The Daughter of Anderson Crow Part 30

"Has it occurred to you that the real leader was in this neighbourhood at the time? In Boggs City, let us say. According to Rosa--Miss Gray's story, the man Sam went out nightly for instructions. Well, he either went to Boggs City or to a meeting place agreed upon between him and his superior. It is possible that he saw this person on the very night of my own adventure. Now, the thing for us to do is to find out if a stranger was seen in these parts on that night. The hotel registers in Boggs City may give us a clew. If you don't mind, Mr. Crow, I'll have this New York detective, who is coming up to-morrow, take a look into this phase of the case. It won't interfere with your plans, will it?" asked Bonner, always considerate of the feelings of the good-hearted, simple-minded old marshal.

"Not at all, an' I'll help him all I can, sir," responded Anderson magnanimously. "Here, Eva, here's a letter fer Rosalie. It's the second she's had from New York in three days."

"It's from Miss Banks. They correspond, Anderson," said Mrs. Crow.

"And say, Eva, I've decided on one thing. We've got to calculate on gittin' along without that thousand dollars after this."

"Why, An--der--son Crow!"

"Yep. We're goin' to find her folks, no matter if we do have to give up the thousand. It's no more'n right. She'll be twenty-one in March, an'

I'll have to settle the guardeens.h.i.+p business anyhow. But, doggone it, Mr. Bonner, she says she won't take the money we've saved fer her."

"She has told me as much, Mr. Crow. I think she's partly right. If she takes my advice she will divide it with you. You are ent.i.tled to all of it, you know--it was to be your pay--and she will not listen to your plan to give all of it to her. Still, I feel that she should not be penniless at this time. She may never need it--she certainly will not as long as you are alive--but it seems a wise thing for her to be protected against emergencies. But I dare say you can arrange that between yourselves. I have no right to interfere. Was there any mail for me?"

"Yep. I almost fergot to fork it over. Here's one from your mother, I figger. This is from your sister, an' here's one from your--your sweetheart, I reckon. I deduce all this by sizin' up the--" and he went on to tell how he reached his conclusions, all of which were wrong.

They were invitations to social affairs in Boston. "But I got somethin'

important to tell you, Mr. Bonner. I think a trap is bein' set fer me by the desperadoes we're after. I guess I'm gittin' too hot on their trail.

I had an ananymous letter to-day."

"A what?"

"Ananymous letter. Didn't you ever hear of one? This one was writ fer the express purpose of lurin' me into a trap. They want to git me out of the way. But I'll fool 'em. I'll not pay any attention to it."

"Goodness, Anderson, I bet you'll be a.s.sa.s.sinated yet!" cried his poor wife. "I wish you'd give up chasin' people down."

"May I have a look at the letter, Mr. Crow?" asked Bonner. Anderson stealthily drew the square envelope from his inside pocket and pa.s.sed it over.

"They've got to git up purty early to ketch me asleep," he said proudly.

Bonner drew the enclosure from the envelope. As he read, his eyes twinkled and the corners of his mouth twitched, but his face was politely sober as he handed the missive back to the marshal. "Looks like a trap, don't it?" said Anderson. "You see there ain't no signature.

The raskils were afraid to sign a name."

"I wouldn't say anything to Miss Gray about this if I were you, Mr.

Crow. It might disturb her, you know," said Bonner.

"That means you, too, Eva," commanded Anderson in turn. "Don't worry the girl. She mustn't know anything about this."

"I don't think it's a trap," remarked Eva as she finished reading the missive. Bonner took this opportunity to laugh heartily. He had held it back as long as possible. What Anderson described as an "ananymous"

letter was nothing more than a polite, formal invitation to attend a "house warming" at Colonel Randall's on the opposite side of the river.

It read:

"Mr. and Mrs. D.F. Randall request the honour of your presence at a house warming, Friday evening, January 30, 190--, at eight o'clock.

Rockden-of-the-Hills."

"It is addressed to me, too, Anderson," said his wife, pointing to the envelope. "It's the new house they finished last fall. Anonymous letter!

Fiddlesticks! I bet there's one at the post-office fer each one of the girls."

"Roscoe got some of the mail," murmured the marshal sheepishly. "Where is that infernal boy? He'd oughter be strapped good and hard fer holdin'

back letters like this," growled he, eager to run the subject into another channel. After pondering all evening, he screwed up the courage and asked Bonner not to tell any one of his error in regard to the invitation. Roscoe produced invitations for his sister and Rosalie. He furthermore announced that half the people in town had received them.

"There's a telegram comin' up fer you after a while, Mr. Bonner," he said. "Bud's out delivering one to Mr. Grimes, and he's going to stop here on the way back. I was at the station when it come in. It's from your ma, and it says she'll be over from Boggs City early in the morning."

