The Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle Part 18

Therefore, those two redoubtable adventurers, Billie and Nancy, went forth alone on the streets of London. Each carried a bundle and each wore an expression of mysterious importance.

"London Bridge!" exclaimed Billie exultantly, as they strolled down the old street, for there was plenty of time before their errand, whatever it was.

"What a lark!" cried Nancy. "Oh, Billie, I adore London."

"I love it, too," said Billie. "It's so old and gray and smoky and full of history--"

"And quaint little shops--"

"And buses and hansoms and carriages of state," laughed Billie.

"And lords and ladies," continued Nancy as a carriage load of very fine-looking people dashed past.

Presently they turned into a narrow little street, which Billie, excellent guide always, knew led toward the river and was a short cut to London Bridge.

"Perhaps we should have taken a hansom," she said.

"No, no," Nancy objected. "It's lots more fun to walk and see the sights. Besides, we have plenty of time before the meeting," she added in a lower voice.

"Isn't this a funny little print shop, Nancy-Bell? It's just a sort of hole-in-the-wall." The two girls paused to look into a diminutive shop window filled with engravings and prints mellowed with age. "There's Lady Penelope Boothby, I declare," continued Billie, "and the older she grows, the younger she looks. It's like the conundrum of the candle. The longer it stands, the shorter it grows."

The girls pressed their faces against the gla.s.s to get a better view of the picture.

"Youth is always beautiful whether it's two hundred years old or seventeen years old," said a voice near them.

A very old man was standing in the doorway regarding them with a benign expression.

"Step inside, young ladies, and take a look at some of the prints. I have still older pictures of still younger faces that might please you."

The girls consulted a moment.

"Come on in," urged Billie. "We can give up ten minutes surely, and I love to go rummaging about an old shop like this."

Into the little hole-in-the-wall, then, they went, and were greeted by a musty odor of old things laid upon shelves for ages past,-old pictures, old books; curios of all kinds,-j.a.panese devil fish, vases and cabinets.

The girls poked about the place curiously, peering into gla.s.s cases filled with faded relics: tarnished epaulettes from an old uniform; brocaded reticules; antique jewelry; little figures in ivory, mellowed with age.

"Here is something I would like," said Nancy at last, "because it's the quaintest, cutest, most adorable little thing I ever saw."

"Will you name it, ma'am?" said the shop keeper smiling gently, but with a spark of triumph in his eye, as if he had been waiting for that moment.

"It's that little box shaped like a Swiss chalet with all the carving and the little front door with ivory k.n.o.bs,-how much is that?"

The old man took it out with a trembling hand and placed it on the show case.

"That's a little sandalwood jewel box," he said. "It smells good and is dainty to look at and is as pretty inside as out."

He snapped a spring and the roof of the chalet lifted, disclosing its interior of wadded pale blue satin.

Nancy clasped her hands in admiration.

"I haven't any jewels except a gold bead necklace and a ring and a bracelet and two brooches," she said timidly, "but I hope to collect more. How much did you say it was?"

The aged collector p.r.i.c.ked up his ears like a war horse when he hears the martial call of the trumpet.

"It's worth a great deal of money, young lady, but I'll let you have it for a song."

"And how much do you call 'a song'?"

"Two pounds, ma'am."

Nancy was the most extravagant of all the Motor Maids. She often said to her friends when they scolded her for her lavishness:

"Well, after all, what would five dollars mean to me when I am dead and gone? If I save this money now, would it do me any good, when I am laid away?"

"Laid away, you goose," Billie would say; "you're not to be laid away for another seventy years, yet!"

"Well, then, why save five dollars for seventy years?" the incorrigible girl would answer.

Moreover, Nancy had the collecting habit inherited from her forefathers, sea captains all of them, and the old home in West Haven was filled with curios brought back on homeward voyages. But two pounds was too steep even for extravagant Nancy.

"Why," she exclaimed innocently, "I haven't very much more than that to spend on gifts to take home. I certainly wouldn't put all my money into a present for myself. And this box is to be my very own, if I get it. My jewel case," she added with much unction.

"One pound, ten, then, ma'am."

"No, no. That's entirely too much. Why, it's nothing but a little wooden box lined with faded satin. It's not even very antique. I like it because I like little things."

Billie opened her eyes in great admiration over Nancy's trading talent, and it ended by her getting the box for less than a pound. She produced the money triumphantly from her little purse, while the old man, smiling, did the chalet up in tissue paper. It was plain that he was well pleased with the sale. The girls suspected that he did not make many.

"We must hurry, now, Nancy," said Billie. "Your extravagance might make us late to our appointment."

It was something to be going to London Bridge, but it was something more to have a reason for going, a mysterious reason. When the girls became part of the surging ma.s.s of people which flows over the historic bridge morning and afternoon, they felt a thrill of excitement. Streams of human beings and vehicles poured onto the bridge from every direction.

"I don't feel like a person, Nancy," observed Billie. "I feel like a drop of water in a rus.h.i.+ng river. It will be hard to stop going, now we have started; hard to leap out. I never saw so many people in all my life, all intent on getting across, and just think, there used to be houses on the bridge before it was rebuilt. John Bunyan, who wrote 'Pilgrim's Progress,' had lodgings here. Can you imagine it when it had shops on each side like a real street?"

But Nancy was not listening to her friend. She was watching the great human tide, flowing along so steadily and quietly.

"This is the place," she said suddenly, pointing to a sort of bow at one side of the granite structure where there were seats. "This must be it because it's the first one of these places, and that's what the note said, wasn't it?"

"There she is," cried Billie; "either we're late or she's ahead of time."

Marie-Jeanne, who had been waiting with a book on one of the seats, rose and came toward them. The girls shook hands with her, and Billie slipped an arm around her waist and smiled into her eyes. She had always felt a deep sympathy for poor Marie-Jeanne.

"We have brought you the capes and the money we owe you, Marie-Jeanne. I am sorry you couldn't come to see us and spend the day. We wanted to have you to luncheon."

"It would have been very nice, but I was afraid. I am afraid now. No one must know that I have been talking with you and Nancy."

"But why?" cried Nancy. "My dear Marie-Jeanne, we haven't any secrets."

Marie-Jeanne drew them mysteriously into the curve of the bridge.