The Mystery of Jockey Hollow Part 23

"Aren't you going to take that off?" she asked, for she knew he had it on over his other clothes.

"Got no time!" he said briskly. "We got to get this young lady to a doctor right away. I'll drive you just as I am. I don't mind," he said quickly. "It's in Pentville, and n.o.body'll know me there. I wouldn't want to drive through Bayley Corners like this, for it would sort of spoil things for the youngsters if they see me ahead of time. But it's all right in Pentville. Drive you just the way I am!"

Terry was feeling too miserable to object, and Arden realized it would be useless. Besides, she knew Terry must have her injured ankle looked to as soon as possible. After all, perhaps no one the girls knew would see them.

Terry managed to hobble on one foot and, a.s.sisted by Arden and Santa Claus, was placed on the rear seat of the car with her chum to hold her against the rough riding. For it would be rough getting out of the stretch of woods and clearing.

"Might as well take this holly you picked," said Mr. Henshot. "It'll look right pretty in the car with me dressed like Santa Claus and all this snow coming down. A regular white Christmas!" he chuckled. "Right pretty!" He piled the branches in with the girls, putting some in the empty seat beside him, and slid under the wheel.

Then he started the car, driving carefully, after Terry gave a little moan of pain at a sudden jolt.

"I'll have to take a short cut," he explained, "so we can't go past the Hall and pick up your ghost-hunting friend. Sorry, but I can't go that way."

"It's all right," said Arden. "He has a car."

She wondered what those who saw the strange outfit would say, but this held only a moment's interest. Terry's injury might mean a curtailment of some of the Christmas festivities, besides all poor Terry's suffering.

They were out of the woods at last and on a smoother road, not having pa.s.sed either Granny's cottage or the Hall. In a short time they were on the outskirts of Pentville and entered the town by a back road. So not many saw them, and those who did, while they smiled and laughed and pointed, put it down to an advertising stunt. Arden saw no one she knew, Terry saw nothing but Arden's kind shoulder which she leaned against.

But when the auto of the modern Santa Claus drew up at Sim's house and Moselle answered Mr. Henshot's ring at the door, she jumped back with fright.

"Mercy sakes alive! Whatever is this? A real live--" Moselle was most eloquent when silence seized her.

CHAPTER XX Harry Hears Something

Moselle's involuntary shout of surprise and alarm brought Dorothy on a run to the front door. She gave one look at Terry and Arden seated in the flivver, surrounded by holly branches, another look at Santa Claus, and then laughingly demanded:

"Where do you play the next performance?"

"It isn't any play, Dot!" called Arden. "Terry's hurt!"

"Hurt!" She was serious in a moment.

"It's only a sprained ankle," said Terry, trying to speak with vigor.

"All my own fault."

"No, it's my fault," insisted Santa Claus.

Moselle, her eyes almost popping from her head, had retired to the back hall, but was still peeking and listening.

"This is Christmas and then some," said Dorothy. "But whatever happened?"

Explanations were quickly made, amid contrite apologies from Mr. Henshot for his part in Terry's accident. She was helped into the house and a doctor summoned. Then, having asked several times if he could be of any further service, aside from carrying in the holly branches, which he did, and having been thanked for what he had done, further help being graciously declined, the little man took himself away.

"But first," he said, with a jolly laugh, "I'll take off my disguise-all but my whiskers. I need them. And without my red suit there will be no chance for the children of Bayley Corners to recognize me.

"If you folks haven't anything else to do," he said to Arden and Dorothy when Terry had been put to bed, with Sim (whose headache was better) to sit beside her, "why, we'd be glad to have you over at the Bayley Corners Sunday-school entertainment-me playing the part of Santa Claus after my rehearsals," he chuckled.

"Thank you," murmured Arden, trying to be cheerful about it.

Dr. Ramsdell gave it as his opinion that Terry's ankle wasn't as bad as she feared. It was strained, not sprained, and bound to be painful, but a day or two of rest would make it all right, the physician said, and she could get around, though she might want to use a cane for a while.

"You can still go ghost-hunting," said Arden, when they were all gathered in Terry's room to commiserate with her.

"I'm getting sort of fed up with it," Terry said. "I believe it will all turn out as this ghost of Patience Howe did-in a Santa Claus outfit."

"Well, if we could play Santa Claus to Granny Howe," suggested Arden, "and find some way to do something so she could get the money for this property that has been taken by the state for Jockey Hollow Park, it would be the best Christmas gift we could give her, I'm sure of that."

"And it would help d.i.c.k to his college education and Betty to realize her ambition to become an interior decorator," added Sim.

"But I suppose it is too much to hope for," sighed Arden. "I imagine we shall have to be content if we can find the troublesome old ghost."

"Or even if Harry Pangborn finds it," said Terry.

"Oh, yes, we saw him in the Hall," Arden exclaimed. "We forgot to tell you. There are no workmen tearing the place down now and Harry had it to himself."

"I wonder if he heard anything or saw anything," spoke Dorothy reflectively.

The doorbell rang. It gave them a sudden start.

"Wouldn't it be sort of-psychic if this was Harry now," exclaimed Sim.

"You should more properly say, 'if this were he, my dear young lady,'"

corrected Arden, imitating one of their teachers at Cedar Ridge.

"School is out!" declared Sim. "Yes, Moselle?" she inquired.

"Mr. Pangborn," Moselle announced with dignity.

The girls looked at one another but didn't dare laugh. The sounds might carry downstairs.

"Oh, I wish he might come up here and let me hear what happened!" begged Terry as she saw her three friends rise as if to leave the room.

"I don't see why he can't," spoke Dorothy quickly. "You are quite 'decent,' as mother's theatrical friends say when they mean they are dressed enough to have gentlemen friends in their room-with plenty of chaperons," and she laughed gayly.

"Ask him to come up, Moselle!" Sim ordered with sudden decision.

Harry was not at all abashed by coming into a girl's room while she was reclining and with three other pretty girls seated around her. Young Mr.

Pangborn was not easily fl.u.s.tered. But he did look surprised.

"Well, what happened?" he inquired anxiously as he bowed to each one in turn and went over to Terry in the bed. "Did the bad old ghost get you?"

"Almost," she smiled as he took her hand. "Only it turned out to be a Santa Claus ghost; the real thing, too."