Marjorie at Seacote Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  THE SEARCH

  It was fortunate that the Bryants were there to take the initiative, forMr. and Mrs. Maynard seemed incapable of action. Usually alert andenergetic, they were so stunned at the thought of real disaster toMarjorie that they sat around helplessly inactive.

  "Come with me, King," said Cousin Jack, going to the telephone in thelibrary.

  Then he called up every house in Seacote where Marjorie could possiblyhave gone, and King helped by suggesting the names of acquaintances.

  But no one could give any news of the little girl; no one whom theyasked had seen or heard of her that afternoon.

  Cousin Jack's face grew very white, and his features were drawn, as hesaid: "You stay here, Ed, with Helen and Ethel; King and I will go outfor a bit. Come, King."

  Kingdon said nothing; he snatched up his cap and went along silently byMr. Bryant's side, trying to keep up with his companion's long, swiftstrides.

  To the beach they went; it was not yet quite dark, but of course theysaw no sign of Marjorie.

  "Are you thinking she might have been washed away by the waves?" askedKing, in a quivering voice.

  "That's all I _can_ think of," replied Mr. Bryant, grimly.

  "But it isn't likely, Cousin Jack. Mopsy is really a heavyweight, youknow. And there's not a very big surf on now."

  "That's so, King. But where _can_ she be?" Then they went and talkedwith the fishermen, and then on to the Life-saving Station.

  The big, good-hearted men all knew Marjorie, and all declared she hadnot been on the beach that afternoon,--at least, not within theirparticular locality.

  Discouraged, Cousin Jack and King turned down toward the pier. Theirinquiries were fruitless; though many people knew Midget, by sight, nonehad seen her. There was nothing to do but go back home.

  "Have you found her?" cried Cousin Ethel, as they entered the house.

  "No; but the beach people haven't seen her, so I'm sure there's noaccident of that sort." Cousin Jack wouldn't make use of the worddrowning, but they all knew what he meant.

  Mrs. Maynard sat staring, in a sort of dull apathy. She couldn't realizethat Marjorie was lost, she couldn't believe an accident had befallenher, yet, where was she?

  "Let's search the house," she said, jumping up suddenly. "I _must_ do_something_. Couldn't she have gone somewhere to read quietly, andfallen asleep?"

  This was a possibility, and the house was searched from top to bottom byeager hunters. But no Marjorie was found.

  As it neared midnight, the ladies were persuaded to go to bed.

  "You can do nothing, dear, by remaining up," said Mr. Maynard to hiswife. "The Bryants will stay with us to-night, so you and Ethel go toyour rooms, and King, too. Jack and I will stay here in the library fora while."

  King demurred at being sent away, but his father explained that if hewanted to help, all he could do was to obey orders. So King wentupstairs, but not to his own room. About an hour later he came downagain, to find his father and Mr. Bryant still sitting in the librarywaiting for morning.

  "Father," said King, his eyes shining bright beneath his tousled hair,"I've been rummaging in Midget's room. I thought I might find outsomething to help us. And she's taken her pocketbook, and the goldpiece Uncle Steve gave her last Christmas. I know, because I know whereshe always kept it,--and it's gone."

  "Well, King," said his father, thoughtfully, "what do you make out fromthat?"

  "Only that she has gone somewhere especial. I mean somewhere to spendthat money,--not just for a walk on the beach, or down to the pier."

  "That's encouraging," said Cousin Jack, "for if she went away on somespecial errand, she's more likely to be safe and sound, somewhere. Didyou notice anything else missing, King?"

  "Not a thing. And you know how wet her pillow was. Well, I think sheheard about some poor person or poor family, and she cried about them,and then she took her gold piece and went to help them."

  "That's ingenious, King," said Mr. Maynard, "and it may be true. I hopeso, I'm sure. But why should she stay away so long and not let us know?"

  "Well, you see, the poor family may live at some distance, and not haveany telephone, and they may be ill, or something, and she may be thereyet, helping. You know Mopsy is awful kind-hearted. Remember theSimpsons' fire? She forgot everything else in caring for them."

  "That's so, my son; at any rate, it's the most comforting theory we'vehad yet, and I'll go and tell your mother about it. It will help her, Iknow."

  Mr. Maynard went away, and King remained downstairs.

  "I'm not going to bed, Cousin Jack," he said; "I'm old enough now tostay up with you men, in trouble like this."

  "All right, King. You're showing manly traits, my boy, and I'm proud ofyou. Now, old chap, between you and me, I don't subscribe to yourpoor-family theory. It's possible, of course, but it doesn't seemprobable to me."

  "Well, then, Cousin Jack, what can we do next?"

  "We can't do anything till morning; then I think we must see thepolice."

