The Orchard Secret

  CHAPTER IV The Reward Circular

  "What could that have been?" gasped Terry, sinking on her bed.

  "Then you heard it, too?" asked Arden.

  "Of course! We all heard it!" declared Sim. "A shout or groan in thatdark orchard as if someone were suffering. Do you think there could havebeen a fight among the help? You know they have a resident farmer here atCedar Ridge and several laborers. They might have had a bout--orsomething."

  Suddenly all three burst out laughing. They couldn't help it. The lookson their faces were so queerly tragic. And Terry said:

  "I think we're making a lot out of nothing. Probably what happened wasthat a porter--the blue-eyed porter--was trying to lug in some facultybaggage the back way and it fell on his toes."

  "Well, whatever it was, don't let's go spreading scandal around thecollege so early in the term," warned Arden. "We must keep the secret ofthe orchard to ourselves--if there is a secret."

  "Guess we'll have to," yawned Sim. "For who knows what the secret is?"

  "That taxi-man seemed to hint at something," murmured Terry.

  "Oh--bosh!" exploded Arden. "I guess we're all just worked up and nervousbecause this is our first night and we've had to stand a lot of annoyanceso soon--those sophs and all that."

  "Well spoken, my brave girl!" declaimed Sim. "Let's forget it."

  It was this thought which gradually quieted the palpitating hearts andthe excited breathing of the three. After they had listened, more or lesscowering on their beds, and heard no sounds of any general alarm, theyfinally prepared to retire for their first night at Cedar Ridge.

  "After all," said Terry, "it may have been some skylarking boys trying tosteal the college apples."

  "Maybe," agreed Sim.

  "It didn't sound like boys to me," declared Arden. "It was more like aman's shout."

  "Well, we don't need to worry about it," went on Terry. "But if thosesnobby sophs think we're going in that orchard in the dark, after what wejust heard, to get apples for them, they can have my resignation."

  "And mine!" echoed her chums.

  Sleep was actually in prospect, and final yawns had been stifled when ascratching in one corner of the room aroused the tired girls.

  "We must get a trap for those mice," Terry sleepily murmured. "I supposethey smell the fruit-cake crumbs."

  "All very well to trap 'em," chuckled Sim, "but who's going to take 'emout of the trap after they're caught or strangled to death?"

  "Oh, stop!" pleaded Arden. "Let the poor mice have the crumbs. Maybe theyneed them." Which seemed sound advice well given.

  The morning of a new day dawned bright and cool. Fall had only latelychecked the glories of summer, and the heavily clumped shrubbery aboutthe college seemed strong enough to withstand many wintry blasts beforegiving up its well-earned beauty.

  "Oh, look, girls!" exclaimed Arden, first of the trio out in the corridorready for breakfast. She pointed a slim finger, well manicured, at thetable near the end of the passage.

  "What?" asked Sim. "Has the orchard noise of last night materialized?"

  "No. But they didn't collect our letters for the mail," said Terry.

  "Something must be wrong with the system," spoke Sim. "Though it isn't tobe wondered at, in the confusion of opening night. But can't we take themourselves and drop them into the post office after breakfast? The officeis just off the college grounds across the railroad tracks. Can't we dothat?"

  "I don't see why not," reasoned Arden.

  Breakfast was rather a cold and grim meal compared to the excitement ofthe supper the night before. It was finally eaten, however, and then, itbeing too early for any classes yet and no orders having been issuedabout chapel attendance, the three from room 513 started for the littlepost office outside the college grounds.

  Arden looked completely happy. Surroundings were so important to her.Wearing a light wool dress, dull blue in color and with most comfortablewalking shoes on, she urged her chums forward. All of the girls weresimply dressed. In keeping with the traditions at Cedar Ridge, hats gaveplace to mortar-boards and, even in freezing weather, they would bedonned with a gay defiance of winter winds.

  "Come on, girls!" Arden was excited. "I must be at Bordmust Hall at nine.My adviser is going to help me arrange my schedule of classes. I hope wecan get together at least on a few."

  "We all have to be there," said Terry, adding with a sigh: "I supposeI'll have an eight-thirty class every day, worse luck!" Morning sleep wasso good.

  "Oh, swimming pool!" chanted Sim as they passed the building now turnedto so base a use as that of a vegetable cellar. "When first I sawthee----"

  "Have patience!" interrupted Arden. "Look who's coming this way!"

  A white-haired old gentleman, clad somberly in black, was slowlyapproaching along the path that led from the front campus down to therailroad tracks and across to the post office. His hands were claspedbehind his back and, with head bent down, he seemed to observe only theground at his feet.

  "Who is he?" whispered Sim.

  "He must be Rev. Henry Bordmust, the resident chaplain here. Shall wespeak--or just bow respectfully?" Terry looked to Arden for advice.

  "I don't believe he even sees us. He looks as though he were thinkingdeeply. Let's wait and see if he speaks to us." After this advice, Ardenstepped a little in advance of her two chums to invite the clergyman'sattention.

