The Mystery of the Sycamore

“No, indeed,” agreed Wheeler. “Please, Maida, darling, don’t say such things. And, Sara, if you must say them, say them to me when we are alone. It’s no sort of talk for these young people’s ears.”

“Why, I said it before mother did!” Maida broke out. “And I mean it! I’m at the end of my rope. If that man is to hound us and torture us all our lives, I can’t help wishing him dead.”

“There, there, daughter, please don’t.”

“I won’t, dad. I’ll never say it again. But I put myself on record, and if the rest of you were honest, you’d do the same thing!”

“That we’d like to kill him?” asked Allen, smiling at the idea.

“I didn’t say that – I said we wish him dead. If a nice, convenient stroke of lightning came his way, or – ”

“Maida, hush!” her father spoke sternly; “I won’t allow such talk! It isn’t like you, my child, and it isn’t – ”

“Isn’t good form, I s’pose!” she interrupted. “Well, I’ll let up, dads, and I am a little ashamed of myself. Mother, maybe the phantom bugler was announcing the death of old Appleby!”

“Hush, Maida! What has got into you?”

“I’m incorrigible, I guess – ”

“You are!” and Allen smiled fondly at her. “Come out for a walk in the sunshine with me, and get these awful thoughts out of your brain.”

“I know I’m a criminal,” said Maida, as they walked down a garden path; “but I can’t help it. I’ve more to bear than you know of, Jeff, and you must make allowance.”

“I do, sweetheart. And I know how you’re troubled, and all that, but don’t say such dreadful things. I know you don’t mean them.”

“No, I don’t – at least, I don’t think I do. But I won’t say them any more. I think I lost my head – ”

“Forget it. You’re upset and nervous and your mother’s worry reflects itself on you. Is there really a bugler tradition?”

“Not over here. There was one connected with mother’s family long ago, in England, I believe. Of course, it was just one of those old spook yarns that most old houses have over there. But mother always remembered it. She has told everybody who ever visited here about it, and I think she always expected to hear the thing. Queer, though, wasn’t it?”

“Not very. It’s explainable by natural means, of course. Probably we’ll never know who it was, but it was no phantom, be sure of that.”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, except that it has upset mother so dreadfully. But she’ll get over it – if nothing happens.”

“Nothing will happen – if by that you mean a death in the family. More likely a marriage will take place!”

“Not ours, Jeff. I think that bugler sounded the death-knell of our hopes.”

“Maida! What is the matter with you? Why are you talking like that? I know you’ve something on your mind that you haven’t told me yet. Something pretty serious, for it makes you say the strangest things! Tell me, darling, won’t you?”

“I can’t, Jeff. I mean, there isn’t anything. Wait till those people come back again. You’ll be here, won’t you? They’re coming to-morrow.”

“You bet I will! I’ll see what I can do with old curmudgeon. You know I’m argumentative.”

“That won’t do any good with Appleby. What he wants is help from dad. If he doesn’t get that, he’ll punish us all.”

“And he can’t get that, for your dad won’t give it. So it looks as if we must all take our punishment. Well, we’re prepared.”

“You wouldn’t speak so lightly if you knew everything!”

“That’s why I ask you to tell me everything. Do, Maida, I’m sure I can help you.”

“Wait till they come,” was all Maida would say in response to his repeated requests.

And at last they came.

Smiling and hearty, Samuel Appleby reëntered the Wheeler home, apparently as self-assured and hopeful as when he left it.

Keefe was courteous and polite as always and Genevieve Lane was prettier than ever by reason of some new Boston-bought clothes.

Allen was introduced to the newcomers and sized up by one glance of Samuel Appleby’s keen eyes. Privately he decided that this young man was a very formidable rival of his son. But he greeted Allen with great cordiality, which Jeff thought it best to return, although he felt an instinctive dislike for the man’s personality.

“Come along with me, Maida,” and with daring familiarity, Genevieve put her hand through Maida’s arm and drew her toward the stairs. “I have the same room, I s’pose,” she babbled on; “I’ve lots of new things I want to show you. And,” she added as they entered the room, and she closed the door, “I want a talkfest with you before the others begin.”

“What about?” asked Maida, feeling the subject would be one of importance.

“Well, it’s just this. And don’t be too shocked if I speak right out in meetin’. I’ve determined to marry into this bunch that I’m working for.”

“Have you?” laughed Maida. “Are they equally determined?”

“I’m not joking – I’m in dead earnest. A poor girl has got to do the best she can for herself in this cold world. Well, I’m going to corral one of the three: old man Appleby, young man Appleby, or Curt Keefe.”

“Which one, for choice?” Maida still spoke lightly.

“You don’t think I’m in earnest, but I am. Well, I’d rather have young Sam. Next, I’d choose his father; and, lastly, I’m pretty sure I could nail Curtie Keefe.”

Maida couldn’t help her disapproval showing in her face, but she said: “It isn’t just the way I’d go about selecting a husband, but if it’s your way, all right. Can I help you?”

“Do you mean that?”

“Why, yes, if I can do anything practical.”

“Oh, you can! It’s only to keep off the grass, regarding young Sam.”

“You mean not to try to charm him myself?”

“Just about that. And I’ll tell you why I say this. It seems old Appleby has about made up his mind that you’re the right and proper mate for young Appleby. Oh, you needn’t draw yourself up in that haughty fashion – he’s good enough for you, Miss!”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” and Maida laughed in spite of herself at Genevieve’s manner. “But, truly, I don’t want him. You see I’m engaged to Mr. Allen.”

“I know it, but that cuts no ice with Pa Appleby. He plans to oust Mr. Allen and put his son in his place.”

“Oh, he does, does he?” Maida’s heart sank, for she had anticipated something like this. “Am I to be consulted?”

“Now, look here, Maida Wheeler. You needn’t take that attitude, for it won’t get you anywhere. You don’t know Mr. Appleby as I do. What he says goes —goes, understand?”

Maida went white. “But such a thing as you speak of won’t go!” she exclaimed.