The Outdoor Girls Around the Campfire by Laura Lee Hope (top 10 best books of all time TXT) 📕

CHAPTER VII
THE DEATH OF A CLIENT

The next few days were crowded with final preparations for the trip. Although the girls had assured themselves that there would be “nothing to do” to get ready, they found, as usual, that there was a great deal more to do than they had counted on.

But at last everything was ready, the last utensil packed, and the last “canned heat” can crammed into its appointed place. The Gem had been overhauled by loving hands, its decks “swabbed” and its brasses scoured till they shone like gold.

And as they stood regarding their work and realized that at last everything was finished, Mollie proposed that they all come over to her house that evening for a little farewell party, they being scheduled to start early the following morning.

“The party will be very exclusive,” Mollie declared, “including only the four boys and our four selves.”

“And we’ll shoo the boys home early,” said Betty, preparatory to hurrying home for a hasty dinner. “If we hope to get a reasonably good start in the morning Grace will have to be in bed by eleven.”

At this direct insult Grace drew herself up haughtily.

“Speak for yourself, old dear,” she said, at which the girls chuckled derisively, thus adding insult to injury.

And so came the evening and with it three of the boys in fine spirits and ready for “a bang-up time,” as they expressed it. There was only one thing that checked the hilarity, and that was Allen’s absence.

Although she tried to join in the fun as if nothing was amiss, Betty’s eyes constantly wandered to the door and she grew anxious as the time passed and still no Allen appeared.

Finally Mollie cornered her and asked a question.

“Didn’t Allen say he’d be here, honey?” she asked, with a glance at the clock.

“He said he might be a little late,” interrupted Frank Haley, who had overheard the question. “Said he had a little business to attend to.”

“Mighty busy chap, Allen, these days,” added Roy, admiringly. “If his reputation grows much bigger I guess this little town won’t be able to hold him.”

“Oh, bother work,” said Mollie, crossly. “Who wants to work, anyway, when they might have a good time?”

“I guess he doesn’t want to,” Betty spoke up, gravely, and as though they realized that there was something behind her words they looked at her expectantly.

“Hand us the news, Betty,” commanded Roy.

“He’s drawing up a will for an old man who doesn’t seem to know his own mind,” replied Betty promptly. “As soon as he draws up a will he tears it up and sets to work making another one.”

“Lots of fun for Allen,” commented Grace. “I should think he’d tell the old man to get another lawyer.”

“Guess he’d rather do it himself,” said Betty, her eyes once more wandering to the door. “You see he thinks he’s got wind of some mystery connected with his crusty client, and you know what Allen is when he smells a mystery.”

“Regular old sleuth-hound,” agreed Will Ford, with a grin. “Always told Allen he should have been a detective instead of a no-’count lawyer. Don’t look at me that way, Betty. I promise never to do it again.”

As a matter of fact Betty had not looked at him at all, being too busy watching the door. But she did look at him now, just long enough to send him one withering glance.

“Well, all I have to say is,” said Mollie, indignantly, “that if Allen passes up my perfectly good party, just for the sake of drawing up a worthless old will, then all I say is——”

“Say it to my face, woman, say it to my face,” commanded a laughing voice, and Allen stepped into the room.

Mollie giggled and promptly forgot to be indignant.

“You know what I think of eavesdroppers, don’t you?” she countered, and Allen grinned.

“I wasn’t,” he said. “I could hear your voice raised in anger, fair maid, all the way down to the corner.”

“Goodness, I didn’t know it was as penetrating as all that,” she said, adding, with an hospitable wave of her hand: “Come in, stranger, come in. Hang up your hat and make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” returned Allen, and was immediately the center of merry bantering.

“How is our famous sleuth this evening?” queried Frank. “Have you run the villain to earth or is he still running?”

“Give us the inside stuff, old boy,” urged Roy, leaning forward confidentially. “Has the old gentleman left you all his money or only a couple of millions? Don’t be close, old man. Remember, we’re all your friends.”

“I doubt it,” retorted Allen, and over the heads of the “rabble” exchanged a glance with Betty. “I judge from your remarks,” he said then, “that Betty has told you about my mysterious old client and his taste in wills.” His voice lowered and his face took on the grave look which it so often wore of late. “The poor old man has made his last will. He is dead.”

A silence fell upon them all and they felt suddenly and solemnly depressed. Death, even the death of a stranger, is not a thing to be taken lightly.

Mollie was the first to rally.

“I don’t see why you should tell us about it,” she said, reproachfully. “Didn’t you know it would spoil our party?”

“I don’t know why it should,” said Allen, shaking off the thoughtful mood with an effort. “None of you knew the old man and we can’t help him any by glooming. I reckon he’s happier now than he has been for a good while, anyway.”

They all felt, as Betty had felt the night when Allen had first spoken to her about his client, that he knew a great deal more than he was at liberty to talk about, and though, their curiosity aroused, they pressed him for details, they soon found that the attempt was useless. When Allen once made up his mind not to talk, wild horses could not draw another word from him.

But this did not keep them from wondering considerably what Allen knew about the queer old man and why he would not talk to them of what he knew.

But as the evening wore on they gradually forgot everything but the good time they were having—all that is, but Allen and one other. That other was the Little Captain.

Underneath Allen’s forced gayety she saw that he was grave, that something was on his mind, and she longed to help him. But Allen guessed nothing of this. As he watched Betty, laughing and gay, the center of all the fun, as she always was, it was little wonder he did not guess how serious her thoughts were. He was a little resentful, too, because he had so little chance to be near her.

When they danced and he started for Betty it seemed as though everybody in the room got in his way and one of the other boys whisked her off beneath his very nose.

“Too slow, Allen,” Roy called once, as he whirled the Little Captain off to the music. “You think you’re popular, but I’ll say Betty can give you points.”

Allen grunted and made for the seclusion of Mollie’s side porch. He wasn’t in the mood for music and dancing anyway, and as for Betty, she did not seem to know he was in the world.

Lost in gloomy reflection he was startled by a light touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see Betty herself smiling impishly down at him. He caught her hand and drew her down on the couch beside him. It—the couch—was a wicker one of the porch furniture variety and a more uncomfortable object to sit on could hardly be imagined. However, if either Betty or Allen was uncomfortable, neither of them noticed the fact.

“So you did notice me hanging around on the outskirts of the crowd,” he reproached her, adding with a sigh: “My, but it’s good to get you out here away from all that.”

By “that” he evidently meant the music and Betty leaned forward, her brow a little puckered.

“You’re worrying about that poor old man who died to-night. I know it!” she said, adding before he could interrupt: “Is there anything you can tell me, Allen, just to get it off your mind? I’d like to help if you’d let me.”

Allen covered her hand with his and for just a moment she let him do it.

“I’d tell you if I could tell any one,” he said gratefully. “You know that, Betty. But I can’t say any more just now.”

“Then come in and dance,” said Betty, jumping to her feet in one of her swift changes of mood. “We can’t stay out here, you know.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Well, it isn’t being done,” said Betty whimsically, adding, with apparent innocence: “Listen, that’s a waltz, isn’t it? Frank just loves to waltz with me!”

“You little wretch!” laughed Allen, as he followed her into the brightly lighted room.