Dig Here!
Gladys Allen
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Carolyn Jablonski, RodCrawford, Dave Morgan and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
DIG HERE!
BY GLADYS ALLEN
GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT MCMXXXVII BY THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AUNT CAL 13 II. FISHERS HAVEN 19 III. CRAVEN HOUSE 29 IV. PRISONERS 43 V. JOHN DOE, ESQUIRE 51 VI. A PIECE OF PAPER 58 VII. CALIPH 68 VIII. A SCALP LOCK 75 IX. DAISY JUNE AND THE BLUE EMERALD 82 X. WHERE IS CIRCE? 93 XI. HAMISH ON THE JOB 101 XII. OVER THE BANISTER 113 XIII. HARRY'S HAIR RESTORER 119 XIV. SUNDAY 132 XV. TRACKS IN THE DUST 138 XVI. THE RESCUE 146 XVII. CAUGHT 154 XVIII. DIG HERE! 162 XIX. THE TREASURE 176 XX. WE SEEK LEGAL ADVICE 186 XXI. A CLOSED DOOR 192 XXII. THE ESCAPE 201 XXIII. A BELATED VISIT 211 XXIV. IT FITS 220 XXV. GOPHER 232 XXVI. THE UNVEILING 242
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DIG HERE!
I
Aunt Cal
"BUT this aunt of yours, Sandy, what's she like?" Eve asked. She wasparked on the couch in my room. Hattie May Lewis, my roommate, stoodbefore the mirror, trying to arrange her straight, straw-colored hairinto a windblown bob. It was the week before the closing of school forthe summer vacation and we were all looking ahead, in one way oranother, to what the next three months held in store for us.
"Well," I considered, "I don't honestly know much about Aunt Cal exceptthe little Dad has told me. She's an aunt by marriage, you know. Shemarried my mother's brother, my Uncle Tom Poole, he was. They went Westto live for a time, but after Uncle Tom died she came back to FishersHaven. She's lived alone there ever since."
"Narrow!" ejaculated Hattie May, "and very likely queer besides! Youcan depend upon it. I know how old women get who live alone in thecountry." Saying what she thought about people, whether they werepresent or not, was part of what Hattie May called her code of speakingthe truth.
"Well, perhaps," I admitted. "But she's not so very old." I feltslightly annoyed with Hattie May and wished she would go downstairs. Iwas anxious for a very special reason to make Aunt Cal seem attractiveto the girl on the couch. For though Hattie May had been my roommatethis first year at school, it was Eve Fordyce's opinions on mostsubjects which had come to matter.
But Hattie May showed no inclination to depart, so I went on. "Perhapsyou'd like to hear what Dad says about her," I suggested. I reachedinto a pigeon-hole in my desk and took out a thin paper envelope with aforeign stamp. My father is a missionary in China, you see, and that'swhy the long vacation didn't mean to me quite what it did to the othergirls. It meant a summer spent with some one of a rather scatteredcollection of relatives, none of whom I remembered in the least. Thissummer it was to mean Aunt Cal.
"Oh, yes; let's hear it." Eve smiled encouragingly from the cushions. Isuppose she saw how in earnest I was.
"Your Aunt Calliope," Dad wrote, "is in many ways a remarkable womanand I feel that you cannot but profit by her acquaintance. It is,however, not entirely on your own account that I have suggested thisvisit. I am hoping that she in turn may reap some benefit from yourstay with her. I must confess that the occasional letters which we havehad from her within the last few years have reflected a certainmelancholy trend of thought which has given me some concern. So I amhoping, my dear daughter, that you will bring her something of your ownhappy----"
"Well, that's about all," I broke off because of that sudden chokinessthat comes over me still at times, even though ten whole months havegone by since I said good-bye to Mother and Dad on the dock at Shanghai.
"What'd I tell you!" exclaimed Hattie May triumphantly. "Queer! Queerand brooding! Honest, Sandy, I can't say I envy you your summer."
"Oh, I don't know," Eve drawled. "I think she sounds ratherinteresting. And I don't think she necessarily has to be narrow becauseshe's lived in a New England village most of her life. As for beingqueer--well, everybody is a little, aren't they?"
I threw her a grateful glance. "Maybe you'd like to hear her letter,too," I said on a sudden impulse. "It just came today. Of course itdoesn't say much," I added, a little doubtful, on second thought, ofthe wisdom of revealing Aunt Cal any further with Hattie May in theroom.
"I'll bet it says plenty!" Hattie May swung round. Her small brighteyes fairly pounced on the letter as I pulled it from its envelope."You can tell a lot by handwriting and--well, reading between thelines."
"There's nothing written between the lines," I said, though I knew, ofcourse, what she was driving at. The letter was written in a straight,angular hand and was very short.
My Dear Niece: I have received your father's letter and shall be very pleased to welcome you to my home at any time. I live very plain. Your father speaks of your bringing one of your schoolmates with you to keep you company. I don't suppose two will be much more trouble than one.
Your affectionate aunt, Calliope Poole
As I finished reading, I saw that Hattie May had sunk into the Morrischair and was fanning herself violently with a copy of "Queens of theScreen." Staging mock fainting fits is one of her pet stunts.
"Of course," I said apologetically, "she didn't realize quite how thatlast sentence would sound."
"Yes, written things often sound quite different than one means them,"agreed Eve comfortably.
Hattie May came to life. "_What_ did you say her first name was--Ididn't seem to get it?"
"Calliope," I repeated. "Dad said her mother was sort of romantic whenshe was young, read poetry a lot and all that. Calliope was a Muse ofpoetry, I believe."
Hattie May giggled. "It does amuse all right," she said.
I ignored this. I felt that it was now or never with me. That themoment had come to speak of the all important matter with which, eversince the arrival of Aunt Cal's letter, my heart had been bursting. Ifby any wild miracle, I could persuade Eve Fordyce to go to FishersHaven with me, half the battle would be over. I felt that I could bearany number of dour-faced relatives with Eve along. But what would shethink of such an invitation? It didn't promise much for a clever girllike Eve.
I was trying desperately to think how to begin when Eve herself tookthe words out of my mouth. "Well, darling, who are you going to takealong with you on your mission of cheer?"
I plunged. "Why," I began, "of course Hattie May can't go because herfamily expect
s her home and--well, she wouldn't care 'bout it anyway.But I thought, maybe--that is, it just occurred to me because of yourmother's being abroad and all--I wondered, that is--of course it won'tbe exciting or anything like a regular seashore resort----."
"Sandra, darling," Eve's throaty voice broke into my stumbling attempt,"are you trying to invite me to spend the summer at the home of thisestimable woman, your aunt?"
"Of course she is," said Hattie May. "But if you take my advice----"
Eve smiled her slow smile. "Hattie May," she said, "I wouldn't turndown the chance of an adventure like that for anything."
"Oh, Eve, do you really mean it?" I cried.
"Adventure!" snorted Hattie May. "Well, if you call being buried alivean adventure----"
Eve got lazily to her feet, wrapping her orange coolie coat about her."I'm going to write to Aunt Margery right away," she declared. "I'lltell her about the wonderful air and the simple, wholesome life atFishers Haven. She'll eat that up!"
"Oh, Eve," I gazed rapturously up at her, "that's perfectly wonderfulof you. And I do hope--oh, I do--that you won't be sorry!"
"Well, all I've got to say," declared Hattie May stuffily, "is that Iwish you both a pleasant summer, but I'm mighty glad I'm not in yourshoes!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
