Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie Part 5

chuckled Helen.

"This is no laughing matter, dear," whispered Ruth, watching the curly-haired boy closely. "Having gotten rid of his disguise, there was no reason why that boy should not stay aboard the steamboat."

"No; I suppose not," admitted Helen, rather puzzled.

"And if it is Curly-"

"Oh, goodness me! we don't even know that Henry Smith has run away!"

exclaimed Helen.

Instantly the boy near them started. He rose and clung to the rail for a moment. But he did not look back at the two girls.

Ruth had clutched Helen's arm and whispered: "Hus.h.!.+" She was not sure whether the boy had heard or not. At any rate, he did not look at them, but walked slowly away. They did not see his face at all.

CHAPTER IV-THE CAPES OF VIRGINIA

Ruth and Helen did not think of going to bed until long after Absecon Light, off Atlantic City, was pa.s.sed. They watched the long-spread lights of the great seaside resort until they disappeared in the distance and Ludlum Beach Light twinkled in the west.

The music of the orchestra came to their ears faintly; but above all was the murmur and jar of the powerful machinery that drove the s.h.i.+p. This had become a monotone that rather got on the girls' nerves.

"Oh, dear! let's go to bed," said Helen plaintively. "I _don't_ see why those engines have to pound so. It sounds like the tramping of a herd of elephants."

"Did you ever hear a herd of elephants tramping?" asked Ruth, laughing.

"No; but I can imagine how they would sound," said Helen. "At any rate, let's go to bed."

They did not see the curly-haired boy; but as they went in to the ladies' lavatory on their side of the deck, they came face to face with the queer woman with whom they had already had some trouble.

She glared at the two girls so viperishly that Helen would never have had the courage to accost her. Not so Ruth. She ignored the angry gaze of the lady and said:

"I hope you have found your ticket, ma'am?"

"No, I haven't found it-and you know right well I haven't," declared the short-haired woman.

"Surely, you do not believe that my friend and I took it?" Ruth said, flus.h.i.+ng a little, yet holding her ground. "We would have no reason for doing such a thing, I a.s.sure you."

"Oh, I don't know what you did it for!" exclaimed the woman harshly.

"With all my experience with you and your kind I have never yet been able to foretell what a rattlepated schoolgirl will do, or her reason for doing it."

"I am sorry if your experience has been so unfortunate with schoolgirls," Ruth said. "But please do not cla.s.s my friend and me with those you know-who you intimate would steal. We did not take your ticket, ma'am."

"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Helen, under her breath.

The woman tossed her head and her pale, blue eyes seemed to emit sparks.

"You can't tell me! You can't tell me!" she declared. "I know you girls.

You've made me trouble enough, I should hope. I would believe anything of you-_any_thing!"

"Do come away, Ruth," whispered Helen; and Ruth seeing that there was no use talking with such a set and vindictive person, complied.

"But we don't want her going about the boat and telling people that we stole her ticket," Ruth said, with indignation. "How will that sound?

Some persons may believe her."

"How are you going to stop her?" Helen demanded. "Muzzle her?"

"That might not be a bad plan," Ruth said, beginning to smile again.

"Oh! but she _did_ make me so angry!"

"I noticed that for once our mild Ruth quite lost her temper," Helen said, delightedly giggling. "Did me good to hear you stand up to her."

"I wonder who she is and what sort of girls she teaches-for of course she _is_ a teacher," said Ruth.

"In a reform school, I should think," Helen said. "Her opinion of schoolgirls is something awful. It's worse than Miss Brokaw's."

"Do you suppose that fifteen years of teaching can make any woman hate girls as she certainly does?" Ruth said reflectively. "There must be something really wrong with her-"

"There's something wrong with her looks, that's sure," Helen agreed.

"She is the dowdiest thing I ever saw."

"Her way of dressing has nothing to do with it. It is the hateful temper she shows. I am afraid that poor woman has had a very hard time with her pupils."

"There you go!" cried Helen. "Beginning to pity her! I thought you would not be sensible for long. Oh, Ruthie Fielding! you would find an excuse for a man's murdering his wife and seven children."

"Yes, I suppose so," Ruth said. "Of course, he would have to be insane to do it."

They returned to their stateroom. It was somewhat ghostly, Helen thought, along the narrow deck now. Ruth fumbled at the lock for some time.

"Are you sure you have the right room?" Helen whispered.

"I've got the right room, for I know the number; but I'm not sure about the key," giggled Ruth. "Oh! here it opens."

They went in. Ruth remembered where the electric light bulb was and snapped on the light. "There! isn't this cozy?" she asked.

"'Snug as a bug in a rug,'" quoted Helen. "Goodness! how sharp your elbow is, dear!"

"And that was my foot you stepped on," complained Ruth.

"I believe we'll have to take turns undressing," Helen said. "One stay outside on the deck till the other gets into bed."

"And we've got to draw lots for the upper berth. What a climb!"

"It makes me awfully dizzy to look down from high places," giggled Helen. "I don't believe I'd dare to climb into that upper berth."

"Now, Miss Cameron!" cried Ruth, with mock sternness. "We'll settle this thing at once. No cheating. Here are two matches--"

"Matches! Where did you get matches?"