"Thanks, Roscoe," said Bonner with an amused glance at Rosalie; "you've saved me the trouble of reading it."

"They are coming to-morrow," said Rosalie long afterward, as the last of the Crows straggled off to bed. "You will have to go away with them, won't you?"

"I'm an awful nuisance about here, I fancy, and you'll be glad to be rid of me," he said softly, his gaze on the blazing "back-log."

"No more so than you will be to go," she said so coolly that his pride suffered a distinct shock. He stole a shy glance at the face of the girl opposite. It was as calm and serene as a May morning. Her eyes likewise were gazing into the blaze, and her fingers were idly toying with the fringe on the arm of the chair.

"By George!" he thought, a weakness a.s.sailing his heart suddenly; "I don't believe she cares a rap!"

CHAPTER XXVI

The Left Ventricle

The next day Mrs. Bonner and Miss Bonner descended upon Tinkletown. They were driven over from Boggs City in an automobile, and their advent caused a new thrill of excitement in town. Half of the women in Tinkletown found excuse to walk past Mr. Crow's home some time during the day, and not a few of them called to pay their respects to Mrs.

Crow, whether they owed them or not, much to that estimable lady's discomfiture.

Wicker's mother was a handsome, aristocratic woman with a pedigree reaching back to Babylon or some other historic starting place. Her ancestors were Tories at the time of the American Revolution, and she was proud of it. Her husband's forefathers had shot a few British in those days, it is true, and had successfully chased some of her own ancestors over to Long Island, but that did not matter in these twentieth century days. Mr. Bonner long since had gone to the tomb; and his widow at fifty was quite the queen of all she surveyed, which was not inconsiderable. The Bonners were rich in worldly possessions, rich in social position, rich in traditions. The daughter, just out in society, was a pretty girl, several years younger than Wicker. She was the idol of his heart. This slip of a girl had been to him the brightest, wittiest and prettiest girl in all the world. Now, he was wondering how the other girl, who was not his sister, would compare with her when they stood together before him.

Naturally, Mrs. Crow and her daughters sank into a nervous panic as soon as these fas.h.i.+onable women from Boston set foot inside the humble home.

They lost what little self-possession they had managed to acquire and floundered miserably through the preliminaries.

But calm, sweet and composed as the most fastidious would require, Rosalie greeted the visitors without a shadow of confusion or a sign of gaucherie. Bonner felt a thrill of joy and pride as he took note of the look of surprise that crept into his mother's face--a surprise that did not diminish as the girl went through her unconscious test.

"By George!" he cried jubilantly to himself, "she's something to be proud of--she's a queen!"

Later in the day, after the humble though imposing lunch (the paradox was permissible in Tinkletown), Mrs. Bonner found time and opportunity to express her surprise and her approval to him. With the insight of the real aristocrat, she was not blind to the charms of the girl, who blossomed like a rose in this out-of-the-way patch of nature. The tact which impelled Rosalie to withdraw herself and all of the Crows from the house, giving the Bonners an opportunity to be together undisturbed, did not escape the clever woman of the world.

"She is remarkable, Wicker. Tell me about her. Why does she happen to be living in this wretched town and among such people?"

Whereupon Bonner rushed into a detailed and somewhat lengthy history of the mysterious Miss Gray, repeating it as it had come to him from her own frank lips, but with embellishments of his own that would have brought the red to her cheeks, could she have heard them. His mother's interest was not a.s.sumed; his sister was fascinated by the recital.

"Who knows," she cried, her dark eyes sparkling, "she may be an heiress to millions!"

"Or a princess of the royal blood!" amended her mother with an enthusiasm that was uncommon. "Blood alone has made this girl what she is. Heaven knows that billions or trillions could not have overcome the influences of a lifetime spent in--in Winkletown--or is that the name?

It doesn't matter, Wicker--any name will satisfy. Frankly, I am interested in the girl. It is a crime to permit her to vegetate and die in a place like this."

"But, mother, she loves these people," protested Bonner lifelessly.

"They have been kind to her all these years. They have been parents, protectors--"

"And they have been well paid for it, my son. Please do not misunderstand me, I am not planning to take her off their hands. I am not going to reconstruct her sphere in life. Not by any means. I am merely saying that it is a crime for her to be penned up for life in this--this desert. I doubt very much whether her parentage will ever be known, and perhaps it is just as well that it isn't to be. Still, I am interested."

"Mamma, I think it would be very nice to ask her to come to Boston for a week or two, don't you?" suggested Edith Bonner, warmly but doubtfully.