Chapter XV: A Fishing Trip

Dorothy, Peter, and I set off at once for the lockup. “I’ve just got to see my poor boy,” said the girl tearfully. “Think what an awful time he must have had last night!”

She trotted about the house, busily ordering the fat Rosina here and there, and presently she called us to her aid.

“There!” said she proudly, pointing out two huge bundles. “Clean sheets and pillowcases in that one, and a blanket--you know, Uncle George, Rosina found your blanket and counterpane this morning, the ones the Poltergeist took? They were down in the coal bin, wadded up, and they were just filthy! Oh, dear! I wish the horrid thing wouldn’t break and destroy and dirty everything it touches. It’s a perfectly wretched ghost, Uncle George, so malicious!”

She carried it off gayly enough, but her big eyes were restless, and I fancied a hint of fear in their depths. After all, though familiarity may make a ghost less terrible, no one really enjoys its repeated visits. And, though she pretended so much courage and jested so gayly about the tricks of the Poltergeist, I saw that she was haunted by a very real fear of its comings. The poor child was near the breaking point.

“There, there, dearie,” I comforted her. “Don’t you fret; everything’ll come right yet. We’ll have you married off and settled happily in a bright little red-and-white bungalow, without any ghosts to bother you. Be brave just a little while longer, child!”

She huddled against my shoulder and wept quietly. “I c-can’t help it, dear,” she declared. “I’ll be a-all right p-presently. But things are so darn twisted! And that was my very best counterpane, and I was s-saving it for our h-house--and I’m a-f-fraid of ghosts. I am so! And my beau’s in jail, and the wedding put off--and it’s unlucky to postpone weddings, Uncle George. And Aunt Mary’s just m-mean to me, and I’m s-so unhappy!”

What could I say? I patted her shoulder silently, and presently she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, rolled up into a damp ball, and smiled up at me bravely.

“I’m all right now, dear,” she told me and ran off to powder her nose.

So I shouldered a huge bundle of bedding and took a basket of eatables in my left hand and descended the steps to Lewis’ flivver, while Peter followed, even more heavily laden. “Time we get through and old Parker’s out, we can advertise: ‘Apartment to rent, luxuriously furnished; apply at the jail.’”

I went back after another load and on the way peeped into the dining room. Aunt Mary still held forth, as fresh as if she had just begun. Rosina’s face peeped around the edge of the kitchen door. She was wondering, no doubt, if they’d ever give her a chance to “cl’ar away.” Somers still listened with courteous attention, but the eye he turned to me held a comical appeal for aid.

“We’re going down to see my nephew now, Somers,” I said. “Want to come along?”

Aunt Mary sighed, her thin eyebrows arched high. “That’s always the way,” her expression said; “if ever I’m enjoying myself somebody has to spoil it!” But aloud she declared: “Yes, doctor, don’t let me keep you. I’ve enjoyed our little chat so much, but of course Dorothy’s wishes come first. I realize that; and it’s quite natural. I’m used to being alone!”

Somers gave her a sympathetic glance. “I suppose I ought to go,” he replied reluctantly; but he rose with suspicious alacrity. “Perhaps when I get back, Miss McGregor--yours is a very interesting case--I’d like to hear more about it.”

Aunt Mary shrugged, as much as to say: “Why go away then?” “I always lie down after breakfast,” she replied.

Somers looked relieved. “Well, some other time then.” His greenish eyes rested significantly upon the silent nurse. “You ought to get out of doors more,” he told her. “You need exercise.”

Miss McGregor sniffed. “Oh, she’s healthy enough! You should see her sleep!” Aunt Mary always resented the suggestion that any one else was not well; she felt that she had a monopoly of invalidism for the McGregor family.

Our guest bowed and came out with me. “My,” he exclaimed, “what a talker!”

“Well, come along!”

He shook his head. “I’m not coming, thanks. Tell old Parker I’ll see him later. I’ve got other things to do.”

So I left him and went out to the racketing flivver, whose rear seat was heaped high. I squeezed in beside Dorothy and Peter in front.

“Where’s Somers, unk?” asked the latter.

“Not coming. He doesn’t seem very keen to see Lewis, after all.”

“Well! That’s queer. He’s cooking up some other deep scheme, I suppose. I shan’t find fault with him, after last night.”

“Probably you’re right, Peter,” I conceded.

But Dorothy, beside me, wriggled impatiently. “You two men are perfectly blind! He’s just waiting for Aunt Mary to lie down, so he can see Miss Christie.”

We both laughed. “What, that sleepy thing?”

