Molly Brown's College Friends

CHAPTER XIX

A DEATH

“Aunt Judy, my Poilu is tellible sick! He can’t open up his mouf mo’n ’bout a minute far. Won’t you please, ma’m, punch it open wif the button hook so’s I kin poke some breafkast down him?”

Mildred had the little puppy clasped in her arms and he did seem to be very miserable. His eyes were partly closed and his teeth were tightly clamped together.

“I weckon that big ol’ dog what eated a piece out’n him done made him so sick.”

“But, honey, that was a week ago, and if it had been going to make him sick it would surely have affected him long ago. It was nothing but a scratch, and don’t you remember Aunt Judy bound it up so tight it only bled a moment?”

Judy and Kent had remained at Wellington for a visit. Kent was so soon to join his regiment that he felt he could not tear himself away from his mother and sister, so they had lingered on after the other guests had departed. The bride and groom had also returned after a flying visit to Nance’s old home and were now with the McLeans, Nance declaring that Andy’s mother must have all she could of her son before he was to sail for France.

Judy took the puppy in her lap and smoothed his silky sides. The little fellow opened his eyes and gave her a grateful glance. Mildred did squeeze a little too tight when a fellow felt as sick as poor little Poilu did.

“Maybe we had better get the doctor for him,” suggested Judy. “There come Andy and Aunt Nance now, across the campus! Call them, Mildred! Andy is not too proud to doctor a dog.”

Mildred delightedly ran to the door and waved her arms frantically. “Hi there, brideangroom! brideangroom! Somebody’s mighty sick in this here house. Better hurry up or they might go deaded!”

Andy and Nance quickened their pace and hastened into the house.

“Who is it?” they cried anxiously.

“It’s my littlest brudder!”

“Dodo! What is the matter with my little husband?” asked Nance anxiously.

“’Tain’t Dodo! He ain’t my littlest brudder. I’se got anudder brudder. Ain’t you knowed about him?”

Nance and Andy were much mystified, but they followed the amusing little creature into the library. Nance thought perhaps the big-hearted Molly had adopted a French orphan, – Molly was quite capable of doing it.

“There’s my brudder!” and Mildred pointed to the suffering puppy. “Ain’t it too bad he’s got a tail?”

Andy laughed as he lifted the poor little Poilu to his own knees.

“What is the matter with him, Andy?” was Judy’s anxious query.

“It looks like the last stages of tetanus.” The patient was even then in a violent convulsion. Andy mercifully laid his handkerchief over the little fellow’s head, dreading that Mildred should see his suffering.

“I’d put him out of his misery but he will be gone in a moment anyhow,” he said sadly. “Has he been hurt?”

“A week ago he got bitten by a dog, but it was a mere scratch and did not amount to a row of pins, so Molly and I decided.”

“Did you put anything on the wound?”

“Nothing but a surgical dressing down at the war relief rooms. I remember it was one of the beautifully made dressings Madame Misel had just brought in – ”

Andy sprang up, a wild light in his eye. The puppy had breathed its last so he handed it over to Judy without more ado.

“Where is Molly?”

“She has gone down in the village to pack supplies at the war relief rooms. There were lots of things to get off, so she went quite early. I am to follow a little later, just as soon as Kent finishes primping. What is the matter?”

“There may be much the matter. You and Kent come as fast as you can,” and Andy and Nance hurried off without any more explanation.

The news was broken to Mildred that her pet was no more and her bruised heart was much comforted with promises of a funeral later on when Kizzie got time to make arrangements. Kent and Judy caught up with Andy and Nance before they reached the old church where the war work was carried on.

“What under Heaven is the matter?” panted Judy.

“It may be nothing, but I must investigate. Let’s go in as quietly as possible. Does Madame Misel still work on the surgical dressings?”

“Yes, indeed! And such beautiful work as she does! Molly insists that she must have a great deal of good in her to give so much time to this work. Sometimes I think I must have dreamed that they spoke as they did that night in the garden. Why should pro-Germans and spies choose this particular spot, anyhow?”