  "Oh, that seems so awful!"

  "I know, but if it's the means of finding Marjorie?"

  "Then, of course, we'll do it! How early can we see them?"

  "We can telephone as early as we like, I suppose. But I've littleconfidence in the powers of the police down here. They're all right topatrol the beach, but they're not like city policemen."

  At last the night wore away, and daybreak came.

  They telephoned the police, and in a few minutes two of them arrived atthe Maynard house for consultation.

  "I know the child well," said one of them, "I often see her about,--awell-behaved little lady, but full o' fun, too. D'ye think she mighthave been kidnapped, now?"

  "It might be," said Mr. Bryant, "though she's pretty big for that. And,too, she took extra money with her."

  "Then she may have been goin' somewhere by rail."

  "That's so! I never thought of that!" and Cousin Jack almost smiled.

  "But where would she go?" said Mr. Maynard, hopelessly. "She nevertravelled alone, and though impulsively mischievous, sometimes, shewouldn't deliberately run away."

  The policemen went away to begin their quest, and the Maynards and theirguests went to breakfast.

  No one felt like eating, yet each urged the others to do so.

  "Where's Middy?" inquired baby Rosamond, at table. "Middy gone 'way?"

  "Yes, dear," said Cousin Jack, for no one else could speak. "Middy'sgone away for a little while."

  "I know," said the child, contentedly, "Middy gone to Gramma's to seeKitty!"

  "Why, perhaps she did!" exclaimed Mr. Maynard.

  But Mrs. Maynard had no such hope. It was too unlike Marjorie to do sucha thing.

  "Well, let's find out," urged King. "Let's get Uncle Steve on thelong-distance wire."

  "Don't alarm Grandma," said Mrs. Maynard. "There's no use stirring herup, until we know ourselves what has happened."

  "Leave it to me," said Cousin Jack. "I'll find out."

  After some delay, he succeeded in getting Uncle Steve on the telephone.Then he asked for Kitty.

  "Hello, Susannah!" he cried, assuming a merry voice, in his kind desirenot to alarm her. "This is your Cousin Jack!"

  "Oh, hello, Cousin Jack!" exclaimed Kitty, in delight. "How nice of youto call me up! How is everybody?"

  "We're well, thank you! How are you all?"

  "Oh, we're all right."

  "Are you lonesome, away from your family?"

  "No, not lonesome, though I'd like to see them. Tell Midget there aretwo hundred incubator chicks now."

  "Well, that _is_ a lot! Now, good-by, Kitsie; I can't run up too big atelephone bill for your father. We all send love. Be a good girl.Good-by."

  Cousin Jack hung up the receiver and buried his face in his hands. Ithad been a great strain on his nerves to appear gay and carefree toKitty, and the implied assurance that Marjorie was _not_ there nearlymade him give way.

  "She isn't there,
" he said, dully, as he repeated to the family whatKitty had said. And then the telephone rang, and it was the policedepartment.

  Mr. Maynard took the receiver.

  "We've traced her," came the news, and the father's face grew white withsuspense. "She bought a ticket to New York, and went there on thethree-o'clock train yesterday afternoon. Nothing further is known, asyet, but as soon as we can get in touch with the conductor of thattrain, we will."

  "New York! Impossible!" cried Cousin Ethel, when she heard the message,and Mrs. Maynard fainted away.

  Marjorie! on a train, going to New York alone!

  "Come on, King," said Cousin Jack, abruptly, and leaving the others tocare for Mrs. Maynard, these two strode off again. Straight to therailroad station they went to interview the agent themselves.

  He corroborated the story. He did not know Marjorie's name, but hedescribed the child so exactly that there was no room for doubt of heridentity.

  But he could tell them no more. She had bought her ticket and taken thetrain in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, as any passenger would do.

  "Did she look as if she had been crying?" asked King, almost cryinghimself.

  "Why, yes, now you speak of it, her face _did_ look so. Her eyes wasred, and she looked sorter sad. But she didn't say nothin', 'cept to askfor a ticket to New York."

  "Return ticket?" put in Mr. Bryant.

  "No, sir; a single ticket. Just one way."

  The conductor couldn't be seen until afternoon, as his run was a longone, and his home far away.

  "I can't understand it," said King, as they walked homeward; "and Ican't believe it. If Midget went to New York alone, she had lost hermind,--that's all."

  But when they reached home, they found the Maynards quite hopeful. Ithad occurred to them that, by some strange freak, Marjorie had decidedto visit Grandma Maynard, and had started off there alone.

  "I'm trying to get them on the long-distance," Mr. Maynard announced,quite cheerily, as they entered.

