Mary Louise Solves a Mystery Part 6

"Are we going away?" she inquired, hoping it might be true.

"We are. We're going a long way, my girl. Do you care?"

"Of course," said she, amazed at the question, for he had never considered her in the least. "I'm glad. I don't like your studio."

He laughed, and the laugh shocked her. She could not remember ever to have heard Jason Jones laugh before.

"I don't like the place, either, girl, and that's why I'm leaving it.

For good, this time. I was a fool to return here. In trying to economise, I proved extravagant."

Alora did not reply to that. She was eager to begin packing and hurried through her breakfast. All the things she might need on a journey she put into one trunk. She was not quite sure what she ought to take, and her father was still more ignorant concerning a little girl's wardrobe, but finally both trunks were packed and locked and then Mr. Jones called a wagon and carted away the extra trunk of Alora's and several boxes of his own to be deposited in a storage warehouse.

She sat in the bare studio and waited for his return. The monotony of the past weeks, which had grown oppressive, was about to end and for this she was very grateful. For from a life of luxury the child had been dumped into a gloomy studio in the heart of a big, bustling city that was all unknown to her and where she had not a single friend or acquaintance. Her only companion had been a strange man who happened to be her father but displayed no affection for her, no spark of interest in her happiness or even comforts. For the first time in her life she lacked a maid to dress her and keep her clothes in order; there was no one to attend to her education, no one to amuse her, no one with whom to counsel in any difficulty. She had been somewhat afraid of her peculiar father and her natural reserve, derived from her mother, had deepened in his society. Yesterday and this morning he had seemed more human, more companionable, yet Alora felt that it was due to a selfish elation and recognized a gulf between them that might never be bridged.

Her father differed utterly from her mother in breeding, in intelligence, in sympathy. He was not of the same world; even the child could realize that. And yet, he was her father--all she had left to depend upon, to cling to. She wondered if he really possessed the good qualities her mother had attributed to him. If so, when she knew him better, she might learn to like him.

He was gone a long time, it seemed, but as soon as he returned the remaining baggage was loaded on the wagon and sent away and then they left the flat and boarded a street car for down town. On lower Broadway Mr. Jones entered a bank and seemed to transact considerable business.

Lory saw him receive several papers and a lot of money. Then they went to a steams.h.i.+p office near by, where her father purchased tickets.

Afterward they had lunch, and Jason Jones was still in high spirits and seemed more eager and excited than Alora had ever before known him.

"We're going across the big water--to Europe," he told her at luncheon, "so if there is anything you positively need for the trip, tell me what it is and I'll buy it. No frivolities, though," qualifying his generosity, "but just stern necessities. And you must think quick, for our boat leaves at four o'clock and we've no time to waste."

But Alora shook her head. Once she had been taken by her mother to London, Paris and Rome, but all her wants had been attended to and it was so long ago--four or five years--that that voyage was now but a dim remembrance.

No one noticed them when they went aboard. There was no one to see them off or to wish them "bon voyage." It saddened the child to hear the fervent good-byes of others, for it emphasized her own loneliness.

Yes, quite friendless was little Alora. She was going to a foreign land with no companion but a strange and uncongenial man whom fate had imposed upon her in the guise of a parent. As they steamed out to sea and Alora sat on deck and watched the receding sh.o.r.es of America, she turned to her father with the first question she had ventured to ask:

"Where are we going? To London?"

"Not now," he replied. "This s.h.i.+p is bound for the port of Naples. I didn't pick Naples, you know, but took the first s.h.i.+p sailing to-day.

Having made up my mind to travel, I couldn't wait," he added, with a chuckle of glee. "You're not particular as to where we go, are you?"

"No," said Alora.

"That's lucky," he rejoined, "for it wouldn't have made any difference, anyhow."

CHAPTER VII MARY LOUISE INTRUDES

It was four years later when on a sunny afternoon in April a carriage broke down on the Amalfi Road, between Positano and Sorrento, in Italy.

A wheel crumpled up and the driver stopped his horses and explained to his pa.s.sengers in a jumble of mixed Italian and English that he could go no farther. The pa.s.sengers, an old gentleman of distinguished appearance and a young girl as fresh and lovely as a breath of spring, clambered out of the rickety vehicle and after examining the wheel admitted that their driver spoke truly. On one side the road was a steep descent to the sea; opposite, the hillside was masked by a trellis thick with grapevines. The road curved around the mountain, so there was no other vista.

