The Automobile Girls at Palm Beach Part 24

"Roll along, roll along, O'er the waters so blue, We're afloat, we're afloat In our birch bark canoe,"

sang Grace's high sweet voice as their boat bobbed gayly up and down with the little rippling waves of the lake.

"That is a pretty song, my dear child," exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart, from a cus.h.i.+oned seat in the stern of the boat, "but you should subst.i.tute 'naphtha launch' for canoe. Nothing would induce me to ride in one."

"The Count de Sonde is going to be at the fete in a canoe," observed Maud Warren in the tone of one imparting a piece of valuable information. "He asked me to go with him, but Papa was unreasonable, as usual."

"In a canoe with that little foreigner!" cried Miss Sallie in amazement.

"Does he know how to paddle?"

"The count is an expert boatman," replied Maud stiffly. She had mixed sensations of fear and dislike for Miss Sallie, although fear was the stronger sentiment of the two.

"I imagine his swimming and his canoeing are about alike," said Ruth aside to Barbara; "just paddling in shallow water."

The "Automobile Girls" were busily engaged in decorating their launch for the Venetian Fete, which was to take place that evening. The lake dotted with numbers of boats looked like an immense flower bed. Hundreds of craft of every land were anch.o.r.ed near the sh.o.r.e, each filled with gay parties of young people who were stringing up rows of j.a.panese lanterns, bunting and flags.

"There's not a boat on the lake that can compare with ours," cried Mollie proudly, as she tacked the end of a festoon of small banners to the awning-pole, while Barbara gave a finis.h.i.+ng touch by crossing the silk flags of the "Automobile Girls" on the bow.

"If only the lanterns don't catch fire this evening," said Miss Sallie.

"What a pessimist you are, Auntie, dearest!" exclaimed Ruth. "We can easily pitch them in the water if they do, and still be very handsome with our banners and things."

"Here comes the count," cried Maud, who had ignored the conversation of the others and was busily scanning the mult.i.tudes of boats in search of her admirer.

Her friends politely controlled a desire to laugh when they saw the count presently emerge from the boats along the sh.o.r.e in a small canoe that was decorated with one lantern hung from a bamboo stick in the bow, while the French flag waved triumphantly from the stern. The count, in white flannels, was working laboriously with the paddle. His little mustache twitched in an agony of exertion and occasionally he paused to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

"The count is quite an athlete, isn't he, Maud?" asked Mollie wickedly.

"I should think he might lead the parade to-night."

But Maud was not listening. Her whole attention was concentrated on the canoe, which was making straight for the launch.

"Here I am, Count," she cried, waving her handkerchief to the young Frenchman, who, as soon as he espied the boat full of girls, had begun to paddle with a grand flourish, at the same time casting melting glances in the direction of Maud. But he had not calculated on the distance between the canoe and the launch, and a final, fancy stroke with the paddle, sent the frail little boat scurrying over the water.

It collided with the larger boat, and in an instant turned turtle, dragging the flag of the French ignominiously into the depths while the discomfited son of France, clung to the side of his boat, and wildly called for help.

At first the girls were speechless with laughter and the last of the De Sondes received neither sympathy nor aid. Even Maud joined in the merriment, while the enraged n.o.bleman sputtered angrily in French and denounced America and everything in it as fit only for pigs.

Presently Barbara wiped the tears from her eyes and threw out a life preserver to the unfortunate man.

"There, Count," she called, "you can't sink as long as you hold on to that. We'll see if we can't right your boat, and you can paddle back to sh.o.r.e."

"I'm sorry we can't offer you the hospitality of our boat," said Miss Sallie, "but we are anch.o.r.ed, you see, and the engineer is ash.o.r.e.

Besides, I am afraid your wet clothing would spoil our decorations."

The count, however, was too enraged to remember any English. He shook his fist at the upturned canoe and poured forth a perfect torrent of maledictions against it.

Just then a pa.s.sing launch paused and gave the needed a.s.sistance, taking the count on board and towing the canoe to sh.o.r.e. As the little boat was righted an envelope that had evidently fallen from the count's pocket, floated past them in the current.