  "Let me take it," said Cousin Jack. "If she _isn't_ there, we don't wantto alarm them, either."

  "That's so!" said Mr. Maynard. "All right, Jack, take it. Bless you, oldfellow, for your help."

  But when connection had been made, and Cousin Jack found himself incommunication with Grandma Maynard, he didn't know what to say. Hecaught at the first pretext he could think of, and said:

  "How do you do, Mrs. Maynard? You don't know me, but I'm Jack Bryant, aguest at Ed Maynard's house in Seacote. Now, won't you tell me whenMarjorie's birthday comes?"

  "Ah, I've heard of you, Mr. Bryant," said Grandma Maynard, pleasantly."I suppose you want to surprise the child with a present or a party.Well, her birthday is next week,--the fifteenth of July."

  "Oh, thank you. She is getting a big girl, isn't she? When,--when didyou see her last?"

  Cousin Jack's voice faltered, but the unsuspecting lady, listening,didn't notice it.

  "About two months ago. They were here in May. I love Marjorie, and Iwish I could see her again, but there's little hope of it. She wrote tome last week that they would be in Seacote all summer."

  "Yes, that is their plan," said Cousin Jack.

  He could say no more, and dropped the receiver without even a good-by.

  But though Grandma Maynard might think him rude or uncourteous, shecould not feel frightened or alarmed for Marjorie's safety, because ofanything he had said.

  "She isn't there," he said, quietly; "but I still think she started forthere, and now we have a direction in which to look."

  But what a direction! Marjorie, alone, going to New York, endeavoring tofind Grandma Maynard's house, and not getting there! Where had she beenall night? Where was she now?

  There were no answers to these questions. And now Mr. Maynard took thehelm. He cast off the apathy that had seemed to paralyze him, and,rising, he began to talk quickly.

  "Helen," he said, "try to rouse yourself, darling. Keep up a good hope,and be brave, as you have always been. King, I am going out to findMarjorie. You cannot go with me, for I want to leave your mother in yourcare. You have proved yourself manly in your search for your sister,continue to do so in caring for your mother. Ethel, I'd be glad if youwould stay here with Helen, and, Jack,--will you come with me?"

  "Of course," replied Mr. Bryant.

  "And, King," his father went on, "keep within sound of the telephone. Imay call you at any moment. Get your sleep, my boy,--if I should be goneover night,--but sleep here on the library couch, and then the bell willwaken you."

  "Yes, Father, I'll look after Mother, and I'll be right here if you callme. Where are you going?"

  "I don't know, my son. I only know I must hunt for Marjorie with suchhelp and such advice as I can procure. Come on, Jack."

  After affectionate farewells, the two men went away.

  "First for that conductor," said Mr. Maynard. "I cannot wait tillafternoon; I shall try to reach him by telephone or go to his home."

  At length he learned that the conductor lived in Asbury Park. He was offduty at that hour, and Mr. Maynard tried to get him by telephone, butthe line was out of order.

  "To his house we go, then," and the two men boarded the first possibletrain.

  At Asbury Park they found his house, but the conductor's wife, Mrs.Fischer, said her husband was asleep and she never disturbed him atthat hour of the day, as he had a long run before him, and needed hisrest.

  But after a few words of explanation of their quest, the good ladybecame sympathetic and helpful.

  "Of course I'll call him," she cried; "oh, the poor mother! my heartaches for her!"

  Mr. Fischer came downstairs, rubbing his eyes. It was about noon, and hewas accustomed to sleep soundly until two o'clock.

  "Why, yes," he said, in answer to their queries. "I remember that girl.I didn't think much about her,--for a good many children travel alonebetween stations on the shore road. But, somehow, I don't think thatchild went to New York,--no, I don't think she did."

  "Where did she get off?" asked Mr. Maynard, eagerly.

  "Ah, that I don't know. You see, the summer crowds are travelling nowand I don't notice individuals much."

  "Can't you tell by your tickets?" asked Mr. Bryant.

  "No, sir; I don't see's I can. You know, lots of people _did_ go to NewYork on my train, and so, I've lots of New York tickets, but of course Icouldn't tell if I had hers. And yet,--seems to me,--just seems tome,--that child got off at a way station."

  "Then," said Mr. Maynard, with a businesslike air, "I must telephone ortelegraph or go personally to every way station between Seacote and NewYork. It's a strange case. I can only think my daughter became suddenlydemented; I can think of no other reason for her conduct. Can you,Jack?"

  "No, Ed, I can't. And yet, Marjorie is a child who always doesunexpected things. Some crotchet or whimsey of her childish mind _might_account for this strange freak, quite naturally."

  "I can't see how. But we will do what we can. Good-day, Mr. Fischer, andthank you for your help and interest."