CHAPTER XXIII

THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE WATCH

Cora Kimball was turning away from the antique shop as indifferently as

if nothing there interested her. The other girls looked at her aghast.

Bess could scarcely be motioned to silence, for the "little mahogany

man" came to close the door of the tonneau, incidentally to look over

his customers.

"If you come again in a day or so," he said to Cora, "I will have

tables," and he rolled his eyes as if the tables were to come from no

less a place than heaven itself. "Oh, such tables!"

"I may," replied Cora vaguely. "But I fancy I may have a seaman's

table made. I would not be particular about an original."

"Wait, wait!" exclaimed the man. "If you do not care for an original I

could make a copy. The one I am to get is something very, very

original, and I will have it here. There is no law against making one

like it."

"Well," said Cora, "I will be in Breakwater for a few days, and I may

call in again. There," as he handed in her blue plates, "these are

splendid. Mother has a collection of Baronials."

Then they started off.

Bess drove up to the Whirlwind.

"Why in the world didn't you ask who had ordered the table?" she almost

gasped. "If you knew that you could easily have traced it."

"Wait, wait!" exclaimed Cora, in tones so like those of the shop

proprietor that the girls all laughed heartily. "I will go to the shop

again, and then I will see. Perhaps I will get the original--and

then--well, wait--just wait."

"You are a natural born clue hunter!" declared Daisy, "and I am just

dying to get back to Aunt May's to tell Duncan."

"Now see here, girls," called Cora very seriously, so that all in-the

different machines might hear her, "this is a matter that must not be

mentioned to any one. It would spoil all my plans if the merest hint

leaked out. Now remember!" and Cora spoke with unusual firmness; "I

must have absolute secrecy."

Every girl of them promised. What is dearer to the real girl than a

real secret--when the keeping of it involves further delights in its

development?

Once back at Bennet Blade the girls whispered and whispered, until Cora

declared they would all, forsooth, be attacked with laryngitis, if they

did not cease "hissing," and she called upon Doctor Bennet to bear out

her statement.

Duncan was going to Chelton, and of course he took the trouble to ask

what he might do there for the Chelton girls.

What he might do? Was there anything he might not do? The Robinson

girls declared that their mail had not been forwarded, and they could

not trust to mails, anyhow, since their father's papers had been lost.

Would it be too much trouble for him just to call? To tell their

mother what a perfectly delightful time they were having, and so on.

And Maud Morris hated to bother him, but could he just stop at

Clearman's and get her magazine? She was reading a serial, and simply

could not sleep nights waiting for the last instalment.

Of course he would go to see his uncle, Dr. Bennet, Sr. In fact, it

was with Dr. Bennet he had the appointment; and when Daisy started to

entrust him with her messages to her father, he insisted that she write

them down--no normal brain could hold such a list, he declared.

Ray was what Bess termed "foxy." She did not ask him to do a single

thing. "She thinks he will fetch her a box of candy, or a bottle of

perfume. That's Ray," declared Bess to Belle.

Cora certainly wanted to send many messages, with the opportunity of

having them go first-hand. It did seem such a long time since she had

seen Jack; then there was Hazel, poor child, penned up with a sick

brother. And Wren and Clip. Why couldn't Cora just run in to Chelton

herself with Duncan?

The thought was all-conquering. It swayed every other impulse in

Cora's generous nature. Why should she stop at the thought of

propriety? Was it not all right for her to ride with Doctor Bennet, to

reach Chelton by noon and return before night?

She must go. She would go if every motor girl went along with her.

Mrs. Bennet was one of those dear women who seem to take girls right to

her heart. As I have said, she was small and rosy, with that

never-fading bloom that sometimes accompanies the rosy-cheeked,

curly-headed girl far into her womanhood. Cora would go directly to

her, and tell her. She would abide by her judgment.

Mrs. Bennet simply said yes, of course. And then she added that Cora

might start off without letting the girls know anything about it. That

would save a lot of explanation.

