Part 39 (1/2)
Except for the schoolboyish signature, that was all; but there was a world of importance between the laconic lines. David caught the early morning stage and was on his way over the ridge to the railroad with old Jeff, before eight o'clock.
He reached home that night, surprising the housekeeper and servants. To his amazement, they knew absolutely nothing of d.i.c.k Cronk. He had not been there, nor any one answering to the description. David was thunderstruck. He carefully examined the letter, which he had retained.
There could be no mistake as to the stationery or the postmark. He went to his room, gravely mystified by the circ.u.mstance. A messenger was sent post haste to the village hard by, with instructions to find d.i.c.k if he were at either of the boarding-houses. The master of Jenison Hall could not help chuckling to himself in contemplation of the crafty tricks the writer of the letter had employed in securing his information and in appropriating stationery.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when the darky boy returned with the word that no one fitting the description had been seen in the village.
”But he must be there,” said the young master, vastly perplexed and not a little annoyed.
”Yas, sah,” agreed the darky, not for a moment questioning the a.s.sertion that fell from his master's lips. If ”Ma.r.s.e David” said he was there, he _was_ there; that is all there could be to it. ”He suttinly mus' be thah, sah. But I 'spec's he mussa fo'got to tell anybody 'bout hit, sah.”
”Ask Jeff to call me early in the morning, Pete,” said David. ”Good night.”
”Good night, Ma.r.s.e David.”
The boy went out, gently closing the door behind him. Almost instantly it was reopened.
”What now, Pete?” demanded David, who, with his back to the door, was advancing to the mahogany bureau across the room. He came in line with the tall mirror that surmounted the chest of drawers. His fingers stopped suddenly in the light task of removing a pin from his scarf.
Just inside the door stood Artful d.i.c.k Cronk, a genial smile reflecting itself in the mirror which confronted the other. David stared unbelievingly for a few seconds and then whirled to face the--but it was not an apparition.
The lean, cunning visage of the pickpocket was illumined by the never-to-be-forgotten smile of guilelessness that so ably stood him in hand in moments of peril. The humor of it gradually succ.u.mbed to the satirical leer that always came to translate his strange sophistry into something more expressive than mere words. He was plainly enjoying the effect of his magic invasion. To make the puzzle all the more startling, Mr. Cronk was attired in one of David's loose dressing-gowns. He wore a pair of comfortable slippers and he smoked David's picturesque Algerian pipe. A picture of domestic contentment was he. You might have taken him to be the owner of the house, and not the sly intruder.
”What are you doing in my room?” d.i.c.k demanded, a.s.suming an air of severity.
David's astonishment gave way to a hearty laugh. He advanced with his hand extended.
”Well, you _do_ beat the world,” he exclaimed. ”In the name of heaven, where did you come from?”
They shook hands. d.i.c.k's sprightly face presented a myriad of joyous wrinkles.
”Where did I come from, kid--I should say, Mr. Jenison? I--”
”Call me David,” interrupted the other.
”Sure! Come from? Take a seat, kid. You are my guest for the evening.
Make yourself at home. I've got a couple of toddies planted here behind the dresser. You see, I was expectin' you.” He went over and, reaching down behind the bureau, came up with two toddy gla.s.ses in which the ice clinked cheerily. ”I made 'em just before you came in,” he explained.
David pa.s.sed his hand across his brow. Then he accepted one of the gla.s.ses from the pseudo host.
”Do you mean to tell me that you were in this room all the time I sat over there waiting--”
d.i.c.k put his finger to his lips. ”s.h.!.+ Not so loud, please. I'm not really supposed to be here, you know. Just think what heart disease would do to the wooly old boy that runs the front door if he heard you talking to me at this time o' night. I'm glad to see you, David. You got my letter, I see. Well, well, it's wonderful what a two-cent stamp'll do sometimes. A postage stamp is the greatest detective I know of. I've had 'em find me time and again, right off the real, when twenty plain-clothes men couldn't get a smell of me to save their souls. Sit down, David. Make yourself at home. It's good to see you here, old chap. I'm sorry you must be leaving so soon.”
”Leaving so soon?”
”Yep. You're going away to-morrow.” He was sitting now, with his long legs crossed, leaning lazily back in the lounging chair at the end of David's desk.
”Don't talk in riddles, d.i.c.k. What's up? And how do you happen to be here, occupying my house without the knowledge of my servants?”
”A simple question, with a simple answer. I've been here two days and two nights, right here in the house. My bedchamber is down the hall there, and this has been my lounging room. Of course, I had my meals in the dining-room--my after-the-theater suppers, you might say. It's been good fun, foolin' the servants. I hope you don't mind my fakin' grub from your larder, kid. I used to sit around, unbeknownst to the n.i.g.g.e.rs, and listen to them talk about spirits and ghosts and all that sort of thing. It was most amusin'. They couldn't account for the disappearance of pies and cakes and Sally Lunn--say, how I do love Sally Lunn. And jam, too. To say nothin' of fried chicken. Say! I've been living like a prince, kid. Sleepin' in a real bed and hangin'
around in swell togs like these. Say! You _do_ know how to live, David.
You'd have been very much entertained half an hour ago if you could have seen me swipe a Was.h.i.+ngton pie and a quart of milk right out from under the nose of old Aunt f.a.n.n.y. Milk is my favorite beverage, David.