The workroom was filled with very busy ladies when our young couples entered. Molly was tying up dressings, after carefully inspecting and counting them. An order had come for many bandages and other dressings and all hands were at work trying to get them off. Madame Misel was deftly arranging the rolled bandages in pyramids and then tying them with strings made of the selvedge torn from the cotton. Nothing goes to waste in this war work. Madame’s countenance was as calm as ever as she bent over her work, but when she saw the two men enter, Judy noticed a sudden alertness in her glance and a tiny spot of red on her usually white cheek. As she pulled the selvedge string, she must have given it an unusual tug for it broke and the tightly-rolled bandages flew hither and yon over the floor.

“Humph! There is no telling how many germs got picked up in that scatteration,” muttered Andy as he stooped and gathered the bandages.

“The – bandage – does – not – touch the – wound,” said Madame, evidently forgetting she was speaking to a surgeon.

“No?” said Andy shortly.

“Molly,” he said, “I must speak with you a moment.”

“Well, Andy dear, I am awfully busy. You come home to luncheon with me, you and Nance, and then you can speak all you’ve a mind to.”

“I must speak now,” whispered Andy sternly.

“Heavens! Is anything the matter?” asked Molly.

“I am not sure,” and Andy drew her towards the vestry at the back of the church. “Tell me, Molly, have you packed all the dressings that that Misel woman has made?”

“Why, no, not all of them! Why?”

“Have you mixed them with the others?”

“No! They are so beautifully folded that I do not have to inspect them, and so I have put them in boxes to themselves. She is the best worker I ever saw.”

“Molly, I shall have to ask you not to get this shipment off to-day.”

“But, Andy, it is most important! The poor wounded are bleeding to death and the ship sails in two days. We must get them off this evening if they are to catch that boat. What is your reason?”

And then Andy told her of the puppy’s death. He said the fact that his first aid had come from those very rooms, and that tetanus, or lock-jaw, had set in on a perfectly healthy puppy when he had a mere scratch from another dog, made him suspicious that tetanus germs were on some of the bandages.

“Why, Andy, that is ridiculous! Poor Madame Misel may be in sympathy with Germany in spite of all she says, she and her husband, but she could not do such a vile thing as that.” Molly could not help feeling impatient and indignant with her old friend. “Only look at her sweet face and all thought of such infamy will leave your mind.”

Andy did glance towards Madame Misel and the look of venomous hatred that he surprised on her face was shocking. The young physician laughed grimly. “Molly, you are no judge of persons unless they happen to be angels. You think wings are getting ready to sprout even from our enemies.”

“Perhaps they are! Who knows?”

“You may be right, but in the meantime, please don’t let any of these dressings get off. I must see those Secret Service men. Where are they?”

“Edwin knows, I believe, but he has not told me.”

Molly was irritated beyond endurance. How was she to let these women know that the shipment must be held up? It was all of it so absurd. The women had done the work and now these men must come poking their fingers into the pie that they had had none of the work of making. The idea of accusing Madame Misel of such a crime! Judy, too, seemed to be doubting the stranger, and Nance, of course, would be aiding and abetting Andy.

“I shall have to ask you to be very quiet, not to give this creature an inkling of our suspicions,” commanded Andy sternly. “That is very important.”

“Well, naturally, I’ll hardly be so rude as to let her think anyone is so unkind as to doubt her,” and Molly’s lip trembled.

“Molly, dear Molly, don’t hate me so. I can’t help seeing that something is wrong and if I have the slightest suspicion, I must surely probe to the bottom. You must see that.”

“Of course I do, Andy, but I just can’t bear to have anybody abused, especially a woman who makes such lovely dressings,” and Molly tried to smile at her friend.

“Well, I’ll depend upon you to stop the work of getting them off and still not let the woman know she is under suspicion. Just go on packing but do not make the shipment.”

“I hate to resort to such subterfuge, but I’ll do my best,” sighed Molly.

“Wouldn’t it be better to bring one criminal to justice than to kill thousands of poor wounded men by dressing their wounds with tetanus germs?”