"You dropped something," called Barbara, but the launch had already started for sh.o.r.e and the count did not hear her. Using the crook of her parasol Ruth tried to fish it out. As she drew it to the side of the boat it sank out of sight but not before she had read the inscription on it, written in an angular foreign-looking handwriting: "To Madame La Comtesse Sophia von s...o...b..rg."

Barbara, too, saw it, and so did Mollie, whose face flushed crimson with the memory of what her beloved countess had said to her that night on the balcony of Thorne House. At that very moment, pinned inside of Mollie's white silk blouse, was the dangerous paper which "concerned the count very intimately."

Was it about that mysterious doc.u.ment that he was now writing to the countess?

For the first time Mollie felt the shadow of a doubt cross her mind. It was only a tiny speck of a doubt, but it left its impression, try as she would to shake it off.

Ruth and Barbara exchanged glances, but said nothing. They had seen enough to know that some sort of correspondence was being secretly carried on between the Countess von s...o...b..rg and the Count de Sonde. If Maud were to marry the count she would deeply regret it, the Countess Sophia had said.

Strangely enough, this speech came back to each of the three girls at the same moment.

Ruth felt that perhaps they had rushed too quickly into an intimacy with the countess. For the first time Mollie was inclined to be a little suspicious. While Barbara who had even more evidence against the Countess Sophia tried vainly to fit together the pieces of this most mysterious puzzle.

"Well, fair and beautiful ladies, are you quite ready for a sail on the Grand Ca.n.a.l? Have you your wraps and bonnets? Is Grace's guitar on hand?" called Mr. Stuart that evening, after dinner, rapping on three doors one after the other.

"In a minute!" called a chorus of voices from the three rooms, while Mr.

Stuart put on a look of resigned patience and waited for the girls to appear. At length, tired of waiting, he strolled toward the elevator when Marian De Lancey Smythe hurried along the corridor.

She averted her face when she saw Mr. Stuart, for Marian had sedulously kept out of sight for a number of days, and they had wondered not a little at it.

"Why, Miss Marian," called the kind-hearted man, who had always felt an interest in the strange young girl, "aren't you going to see the water fete to-night?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Stuart," she replied, her lips trembling a little, partly from loneliness and partly because people were not often kind to her. "Mama is going with Mr. Duval and some friends, but I didn't care to go with them."

"Very well, Miss Marian; you must go with us, then. Get your wraps and meet us on the piazza."

And ten minutes later, her eyes alight with pleasure, Marian made one of the party of girls who presently found themselves floating in the long procession of illuminated boats on the lake.

All the hotels had emptied themselves upon the lake front, and hundreds of boats had already filled and were forming in line for the water. The moon would not be up until very late, but the place was aglow with j.a.panese lanterns, which decorated the launches and rowboats and hung in festoons along the boat landings.

The girls had hardly got their lanterns lit when there was a burst of music, and the procession began to wind its sinuous way about the lake.

"The fireworks will begin in a moment, girls," said Mr. Warren, "and then you will be a part of a wonderful spectacle to those on sh.o.r.e."

Certainly the Stuart boat was one of the most picturesque of all the craft that floated in the parade. The glow of the lanterns made a soft illumination about the four young girls, each of whom wore a long broadcloth cape, a final gift from Mr. Stuart before leaving Chicago.

Barbara's was her favorite dark red, Ruth's was pink, Mollie's her own particular blue and Grace's a delicate lavender.

"Daughter," continued Mr. Warren, turning to Maud who in an elaborate white silk evening wrap, was leaning languidly back in her seat, "aren't you feeling well to-night?"

"Oh, perfectly well, Papa," replied Maud, resting her chin on her hand and looking out across the fleet of boats moving slowly along the sh.o.r.e.

"But spectacles of this sort are so childish and tiresome, I think. They do bore me--oh, there's the count," she cried, interrupting herself.

Her father looked so grieved and annoyed that Mr. Stuart's heart was filled with compa.s.sion for his old friend.

"See what a good time the other girls are having," went on Mr. Warren, in a pleading tone. "Look how jolly they are in their bright capes. I wish you would get one, daughter. These grown-up things make you look so much older than you really are."