CHAPTER 13
The Junior Warden
By nine o'clock the next morning, the girls were all at the cottage asusual. Mrs. Mapes had given them materials for a simple cake and Jeanand Bettie were in the kitchen making it. Marjory, singing as sheworked, was running her Aunty Jane's carpet-sweeper noisily over theparlor rug, while Mabel, whistling an accompaniment to Marjory's song,was dusting the sideboard; at all times the cottage furniture receivedso much unnecessary dusting that it would not have been at allsurprising if it had worn thin in spots.
When the doorbell rang suddenly and sharply, Marjory's tune stoppedshort, high in air, and Mabel ran to the window.
"It's a man," announced Mabel.
"Mr. Milligan?" asked Marjory, anxiously.
"He's moved so I can't tell."
"Try the other window," urged Marjory, impatiently.
"It doesn't look like Mr. Milligan's legs--I can't see the rest of him.They look neat and--and expensive."
"Probably it's just an agent; they're kind of thick lately. You go tothe door and tell him we're just pretend people, while I'm putting thesweeper out of sight."
"Good morning," said Mr. Downing. "Are you--Why! this is a very cozylittle place. I had no idea that it was so comfortable. May I come in?"
"Ye-es," returned Mabel, eyeing him doubtfully, "but I think you'reprobably making a mistake. You see, we're not really-truly people."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Downing, with an amused glance at plump Mabel. "Is itpossible you're a ghost?"
"I mean," explained Mabel, "we're just children and this is only aplayhouse, not a real one. If you have anything to sell, or are lookingfor a boarding place, or want to take our census--"
"No," said Mr. Downing, "I don't want either your dollars or yoursenses. My name is Downing and I'm not selling anything. I called onbusiness. Who is the head of this--this ghostly corporation?"
"It has four," said Mabel. "I'll get the rest."
Bettie and Jean, with grown-up gingham aprons tied about their necks,followed Mabel to the parlor. Mr. Downing had seated himself in one ofthe chairs and the girls sat facing him in a bright-eyed row on thecouch. Their countenances were so eager and expectant that Mr. Downingfound it hard to begin.
"I've come in," he said, "to talk over a little matter of business withyou. I understand that you've been having trouble with yourneighbors--exchanging compliments--"
"No," said honest Mabel, turning crimson, "it was apples and tomatoes.The Milligans are the most troublesome neighbors we've ever had."
"So-o?" said the visitor, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise."Why, I understood that it was quite the other way round. I'd like tohear your version of the difficulty."
Jean and Bettie, with occasional assistance from Marjory and muchprompting from Mabel, told him all about it. During the recital Mr.Downing's attention seemed to wander, for his eyes took in every detailof the neat sitting-room, strayed to the prettily papered dining-room,and even rested lingeringly upon the one visible corner of the daintyblue bedroom. Bettie had neglected to close the door between the kitchenand the dining-room, which proved unfortunate, because the tiny scrap ofbutter that Jean had left melting in a very small pan on the kitchenstove, got too hot and with threatening, hissing noises began to giveforth clouds of thick, disagreeable smoke. Jean, the first of the girlsto notice it, flew to the kitchen, snatched a lid from the stove, and,with a newspaper for a holder, swept the burning butter, pan and all,into the fire. Then the paper in Jean's hand caught fire, and for theinstant before she stuffed it into the stove and clapped the lid intoplace, fierce red flames leaped high.