  The daydreaming chaplain had met and was passing the girls now; stillwithout a sign of recognition. But he was saying something--muttering tohimself as old men often do. The girls overheard a few words.

  "Dear, dear! The orchard! The old orchard!" he murmured. Mentally heseemed to be wringing his hands in real distress. "Why doesn't he comeout of it?"

  Rev. Henry Bordmust sighed and passed the freshmen, his eyes still on thepath at his feet, as oblivious of the trio as if it did not exist.

  "Did you hear that?" mumbled Terry as they walked on.

  "He was talking about the orchard--where we heard the noise last night,"spoke Sim. "What can he mean?"

  "I heard one of the seniors talking about him," volunteered Arden. "He issaid to be--queer--says things no one can understand. And he often givesthe girls awful scoldings over nothing--and sometimes asks you in to havetea with him, most unexpectedly."

  "Well, I wish he'd invite us in to tea this afternoon," murmured Sim withnew energy. "And I wish he'd explain what he means about someone comingout of the orchard. I hope that weird noise doesn't play any trickstonight."

  "Oh, perhaps we misunderstood him," suggested Terry. "The chaplain can'tknow anything about a mysterious noise in our college apple orchard."

  "Hardly," agreed Sim. "Well, he certainly never saw us. I don't believeI'd like to have tea with him."

  "Oh, I think he looks sweet," declared Arden.

  "Then you won't need sugar in your tea," laughed Terry. "But let's hurryand mail these letters. It would never do to be late for our firstclass."

  They had reached the tracks of the Delawanna Railroad, the line that ranfrom New York to Morrisville, the small city nearest the college. Fromforce of habit the girls stopped and looked up and down the rails for thepossible approach of a train. Soon they would know when each one wasexpected. It was a tradition that by the time one was a senior at CedarRidge no watch was necessary, so familiar did the students become withthe passage of the trains.

  The post office was a small one-roomed building with a stove in thecenter. Two windows, one for the sale of stamps and the other for themailing of parcels, broke the stretch of tiers of glass-fronted boxesbehind which the business was carried on. For the post office served thetown as well as the college.

  The side walls were literally papered with police posters offeringrewards for the arrest, or information leading to the arrest orapprehension, of various persons--criminals--men and women. The posterswere from the police departments of several cities, New York among them.Many of the placards were ador
ned with profiles and front views of theoddest faces the girls had ever seen.

  "Oh, for the love of stamps!" gasped Arden when they had dropped theirletters in the slot and were looking at the posters. "What nightmares!"

  "Aren't they awful!" agreed Terry.

  "Not a good-looking man among them," was Sim's opinion. "I've heard aboutthese posters. They've been here, some of them, for I don't know howlong. It's a sort of a game among the girls to see who can find thefunniest face."

  "Let's try it," suggested Arden, laughing. Suddenly she ceased her mirthand stood as if fascinated in front of a poster showing the full-facepicture of a young man. He was rather good-looking and quite an exceptionto the other portraits so publicly displayed. His face, like most of theothers, was smooth, unadorned by beard or mustache.

  "Terry!" impulsively exclaimed Arden. "Look! Haven't you seen that facebefore?"

  Terry considered carefully before slowly answering:

  "No, I don't believe I have. It isn't a bad face, though."

  "Rather interesting," agreed Sim. "What's he wanted for, murder or bankrobbery?"

  "Neither," answered Arden. "Listen." She read from the poster:

  "One thousand dollars reward for information as to the whereabouts ofHarry Pangborn." Then followed a general description, the age being givenas twenty-three, and there was added the statement that the young man hadsuddenly disappeared from his home on the estate of his grandfather,Remington Pangborn, on Long Island.

  Part of the poster consisted of a statement from the attorneys ofRemington Pangborn--the _late_ Mr. Pangborn, it was made plain.

  "Harry Pangborn," the statement read, "is not wanted on any criminalcharge whatever. He disappeared from his friends and his usual hauntsmerely, it is surmised, because he was expected to assume the duties andresponsibilities of the large estate he was about to inherit from hisgrandfather. It is understood that he stated he did not want theinheritance just yet. Of a high-strung and nervous temperament, Mr.Pangborn is believed to have gone away because the responsibilities ofwealth are distasteful to him and also, perhaps, because he seeksadventure, of which he is very fond. If this meets his eye or if anyonecan convey to him the information that he will be permitted to assume asmuch or as little of the estate as he wishes, a great service will havebeen done. All that is desired is that Harry Pangborn will return to hisfriends and relatives as soon as possible. His hasty action will beoverlooked. It is rumored that Mr. Pangborn may be in the vicinity ofMorrisville, though he may have gone abroad, as he was fond of foreigntravel.

  "Information and claims for the above reward may be sent to Riker &Tabcorn, Attorneys, New York City, or to the local police department inthe municipality where this poster is displayed."

  The girls, crowding about Arden, read the poster with her. Then Sim said:

  "Maybe it was in the movies that you saw someone who reminds you of him,Arden. Harry Pangborn isn't bad looking, compared to all the others."With a sweeping gesture she indicated the various poster exhibits.

