Betty Gordon in Washington; Or, Strange Adventures in a Great City, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  HOSPITALITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES

  Betty Gordon had come to Bramble Farm, as Mr. Peabody's home wasknown, early in the summer to stay until her uncle, Richard Gordon,should be able to establish a home for her, or at least know enoughof his future plans to have Betty travel with him. He was interestedin mines and oil wells, and his business took him all over the country.

  Betty was an orphan, and this Uncle Dick was her only livingrelative. He came to her in Pineville after her mother's death andwhen the friends with whom she had been staying decided to go toCalifornia. He remembered Mrs. Peabody, an old school friend, andsuggested that Betty might enjoy a summer spent on a farm. Theseevents are related in the first book of this series, called "BettyGordon at Bramble Farm."

  That story tells how Betty came to the farm to find Joseph Peabody adomineering, pitiless miser, his wife Agatha, a drab woman crushed inspirit, and Bob Henderson, the "poorhouse rat," a bright intelligentlad whom the Peabodys had taken from the local almshouse for hisboard and clothes. Betty Gordon found life at Bramble Farm verydifferent from the picture she and her uncle had drawn inimagination, and only the fact that her uncle's absence in the oilfields had prevented easy communication with him had held her throughthe summer.

  Once, indeed, she had run away, but circumstances had brought herand Bob to the pleasant home of the town police recorder, and Mr. andMrs. Bender had proved themselves true and steadfast friends to theboy and girl who stood sorely in need of friendship. It was theBenders who had exacted a promise from both Bob and Betty that theywould not run away from Bramble Farm without letting them know.

  Betty had been instrumental in causing the arrest of two men who hadstolen chickens from the Peabody farm, and at the hearing before therecorder something of Mr. Peabody's characteristics and of theconditions at Bramble Farm had been revealed.

  Anxious to have Betty and Bob return, Joseph Peabody had practicallyagreed to treat them more humanely, and for a few weeks, during whichthe Benders had gone away for their annual vacation, matters atBramble Farm had in the main improved. But they were graduallyslipping back to the old level, and this morning, when Peabody hadgored the cow with his pitchfork, Bob had thought disgustedly that itwas useless to expect anything good at the hands of the owner ofBramble Farm.

  As he and Betty tramped back after delivering the cow, Bob's mindwas busy with plans that would free him from Mr. Peabody and set himforward on the road that led to fortune. Bob included making afortune in his life work, having a shrewd idea that money rightlyused was a good gift.

  "Where do you suppose your uncle is?" he asked Betty, coming out ofa reverie wherein he bade Bramble Farm and all the dwellers therewith a single exception a cold and haughty farewell.

  "Why, I imagine he is in Washington," returned Betty confidently."His last letter was from there, though two days ago a postal camefrom Philadelphia. I think likely he went up to see his lawyer andget his mail. You know it was held there while he was out West. Ihope he has all my letters now, and last night I wrote him another,asking him if I couldn't leave here. I said I'd rather go to thestrictest kind of a boarding school; and so I would. I'll mail theletter this afternoon in Glenside."

  "It's too long a walk for you to take on a hot afternoon," grumbledBob. "I'm going over to Trowbridge, and I'll mail it there for you."

  Betty pulled the letter from her blouse pocket and handed it to him.

  "Where's Trowbridge?" she asked, as they came in sight of theboundary line of Bramble Farm and sighted Mr. Peabody in conversationwith the mail carrier at the head of the lane. "Can I go with you?"

  "We'd better hurry," suggested Bob, quickening his steps."Trowbridge is four miles beyond Laurel Grove. You've never beenthere. No, you can't go, Betty, because I have to ride the sorrel. Isuppose in time old Peabody will buy another wagon, but no one cantell when that will come to pass."

  The wagon house had burned one night, and the master of Bramble Farmcould not bring himself to pay out the cash for even a secondhandwagon. As a result, the always limited social activities of the farmwere curtailed to the vanishing point.

  "What are you going for?" persisted Betty, who had her fair share offeminine curiosity with the additional excuse that interesting eventswere few and far between in her present everyday life.

  Bob grinned.

  "Going to a vendue," he announced. "Now how much do you know?"

  Betty tossed her head, and elevated her small, freckled nose.

  "A vendue?" she repeated. "Why, a vendue is a--a--what is it, Bob?"

  "A sale," said Bob. "Some farmer is going to sell out and Peabodywants a wagon. So I have to ride that horse fourteen miles and back--andhe has a backbone like a razor blade!--to buy a wagon; that is,if no one bids over me."

  "And Mr. Peabody won't pay more than six dollars; he said so at thesupper table last night," mourned Betty. "You'll never be able to buya wagon for that. I wish I could go, too. Bob, I never saw a countryvendue. Please, can't I?"