"Here's a nice fix, Gran'pa Jim!" exclaimed the girl, with an amused laugh. "Where are we and what's going to become of us?"

"That is somewhat of a complicated problem, Mary Louise, and I can't guess it offhand, without due reflection," replied "Gran'pa Jim," whom others called Colonel Hathaway. "I imagine, however, that we are about three miles from Positano and five or six from Sorrento, and it's a stiff walk, for old legs or young, in either direction. Besides, there's our luggage, which I am loth to abandon and disinclined to carry."

The driver interposed.

"Give-a me the moment, Signore--perhaps the hour--an' I return to Positano for more carriage-wheel--some other. My Cousin L'uigi, he leeve in Positano, an' L'uigi have a-many carriage-wheel in he's shed.

I sure, Signore, I getta the wheel."

"That is a sensible idea," said the old gentleman. "Make haste, my man, and we will wait here."

The driver unhitched his horses from the vehicle and after strapping a blanket on one of them for a saddle mounted it and departed.

"I take-a the two horse," he explained, "for one to ride-a me, an' one for to ride-a the wheel."

They watched him amble away down the road and Mary Louise shook her head and remarked:

"He will never make it in an hour, at that rate, Gran'pa Jim, and in two hours the sun will have set and it will be dinner time. Already I feel the pangs of hunger."

"Those who travel in Italy," said her grandfather, "should be prepared to accept any happening in a spirit of resignation. A moment ago we were jogging merrily along toward a good hotel and a savory dinner, but now----"

"This entire carriage seems ready to fall apart," declared the girl, standing in the road and viewing the ancient vehicle critically; "so it's a wonder something didn't break sooner. Now, if we could get to the other side of that trellis, Gran'pa Jim, we might find a shady spot to rest while our charioteer is searching for a new wheel."

"There must be a gate, somewhere about," he answered, eyeing the vine-clad barrier. "Come, Mary Louise, let us investigate."

A hundred yards down the road they came to some rude stone steps and a wicket. The old gentleman lifted the wooden latch and found the gate unlocked. Followed by Mary Louise, he entered the vineyard and discovered a narrow, well-beaten path leading up the hillside.

"Perhaps there is a house near by," said the girl. "Shall we go on, Gran'pa Jim?"

"Why not, my dear? These Italians are hospitable folk and we may get a cake and a cup of goat's milk to stay our appet.i.te."

So they climbed the hill, following the little path, and presently came upon a laborer who was very deliberately but methodically cultivating the vines with a V-shaped hoe. Seeing the strangers the man straightened up and, leaning upon his hoe, eyed them with evident suspicion.

"Good afternoon," said the old gentleman in Italian--one of the few phrases in the language he had mastered.

"Oh, I speak the English, Signore," replied the man, doffing his hat.

"I am Silvio Allegheri, you must know, and I live in America some time."

"Why, this is like meeting an old friend!" exclaimed Mary Louise, winning the fellow instantly with her smile. "But why did you leave America, Silvio?"

"Because I have make my fortune there," was the solemn reply. "It is easy to make the fortune in America, Signorina. I am chef in the restaurant in Sandusky--you know Sandusky?--most excellent! In a few years I save much money, then I return here an' purchase an estate. My estate is three miles across the hill, yonder, and there is a road to it which is not much used. However, it is a fine estate, an' I am rent it to my cousin for five hundred lira a year. Such good business habit I learn in America."

"Why don't you live on your estate yourself?" inquired the girl.

"It is not yet the time," answered the man, with a shake of his head.

"I am but fifty-two years alive, and while I am still so young I shall work for others, and save the money my estate brings me. When I get old and can no longer work for the others, then I will go to my estate an'

be happy."

"Very sensible," commented the old gentleman. "And whom do you work for now?"

"The student Americano, Signore; the one who has rented this valuable estate. I am the Signore Student's valet, his gardener, and at times his chef. I grease his automobile, which is a very small chug-chug, but respectable, and I clean his shoes--when I can catch him with them off.

I am valuable to him and for three years he has paid me fair wages."

"Is this a big estate?" asked Mary Louise.