  "Why, he's positively handsome when you put him alongside of Dead-eyeDick, here," laughed Terry. "As for Two-gun Bobbie----"

  "I'm serious, girls," interrupted Arden. "I'm sure I've seen this youngman somewhere before. Now, if we could only locate him or tell thelawyers where to look for him and get this reward money, wouldn't it bejust wonderful?"

  "Grand!" agreed Terry. "But wake up, my dear. You're dreaming!"

  "And I've just thought of something else!" went on Arden, oblivious ofthe banter.

  "What?"

  "If we did collect this money we could donate it to the college to havethe swimming pool repaired."

  "That's sweet of you and a good idea, Arden, but I don't believe we coulddo it," objected Sim. "Besides, I don't exactly believe what it says onthis poster. It seems very silly for a young fellow to disappear justwhen he's coming into a lot of money--a fortune."

  "Perhaps he was made to disappear," suggested Terry, her eyes openingwide.

  "Oh! You mean--kidnaped?" asked Arden.

  "Yes."

  "Worse and more of it!" laughed Sim.

  "Well, anyhow, we could try, couldn't we?" Arden asked. "You'd help,wouldn't you, Terry?"

  "Yes, indeed I'll help. I've always fancied myself in the role of adetective, spouting pithy Chinese philosophy and generally gettingunderfoot."

  "Now, Terry, just be serious for once. And Sim, you also. You know howdisappointed you were when you found out the swimming pool was----"

  "_Kapoot!_" chuckled Sim, supplying Arden's evident lack of a word withthe latest Russian expression. "Go on!"

  "Well," resumed Arden, pouting a little, "you never can tell. Maybe wecould do it. It isn't impossible. Stranger things have happened. And Ijust know I've seen that young man on the poster somewhere before. If Icould only remember where! Did either of you ever have that feeling?"

  "Lots of times. I'm for you, Arden!" declared Sim. "I'll do what I canand whatever you say. This mysterious Harry Pangborn may very well beright around here."

  "Around Cedar Ridge!" shrilled Terry.

  "Certainly! Why not? If the authorities didn't think it likely that hemight be in this vicinity, why did they put the poster up here in thepost office? And they mentioned Morrisville," challenged Sim.

  "There's something in that," Terry admitted.

  "Oh, if he should be in hiding around here and we could find him andclaim the thousand dollars reward," breathed Arden, "wouldn't it be justwonderful! And what a sensation when we magnanimously turned the moneyover to the college for the swimming pool. Oh, oh!"

  "Would you do that for dear old Alma Mater when you don't know her sovery well?" asked Sim, who, with her chums, was still gazing at theposter of the good-looking but missing heir of the Pangborn estate ofmillions.

  "I'd do it for you, Sim, dear," murmured Arden. "I want you to be happyhere, since I teased you so to come."

  "And you think I won't be happy without the swimming pool?"

  "Will you?"

  "Not as happy as I would be with it."

  "But even admitting that this missing young man may be around here,"suggested Terry, "what chance have we of finding him? We have so muchcollege work to do. For, after all, we were sent here to learnsomething," she sighed.

  "Granted," laughed Arden. "But we may find time for a little detectivework on the side as well as for hazing. Oh, it's a wonderful prospect!"She swung around in a few dance steps right there in the old post office.

  "Well, we'd better be getting back," suggested Sim after this. "Oh, lookat the clock!" she gasped. Then followed a hurried sending of somepicture postcards they had bought; cards on which they marked with an Xthe location of their room.

  The three chums were bubbling with life, laughter, and merriment as theyturned to leave the little building, but their mirth was turned to alarmas a stern voice assailed them.

  "Young ladies!"

  They looked around to see Rev. Dr. Henry Bordmust sternly regarding themfrom the doorway.

  "Yes, Dr. Bordmust," Sim almost whispered as the chaplain appeared to bewaiting for formal recognition.

  "You are freshmen!" he accused, with a glance at their mortarboards, thetassels of which told the tale. "You know you are not permitted overhere--in the post office. It is against the college rules--for youfreshmen. Return at once! You must! You must!"

  He appeared strangely stirred and angry, and his dark brows, shading hisbright little eyes, bent into a frown. But somehow, after that firstbooming and accusative "young ladies," the chaplain seemed exhausted, asthough the anger pent up in him had taken something from his none tooprofuse vitality. He was an old man. Now he essayed a wintry smile andadded, as he gently waved them out with motions of his thin white hands:

  "That is to say, you shouldn't have come here. You--er--have noneed to be--er--frightened at this first infraction of the rules,but--er--another time you may be--er--campused for such action."

  Then, having seen that the three were
on their way out, Dr. Bordmustturned to the window, evidently to buy some stamps for the letters heheld in one hand. He murmured to himself in those queer, quavering,meaningless tones:

  "Too bad; too bad! I can't always be watching! Dear me!"

  Wonderingly, Arden and her chums looked at the shrinking figure in blackas they passed out of the door. But Dr. Bordmust gave them no furtherattention.