  "You cannot," replied Bob with unaccustomed decision. Betty usuallywheedled him into granting her requests. "Haven't I just told youthere is nothing to go in? If you see yourself perched on that raw-bonednag with me, I don't, that's all. But I tell you what; there'sa sale to-morrow at a farm this side of Glenside--I'll take you tothat, if you like. I guess Peabody will let me off, seeing as howthere are wagons advertised. We can easily walk to Faulkner's place."

  This promise contented Betty, and she ate her dinner quietly. Bobrode off on the old horse directly after dinner, and then for thefirst time Betty noticed that Mrs. Peabody seemed worried aboutsomething.

  "Don't you feel well? Won't you go upstairs and lie down and let medo the dishes?" urged the girl. "Do, Mrs. Peabody. You can have anice, long rest before it's time to feed the chickens."

  "I feel all right," said Mrs. Peabody dully. "Only--well, I foundthis card from the new minister back of the pump this morning. It's aweek old, and he says he's coming out to call this afternoon. There'sno place in the house I can show him, and I haven't got a decentdress, either."

  Betty swallowed her first impulse to say what she thought of ahusband who would make no effort to see that his wife received hermail, and instead turned her practical mind to consideration of theimmediate moment. The so-called parlor was hopeless she knew, and shedismissed it from the list of possibilities at once. It was asparsely furnished, gloomy room, damp and musty from being tightlyclosed all summer, and the unpainted, rough boards had never beencarpeted.

  "There's the porch," said Betty suddenly. "Luckily that's shady inthe afternoon, and we can bring out the best things to make it lookused. You let me fix it, Mrs. Peabody. And you can wear--let me see,what can you wear?"

  Mrs. Peabody waited patiently, her eyes mirroring her explicit faithin Betty's planning powers.

  "Your white shirtwaist and skirt," announced the girl at length."They're both clean, aren't they? I thought so. Well, I'll lend you aribbon girdle, and you can turn in the high neck so it will be morein style. You'll see, it will look all right."

  While Mrs. Peabody washed her dishes with more energy than usualbecause she had a definite interest in the coming hours, Betty flewto the shabby room that was titled by courtesy the parlor. She flungup the windows and opened the blinds recklessly. She would take onlythe plain wooden chair and the two rockers, she decided, for thestuffed plush furniture would look ridiculous masquerading as summerfurnishings. The sturdy, square table would fit into her scheme, andalso the small rug before the blackened fireplace.

  She dashed back to the kitchen and grabbed the broom. She did notdare scrub the porch floor for fear that it would not dry in time,but she swept it carefully and spread down the rug. Then one by one,and making a separate trip each time, she carried out the table andthe chairs. With a passing sigh for the bouquet abandoned in thefield and probably withered by this time, she managed to get enoughflowers from the overgrown neglected garden near the house to fillthe really lovely colonial glas
s vase she had discovered that morning.

  "It looks real pretty," pronounced Mrs. Peabody, when she wasbrought out to see the transformed corner of the porch. "Looks as ifwe used it regular every afternoon, doesn't it? Do you think it willbe all right not to ask him in, Betty?"

  "Of course," said Betty stoutly. "Don't dare ask him in! If he wantsa drink of water, call me, and I'll get it for him. You must besitting in your chair reading a magazine when he comes and he'llthink you always spend your afternoons like that."

  "I'll hurry and get dressed," agreed Mrs. Peabody, giving a lastsatisfied glance at the porch. "I declare, I never saw your beat,Betty, for making things look pretty."

  Betty needed that encouragement, for when it came to making Mrs.Peabody look pretty in the voluminous white skirt and stiffshirtwaist of ten years past, the task seemed positively hopeless.Betty, however, was not one to give in easily, and when she hadbrushed and pinned her hostess's thin hair as softly as she couldarrange it, and had turned in the high collar of her blouse andpinned it with a cameo pin, the one fine thing remaining to Mrs.Peabody from her wedding outfit, adding a soft silk girdle of gray-blue,she knew the improvement was marked. Mrs. Peabody stared atherself in the glass contentedly.

  "I didn't know I could look that nice," she said with a candor atonce pathetic and naive. "I've been wishing he wouldn't come, but nowI kinda hope he will."

  Betty gently propelled her to the porch and established her in oneof the rocking chairs with a magazine to give her an air of leisure.

  "You'll come and talk to him, won't you?" urged Mrs. Peabodyanxiously. "It's been so long since I've seen a stranger I won't knowwhat to say."

  "Yes, you will," Betty assured her "I'll come out after you'vetalked a little while. He won't stay long, I imagine, because he willprobably have a number of calls to pay."

  "Well, I hope Joseph stays out of sight," remarked Joseph Peabody'swife frankly. "Of course, in time the new minister will know him aswell as the old one did; but I would like to have him call on me likeother parishioners first."