“Yes! If you had any eyes at all, you could see he was perfectly struck on her. And she may be a sleepy thing, but just you watch her brighten up, once there’s a man around to notice her. Oh, you can laugh! But I tell you Anne Christie is a _beauty_, if she’d just wake up a little.”

“She’s too fat,” objected Peter.

Dorothy gave him a maddeningly superior smile. “And they say men are the best judges of a woman’s looks! Wait till you see her in an evening dress, instead of those horrid, stiff, old uniforms! Oh, yes, you will! I’ll just bet you ten pounds of candy against a carton of cigarettes she begins to dress up within a week!”

We hunted up a very sheepish constable and told him our errand. He handed the jail key over to me.

“Yeah,” he said, “you jus’ take it along, an’ bring it back w’en you git through. Don’t forgit t’ lock th’ door after yuh. Yeah, shore it’ll be all right! Nobody don’t need t’ know you got it, does they? An’ say”--coming closer and dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper--“they ain’t no need o’ tellin’ about las’ night, is they?”

It was a bribe, I saw: free access to the jail against silence as to Rufe Wakefield’s inglorious part in last night’s troubles. He knew he was safe enough in giving me the key, irregular as it seems; for my nephew would not have dreamed of escaping, even if I would have allowed it.

“All right, Rufe,” I promised. “We’ll keep quiet; and I’ll have the key back to you before noon.”

All this had taken some little time. As we drove back down Main Street, Dorothy nudged me sharply. “What did I tell you?”

We swung round the corner, past Olsen’s drug store, to reach the jail, which was almost directly behind it. And on the drug store steps, just going in, stood Miss Anne Christie, while Doctor Somers held the screen door back for her, with a long, skinny arm.

“She does carry herself well,” said Peter critically.

Dorothy sniffed. “I think he might be doing something for Lewis, instead of gallivanting round with that girl!”

We drove on to the lockup, to find my nephew haggard, but fairly cheerful.

“Rufe brought me in a gorgeous breakfast,” he told us. “Really, he’s not such a bad chap. Yes, I got quite a bit of sleep, too, but I’ll be glad of clean sheets. There, there, honey!” Dorothy had choked forlornly, snuggling close to his shoulder. “Don’t worry any more; old Somers’ll figure out some way of getting me out in a day or two.”

“But to-morrow was our wedding day!” she exclaimed disconsolately. “And, besides, your precious Somers is just flirting with Aunt Mary’s nurse; he’s not trying to do a thing for us!”

However she did her bridegroom’s prospective best man something less than justice. It might have been an hour later, while we four still sat with our heads together, cudgeling our brains for a way out, that he strolled casually in.

I heard the outer doorknob rattle and started up, for I had forgotten to lock the door after us, and I feared some official visitor. Before I could reach it, the heavy door swung back, and Somers’ black head appeared.

“Thought I’d find you folks here,” he said. “Ought to be locked in, though; people might talk about our vigilant cop.” He turned the key on the inside and paused to laugh silently.

“Clever chap, that Wakefield,” he went on, advancing. His long, grotesquely thin legs moved stiffly, like a pair of compasses. “I heard him talking about that little affair last night; he’s out on Main Street, holding forth right now. ‘An’ I stood right there beside the lockup,’ he was saying, ‘ready f’r bus’ness. ’At skinny feller come in on Number Seven, he stood on th’ steps ’ith a bumb, darin’ ’em t’ come any furder. They was all a-yellin’, an’ they wouldn’t of paid him no mind, but then _I_ come out ’ith th’ ole persuader’--and he showed them that rusty pocket cannon he lugs around--‘an’, “Stan’ back, fellers!” I says. We-ell, they all knew _me_! An’ so they wa’n’t no lynchin’ las’ night!’”

We all laughed. Somers’ imitation of the constable’s rumbling drawl was irresistibly comic.

“So that’s what he’s telling!” A light struck me. “No wonder he didn’t want us to talk about last night! He bribed us to keep quiet, doctor, by letting us take the jail key.”

“I told you you had a clever constable, unk. Oh, I’ve learned lots of things this morning! I’ve talked with a number of your leading citizens, so I have.”

“When we saw you, you were otherwise occupied,” said Dorothy cruelly. “Or is Miss Christie one of the ‘leading citizens’ you meant?”

Somers merely smiled at her. “Oh, that! I took her to the drug store to get some thyroid extract. The girl’s sick, and I’m going to cure her. Wait a couple of weeks; you won’t know her!”

“And after you got the medicine?” I prompted, curious to know how he had forgathered with Wakefield.

“Oh, Miss Christie introduced me to the druggist, Olsen, then she went on home. And I hung around, making myself agreeable. Just a little fishing expedition, Uncle George--that’s all!”