make a real discovery this time!”
Maria Tatgood lived in an old house, set well back from the road and surrounded by tall trees. There had been no attempt to cut the grass that grew in reedy abundance to the very steps of the porch. The house itself was in a state of considerable disrepair. A little carpentry work and a coat or two of paint would have made it a much more habitable place.
All these things impressed themselves more or less vividly on the minds of the girls as they watched Maria Tatgood ascend the worn steps of the porch and disappear into the house.
The day had turned dismal and chill. The sun had disappeared under the clouds that by this time had risen from a streak low on the western horizon and covered the zenith. A light, misty rain was falling. There among the trees it was gloomy and dark.
Evidently, the occupants of the house were also in semi-darkness, for, as the girls watched, they saw a light flash up in a room at the rear. From this same room presently came the sound of angry voices.
Billie tugged Vi’s sleeve.
“Come along! Tell Laura and Edina. The folks inside have forgotten to pull the shade down at that window. Thanks to them, we can both see and hear.”
Silently, keeping to the shelter of the trees, the girls crept toward that lighted window. The angry voices were becoming intelligible. The girls could hear phrases, scraps of sentences.
“You’ve spent it! You had no business – ”
“I had no business, didn’t I? I like that! Ain’t I your mother?”
Billie put finger to lips in a gesture of caution and crept closer to the window. Laura pinched Vi’s arm. Edina’s face looked very white in the dusk.
“Just the same,” came the younger voice sullenly, “you ain’t keepin’ to your end of the bargain. We was to split, wasn’t we?”
“Split, is it?” The voice of the older woman rose waspishly. “I should have the big half, anyways. Ain’t I your mother?”
“It was me took all the risks. It was that way in the old days, too, wasn’t it? It was me opened the pocketbooks of the rich women in the stores while you took the money I got out of ’em! Well, it ain’t goin’ to be so no more. We split, or I quit!”
A sullen silence fell upon the room and its occupants. Outside the girls held their breath to listen. After a moment the more youthful voice continued:
“How much you got left of the money?”
“Two hundred dollars. That’s all exceptin’ a few cents in silver – a half a dollar, maybe.”
“You’ve already spent sixty dollars? Well, if that ain’t a rum go!”
Suddenly Edina clutched Billie’s arm.
“Quick! Hide!” she cried. “Somebody’s comin’!”
The watchers had barely time to gain the shelter of the trees when a thick-set figure loomed up through the gloom. A man brushed past them, a man with hunched shoulders and a week’s growth of stubble on his face.
This person stumped around to the rear of the house, a door opened and closed, and soon the two voices within the room were joined by a third.
“Hello, you cats at it ag’in, scratchin’ and clawin’? Where’s my dinner? That’s what I’d like to know. When are you goin’ to git me some grub?”
Billie turned to her companions. They could see her eyes shining in the dull light.
“We’ve heard enough!’” she whispered. “Let’s be getting back.”
They fairly ran down the road to Three Towers Hall. They were scarcely aware that they were cold and dishevelled and pretty well soaked by the misty drizzle. In their minds two facts loomed paramount. They had positively identified Maria Tatgood as the thief, and two hundred dollars of the Gift Club fund still remained in the custody of the unsavory Tatgood family. If they hurried, they still might save that two hundred dollars.
Up the steps of the school they rushed and into the hall, to be met by a group of horrified girls.
“Where have you been?”
“To the wars, if looks count for anything!”
“You big sillies! You are soaked through!”
Connie Danvers pushed through the crowd and plucked Billie anxiously by the sleeve.
“Listen! Eliza Dilks saw you girls leave by the front gate a little while ago. She reported to Amanda. Of course Amanda promptly reported to Miss Walters. She’s up there in Miss Walters’ office now. I’m afraid you are in for it, Billie!”
“Where are you going?” she added, as Billie broke from her and made for the stairs.
From the first step Billie looked down upon the group of curious, upturned faces.
“I am going to see Miss Walters on an important mission,” she said, with a challenging laugh. “You may come, too, if you like!”
Many of the girls availed themselves of this permission and trooped after her. There was a mysterious air about Billie Bradley and her companions that roused their curiosity and warned them to expect developments of an extraordinary character.
The group was joined on the way by new recruits, so by the time Billie and her friends reached the door of Miss Walters’ office about half the student body was trailing at her heels.
“You all wait here,” said Billie to her escort. “I’ll leave the door open just a crack so that you can hear what happens.”
Billie tapped on the door of the office. After a brief pause, Miss Walters’ pleasant voice called, “Come in!”
As Billie pushed open the door she gestured to Vi and Laura and Edina to follow her.