“Of course, only – but – you see – ”

“Yes, I see that your heart is so tender and you are so honest yourself you think all the world must be like you.”

Molly went sadly back to her packing, all the joy and zest gone out of her work. How could nice men like Andy and Kent think such things about a poor defenseless woman? No doubt she did have a sneaking sympathy for Germany. Was not that natural? Had she and her countrymen not been under German rule long enough to consider the kaiser as their rightful ruler? Because her husband chose to pretend to be lame was no reason why everybody should think Madame Misel capable of such a dastardly thing as putting tetanus germs on the bandages of poor wounded soldiers. That was something no woman, no matter how bad, could do, – and surely this woman was not bad, not really bad. Molly Brown was so constituted that one had to be proven to be bad before she could believe evil of him or her, and then, as a rule, she would find some excuse for the sinner if not for the sin.

Nance and Judy stayed on to help in the work, while Andy and Kent went to find the Secret Service agents. While the task of making bandages, etc., went rapidly forward, the detectives quietly ransacked the cottage occupied by the Misels. This was the first opportunity they had had of going over the house. The occupants had never before left it alone. Much of dire importance was discovered. Among other things a small laboratory where no doubt all kinds of evil germs were incubated. The search was made very rapidly, as they were anxious to leave things in such order that the owners would not suspect that they were under surveillance.

CHAPTER XX

GERMS

As the two quietly-dressed, intelligent looking men were in the act of going through a desk, they saw from the window the slow and painful approach of M. Misel. Without a word they let themselves out of a back window, left open for emergencies, and before the master had opened the front door the detectives were over the back fence and out of sight. They were desirous of catching more than the Misels in their net and did not want to act too quickly.

Had they peeped through the window, they would have seen Misel with an impatient gesture sling his crutch in one direction, his cane in another.

“Lena!” he called, in anything but a gentle tone. “Lena!” And then with muttered curses, when he found his wife to be absent, he settled himself to look over the bunch of mail he had just obtained at the post-office. One letter he examined very critically before opening. It was an inoffensive enough looking envelope, addressed on a typewriter and with a postmark from New York. It had the appearance of a circular or advertisement of some sort, being made of cheap, greyish-white paper, the kind of letter one would wait until last to open in a pile of mail, being sure it was of no especial interest or importance. Misel seemed to find it very interesting, however. It was the one he chose from all the letters and papers, and as he examined it, he scowled darkly.

“Lena!” he called as Madame Misel hurriedly entered the cottage, “Lena, some fool has been meddling with my mail!”

“Perhaps not such a big fool as you are!” she answered tartly.

“Look! The envelope has been opened before. Of course it is the letter from Fritz von Lestes, the one we have been awaiting.” He tore it open and read aloud: “‘The paint which you have ordered will be delivered immediately. Am sorry there should have been any delay. I am sending a light grey, as agreed upon.’ Umm – I don’t see how they could make much out of that.”

“Let me see the letter. – Of course they can make much out of it as there is no address, – you men bungle things so! Why should a man who is in the paint business write a letter with no address and sign his name so illegibly that no one could make it out? He should have had a letter head and a business envelope.”

“And speaking of bungling, – why did you go and leave the house with no one in it? Can’t you see that is imprudent?”

“Mrs. Green came for me and I had no excuse. – Besides, I am sure if I am by when the dressings are handed in that no one will inspect my work. I have been packing all morning and have seen to it that my labor has not been in vain.”

“Oh, peerless woman!” he said sarcastically.

Madame Misel said nothing but busied herself over the luncheon. Suddenly she gave a little cry, half distress, half indignation. Misel hastened to her.

“What is it?”

“Look! This back window is not quite closed! Did you open it?”

“No! I have not been here in the kitchen.”

“Then someone has been in the house,” she announced in a dead tone.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! I left the windows locked, stupid! Look about and see if all is in order.”

The detectives had worked as neatly as detectives can work, but the Misels found several traces of them. In one room a chair had been moved; in another a drawer had not been shut as close as Madame was confident she had left it; papers had been turned over in the desk, Misel was sure, although none were missing.