To the visitor, prepared by Mrs. Milligan for just such doings, itlooked for a moment as if all the rear end of the cottage were inflames; but Jean returned to her place on the couch with an air of whatlooked to Mr. Downing very much like almost criminal unconcern. How wasMr. Downing, who did no cooking, to know that paper placed on acake-baking fire _always_ flares up in an alarming fashion without doingany real harm? He didn't know, and the incident decided the matter hewas turning over in his mind. The girls had found it a little hard totell their story, for it was plain that their visitor was using his eyesrather than his ears; moreover, they were not at all certain that he hadany right to demand the facts in the case. When the story was finished,Mr. Downing looked at the row of interested faces and cleared histhroat; but, for some reason, the words he had meant to speak refused tocome. He hadn't supposed that the evicting of unsatisfactory tenantswould prove such an unpleasant task. The tenants, all at once, seemedpart of the house, and the man realized suddenly that the losing of thecottage was likely to prove a severe blow to the four littlehousekeepers. Perhaps it was disconcerting to see the expression ofpuzzled anxiety that had crept into Bettie's great brown eyes, intoJean's hazel ones, into Marjory's gray and Mabel's blue ones. At anyrate, Mr. Downing decided to be well out of the way when the blow shouldfall; he realized that it would prove a trying ordeal to face all thoseyoung eyes filled with indignation and probably with tears.
"Ah-hum," said Mr. Downing, rising to take his leave. "I'm much obligedto you young ladies. Hum--the number of this house is what, if youplease?"
"Number 224," said Bettie, whose mind worked quickly.
"Hum," said Mr. Downing, writing it on the envelope he had taken fromhis pocket, and moving rather abruptly toward the door, as if desirousto escape as speedily as possible with the knowledge he had gleaned."Thank you very much. I bid you all good morning."
"Now what in the world did that man want?" demanded Mabel, before thefront door had fairly closed. "Do you s'pose he's some kind of a lawyer,or--" and Mabel turned pale at the thought--"a policeman disguised asa--a human being? Do you suppose the Milligans are going to get usarrested for just two apples--and--and a little poetry?"
"More probably," suggested Jean, "he's a burglar. Didn't you notice theway he looked around at everything? I could see that he sort of lostinterest after while--as if he had concluded that we hadn't anythingworth stealing."
"Nonsense!" said Bettie. "I don't know what he does for a living, but hecan't be a burglar. He hasn't lived here very long, but he goes to ourchurch and comes to our house to vestry meetings. Sometimes on warmSundays when there's nobody else to do it, he passes the plate."
"Well," said Mabel, "I hope he isn't a policeman weekdays."
"It's more likely," said Marjory, "that he does reporting for thepapers. The time Aunty Jane was in that railroad accident, a reportercame to our house to interview her, and he asked questions just as thatMr. Downing--was that his name?--did. He took the number of the house,too."
"Oh, mercy!" gasped Mabel, turning suddenly from white to a deepcrimson. "If those green apples get into the paper, I'll be too ashamedto live! Oh, _girls_! Couldn't we stop him--couldn't we--couldn't we payhim something _not_ to?"
"It's probably in by now," said Marjory, teasingly. "They do it bytelegraph, you know."
"He _couldn't_ have been a reporter," protested Mabel. "Reporters arealways young and very active so they can catch lots of scoons--no,scoots."
"Scoops," corrected Jean.
"Well, scoops. He was kind of slow and a little bit bald-headed ontop--I noticed it when he stooped for his hat."
"Well, anyway," comforted Jean, "let's not worry about it. Let's rebuildour fire--of course it's out by now--and finish our cake."
In spite of the cake's turning out much better than anyone could haveexpected, with so many agitated cooks taking turns stirring it, therewas something wrong with the day. The girls were filled with uneasyforebodings and could settle down to nothing. Marjory felt no desire tosing, and even the cake seemed to have lost something of its flavor.Moreover, when they had stood for a moment on their doorstep to see thenew steam road-roller go puffing by, Laura had tossed her headtriumphantly and shouted tauntingly: "_I_ know something _I_ shan'ttell!" After that, the girls could not help wondering if Laura reallydid know something--some dreadful thing that concerned them vitally andw
as likely to burst upon them at any moment.
For the first time in the history of their housekeeping, they could findnothing that they really wanted to do. During the afternoon they hadseveral little disagreements with each other. Mild Jean spoke sharply toMarjory, and even sweet-tempered Bettie was drawn into a lively disputewith Mabel. Moreover, all three of the older girls were inclined toblame Mabel for her fracas with the Milligans; and the culprit, ashamedone moment and defiant the next, was in a most unhappy frame of mind.Altogether, the day was a failure and the four friends parted coldly atleast an hour before the usual time.