“I can see Amanda in there,” she whispered. “I don’t intend to take my medicine alone!”
Miss Walters looked up as the girls entered. The troubled frown on her face deepened.
“Amanda has just been telling me about you,” she said, tapping her desk with a pencil. “Did you four students leave these grounds without permission?”
“Yes, Miss Walters,” said Billie meekly, and added unnecessarily: “We have just got back.”
“So it seems!” Miss Walters’ frown deepened. She continued the ra-ta-ta-tat with the pencil on the edge of her desk. Amanda’s triumphant smirk grew until it seemed to spread over all of her face.
“You have some explanation?” said Miss Walters, at last.
This was the opportunity for which Billie had waited. Making sure that the door of the office was open so that the girls outside could hear everything she said, she addressed the white-haired, gracious head of Three Towers Hall.
“Miss Walters, I have an explanation. When you hear it I think you will forgive us for leaving the grounds without asking permission.”
Miss Walters inclined her head, half-smiling at Billie’s earnestness.
“Let me hear the explanation,” she said.
Billie drew a long breath and plunged into her story. She began with the founding of the Gift Club and Edina’s elevation to the post of treasurer. She went on through the strange disappearance of the Gift Club fund, dwelling upon Edina Tooker’s distress upon finding herself suspected of the theft.
When she came to the account of her day in town, including the identification of the blotted five dollar bill, Miss Walters’ interest visibly increased. There was an audible sigh from the girls grouped close about the office door. Amanda’s triumphant grin grew slightly less triumphant.
“So you see, the evidence all pointed to the dormitory maid, Maria Tatgood,” Billie pleaded.
Miss Walters nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I see. Please go on.”
“Well, when we saw Maria leave the Hall to-night we felt that there, perhaps, was the chance to establish real evidence – police evidence – against her. We should have asked your permission, Miss Walters, to leave the school grounds, but we really hadn’t time.”
Billie was still pleading her case. Miss Walters nodded as though she understood – as, indeed, she did.
“Go on!”
As Billie proceeded she was vividly aware of the keen interest that greeted her account of the happenings leading up to the positive identification of Maria Tatgood as the thief.
At the startling revelation Amanda’s jaw dropped open. Billie, happening to glance at her, choked back a laugh, which brought on such a dire attack of coughing and strangling that Miss Walters inquired with a smile on her own lips whether she would not feel better for a glass of water.
“No, th-thanks,” stuttered Billie. “I – I’m all right now.”
“About this Maria Tatgood,” said Miss Walters, her face suddenly stern. “If your story is to be trusted – and I have never yet found occasion to question any statement of yours – then this Maria Tatgood and her infamous family must be brought to the attention of the police, and at once. I will attend to it.”
Miss Walters was silent for a moment, tracing thoughtful figures on a scrap of paper. When she looked up the troubled frown had completely vanished from her face.
“You left the school grounds without permission, which is against the rules and so merits rebuke.”
“Yes, Miss Walters,” murmured Billie, her eyes demurely lowered.
“However,” continued the principal in her pleasant, flowing voice, “your conduct was prompted by such exemplary motives that I am tempted to waive punishment for this time. In fact,” Miss Walters flung out her hand toward Billie in a gracious, impulsive gesture, “I must congratulate you, my dear girl, on the persistent loyalty and friendliness you have shown toward Edina Tooker, this sorely misunderstood girl. You are a friend such as I would choose for myself.”
This praise flooded Billie with an emotion that robbed her of words. She could only look her love and gratitude.
Miss Walters said softly:
“Edina! Edina Tooker, come here, my dear.”
Edina approached uncertainly and stood before the gracious, white-haired lady who held her own fate and the fate of all the students of Three Towers Hall in the hollow of her hand.
Miss Walters searched among the papers on her desk and drew forth a letter.
“This communication came to me to-day, Edina. It is from your father and it contains news that I am sure you will be glad to hear.”
Edina looked big and awkward and pitiful as she stood there, nervously twisting her fingers together.
“Your father has struck oil again on his property – a genuine gusher this time. I imagine you will be very, very rich, Edina.”
Miss Walters smiled, as though at some secret thought of her own. Reaching into the letter she drew forth a long yellow slip.
“Your father asked me to give you this check – to help him celebrate, he said.”
Edina took the slip of paper without pausing to read the illiterate scrawl across its face. Her eyes were on Miss Walters’ face.
“You been so awful good to me,” she muttered.
“You are worth being good to, Edina,” said Miss Walters, smiling. “Billie and I have always believed that – haven’t we, Billie?”
Miss Walters held out a hand and Edina slipped her clumsy red one into it. At the touch, all the iron in Edina’s nature suddenly melted before a turbulent flood of emotion.