“Someone has been in the laboratory, too! Look at this crucible! I always place them so, – and this has been turned.”

The pair faced each other with despair on their countenances.

“What now?” they gasped.

“We must make a flitting this very night!” exclaimed the woman. “Thank goodness, nobody dreams that you are not crippled nor that I am anything but the homely hausfrau I appear. The dressings will be off this very afternoon, too, so my work is completed in that line, at least. If you could boast as much, no doubt you would not mind leaving. I told you to begin the teaching at Exmoor sooner.”

“The youths were not ripe for it. I have begun in a way, but not much has been accomplished. Perhaps the person who has been here is just some prying neighbor and we are not really being watched. Go out and see if you can discover anything!”

When Madame Misel peeped through the windows of the old church she saw enough to make her turn pale. Andy McLean was there with two strange men and Professor and Mrs. Green. Molly was weeping bitter tears as she untied the carefully packed surgical dressings. Madame saw at a glance that it was her work that was being examined by the men. She did not stop to make sure what they found on her beautifully made dressings, but turned and fled towards the cottage that she called home.

“Why is she weeping?” she asked herself, and there was woman enough in her to know that Molly wept because one of her own sex had proved faithless.

Blinds were pulled down in the cottage with the lovely old garden, and the activities that ensued could only be equaled by a circus breaking up to leave town. Madame Misel moved with a quiet precision that showed she was an adept at making a quick get-away. Misel worked with a fury of impatience. He went through his desk, scattering papers hither and yon and burning everything of no value. Other documents he stowed carefully away in his breast pocket. The laboratory was dismantled and small, mysterious-looking vials packed in boxes and placed in the huge suit-case that seemed to hold most of their belongings.

A letter was written to the landlord informing him that his tenants had been called out of Wellington by the illness of a fictitious sister. A month’s rent was enclosed. Another letter was written to the postmaster asking that mail be forwarded to an entirely imaginary address. The work proceeded rapidly. The cottage was always in apple-pie order, as Madame Misel was certainly an excellent housekeeper.

“You must write to the president of the college,” commanded Madame.

“Naturally! Must I use the same sister?”

“Of course! Why two lies when one will suffice?”

A letter to Miss Walker was dispatched forthwith.

“And now for our disguises, – or rather the time has come to discard our disguises!” cried Madame almost joyfully. “I hate to appear as such a frump!”

Misel’s disguise was composed principally of cane and crutch, but at his wife’s instigation he shaved his mustache. With the help of a checked suit and red necktie and a brown derby hat a trifle too small for him, the pathetic and interesting teacher of the French language was transformed into the type of man one sees hanging around a race track. With a clever brush Madame put a quirk in his eyebrows that completed the portrait. Then a bit of court plaster was stuck on one of the perfect teeth which gave the handsome Misel a sinister look and suggested to the beholder former battles and fisticuffs in which he had been struck in the mouth.

“Even your dying sister will not recognize you!” exclaimed his wife.

Madame’s transformation was even more startling than her husband’s. First she shook out her smoothly brushed hair and with the help of curling tongs soon had a wave that the finest hair dresser in New York could not have exceeded. She piled her abundant hair up in curls and twists and coils, pulling out puffs over her ears. Then with pencil and rouge pot and powder puff she went to work on her countenance. A raging beauty was the outcome, but rather fast and loud looking. A lavender suit lined and slashed with corn-colored silk was then donned, with many rings and bracelets. The flat-heeled shoes were packed away in the suit-case with the sober costume, and high-heeled French boots were fitted on in their stead. A plentiful sprinkling of musk was added so that the nostrils were assailed as soon as the eyes.

“Tough sports!” would have been the verdict of anyone meeting the Misels. They had decided on the night train to New York. The cottage was carefully locked, the key enclosed in the letter to the landlord, which they posted on their way to the station. Everything was going smoothly. The station was empty when the pair stepped upon the platform and in a moment the New York train came steaming around the curve.

“Thank God, we are getting away unnoticed!” gasped Misel.