How Cora's heart did thump! Duncan was going in his machine, and, like

all doctors, he always preferred to have a man drive--his chauffeur was

most skilful--doctors, even when young in their profession, do not

willingly risk being stalled.

But in spite of Cora's one guiding rule--"When you make up your mind

stick to it"--she had many misgivings between that evening when her

plans were made, and the next morning when she was to start off with

Duncan Bennet. The other girls had gone out to an evening play in

Forest Park, one of the real attractions of Breakwater, and at the last

moment Cora excused herself upon some available pretense so that she

was able to get her things together and see that her machine was safely

put up, and then be ready to start off in the morning before the other

girls had time to realize she was going.

"It does seem," she reflected, "that I am always getting runaway

rides." Then she recalled how Sid Wilcox actually did run away with

her once, as related in the "Motor Girls." "And," she told herself, "I

seem to like running away with boys."

This was exactly what worried Cora; she knew that others would be apt

to make this remark. "But I cannot help it this time," she sighed. "I

have to go to Chelton, or--"

Cora was looking very pretty. Excitement seems to put the match to the

flickering taper of beauty, hidden behind the self-control of healthy

maidenhood. Her cheeks were aflame and her eyes sparkled so like

Jack's when he was sure of winning a hard contest.

"Dear old Jack!" she thought. "Won't he be surprised to see me! That

will be the best part of it. They will all be so surprised."

She went down to the study, where she was sure to find Duncan.

"I suppose your mother has told you of my mad impulse," she began

rather awkwardly. "Do you think the folks will be glad to see me?"

What a stupid remark! She had no more idea of saying that than of

saying: "Do you think it will snow?" But, somehow, when he put up his

book and looked at her so seriously, she could not help blundering.

"They ought to be," he said simply. Then she saw that he was

preoccupied--scarcely aware that she was present.

"I beg your pardon," he said directly, "but I was very busy thinking,

just then."

"Oh, I should not have disturbed you," she faltered. "I will go away

at once. I just wanted to be sure that you would wait for me--not run

off and leave me."

"Oh, do sit down," he urged. "My brain is stiff, and I've got to quit

for to-night. I haven't told you what takes me to Chelton--in fact, I

haven't told mother. You see, she thinks I am such a baby that I find

it better not to let her know when I am on a case. But the fact is, I

am just baby enough to want to tell some one."

He arranged the cushions in the big willow chair, and Cora sat down

quite obediently. She liked Duncan--there was something akin to

bravery behind his careless manner. "What he wouldn't do for a

friend!" she thought.

"Your case?" asked Cora. "I am very ignorant on medical matters, but I

should love to hear about the Chelton case. I fancy I know every one

in Chelton."

"Well, you know Uncle Bennet, Daisy's father, is quite a surgeon, and

he has been called in this case by Dr. Collins. It is a remarkable

case, and he has asked me to come in also."

"It is that of a child who has been a cripple for some years, and who

now is making such progress under the physical-training system that she

promises to be cured entirely.

"A child?" asked Cora, her heart fluttering.

"Yes; and I rather suspect that you know her." He seemed about to

laugh. "Uncle mentioned your brother's name in his invitation for me

to go in on the case."

"Oh, tell me," begged Cora, "is it Wren?"

"Just let me see," and he looked over some letters. "It seems to me it

was some such fantastical name--yes, here it is. Her name is Wren

Salvey."

"Oh, my little Wren! And Clip is doing all this! Oh, I must go! Is

she going to be operated upon?"

"Seems to me, little girl," and the young doctor put his hand over hers

as would an elderly physician, "that you are over excitable. I will

have to be giving you a sedative if you do not at once quiet down. The

child is not to be operated upon, as I understand it. It is simply

what we call an observation case."

"But she is at our house--she has been there since I came away. Why,

however can all that be going on at home and no one there but the

housekeeper--"

"The child was at your house, but is now in a private sanitarium," he

said quickly. "I have had the pleasure of being in close

correspondence with your friend Clip."