“Thank God if you choose, but it would be more to the point if you thanked me. I can’t see that anyone has helped you but me.”

“Oh, well! Have it your own way!” said the spurious bookmaker as they boarded the train.

“Someone got left,” he laughed as they took their seats in the chair car. “I saw a man and woman running down the road just as we got aboard. I am glad they got left. Whoever it is might have recognized us.”

“Nonsense! Didn’t I tell you your own dying sister would not know you?” and Madame Misel smoothed her lavender draperies and jangled her many bracelets and rings, peeping in the mirror meantime to adjust her large beplumed hat. There was a commotion in the end of the Pullman and she heard a familiar voice. In the mirror she espied a familiar face, and under the heavily laid on rouge, the woman paled and the hand that adjusted her hat shook. Misel buried his face in the evening paper some traveler had left in his seat, while the innocent cause of their perturbation found a seat with the help of the porter.

CHAPTER XXI

HER FATHER’S OWN DAUGHTER

“I don’t see why you take it so hard, Molly darling,” said Judy as Molly told her of the detectives’ findings and of the perfidy they had unearthed.

“Why, I fancy I am grieving that such wickedness can be in this world,” sighed Molly. “I liked Madame Misel so much.”

“Well, I never did like her,” declared Judy.

Molly smiled, well remembering Judy’s enthusiasm on arriving at Wellington and telling of the interesting couple she had met on the train.

“I know what you are thinking about – of course I said they were interesting, but I never did like the woman much – she was too catty for me.”

This conversation was interrupted by the loud ringing of the telephone bell, which proved to be a long distance call for Judy from Mr. Kean in New York. His marching orders had come and he was to sail for France in a few days, and for the first time on record he could not take his little wife with him. Building roads and bridges in war time was very different from times of peace, and France at that time was no place for delicate little ladies.

“You had better come right up to New York on the next train,” was his ringing command. “Your mother needs you and I must see you, too.”

“All right, Bobby! Meet me at the Pennsylvania Station. I’ll take the 12.45 – I am not going to let Kent come. He must be with his mother one more day, – his mother and Molly. So long! Be sure and meet me!”

Then such a scrambling ensued! Kent must be persuaded he was neither wanted nor needed, a few things hurled into a bag, her sketch book tucked in her jacket pocket, and Judy was off like a whirlwind. She and Kent ran all the way to the station only to see the train pulling out as they stepped upon the platform.

“I can get it! Keep the old bag!” cried that young woman as she sprinted down the track, her young husband running lightly by her side, laughing in spite of himself. If you have never run after a train and caught it you cannot realize the triumphant feeling Judy had as she grasped the rail and swung herself up on the rear coach. Fortunately it was not a vestibule train or she would have been shut out. Kent slung the bag up after her and then stood in the middle of the track until his Judy was lost in the darkness.

“What a girl she is!” he laughed to himself. “What a dear girl!”

The dear girl was rescued by a rather indignant brakeman and led through the empty coach that happened to be hitched on to the train and finally installed in the chair car, after many explanations and excuses had been made to train conductor and then Pullman conductor.

Young women have no business on night trains with no tickets – certainly no business in boarding those trains from the rear, thereby risking their own necks and making the railroads liable to damage suits.

“But you see my father telephoned me from New York,” she confided to the train conductor, a grizzled looking old fellow with a decidedly military bearing. “He is going to France next week and he simply had to see me. – Perhaps you know my father,” she added with a certain assurance that everybody connected with railroads ought to know Bobby.

“More than likely!” was the grim reply. The conductor had no idea of being cajoled into good humor by this daring girl.

“He is Mr. Robert Kean, – Bobby!”

The conductor was suddenly a changed creature.

“Know him! I should say I did! Bless my soul, if you don’t look like him – same eyes – same mouth! Ha, ha! See Bob Kean missing a train! Not much!” and the erstwhile stern captain of the train now grasped Judy’s hand. “Come on, I’ll see that you get a chair, Miss Kean. I’m certainly pleased to make your acquaintance.”