Billie Bradley and the School Mystery: or, The Girl From Oklahoma

“That’s right! Come to think of it, I do remember. That cracked peddler, Dan Larkin, give it to me. I recollect because I noticed that big black blot on it at the time.”

Billie’s heart pounded so loudly she was afraid the storekeeper must hear it. She controlled her excitement sufficiently to ask in a quiet voice:

“Who, if you please, is Dan Larkin?”

“I just told you,” said the man peering at her over his spectacles. “Dan Larkin’s a queer old chap who keeps a store on wheels. He goes about, stopping at various places and selling things on the way.”

“A traveling store,” echoed Billie, fighting against disappointment. “Then he isn’t here any more?”

“Reckon he is,” said the storekeeper carelessly. He had evidently lost interest in the subject. “Dan give me that bill only this morning. He’ll probably stick around town all the rest of to-day, anyway.”

Billie’s hopes soared again.

“I’d consider it a great favor,” she said, with her very best smile, “if you could tell me where I am likely to find this – this Dan Larkin.”

“He generally parks his van right outside the town limits near the Derry farm. Folks generally know when he’s there and go to buy of him.”

Billie thanked the storekeeper for this precious information and fairly ran out to the street.

The bent old fellow peered after her and thoughtfully scratched his head.

“Girls are queer creatures,” he philosophized. “Now, what in the world does she want to go seeing Dan Larkin for? The way she rushed out into the street, you’d think her life depended on it. It does beat all.”

Billie had heard of the Derry farm. It was situated on the outskirts of town. It had long been deserted and the rambling old homestead was said by some to be haunted.

Billie might have walked, but, such was her impatience, she hailed the nearest street car. No time was to be lost! She opened her purse to make sure the five dollar bill with the dark irregular blot across its face was still there.

“The clue!” she murmured, a strange gleam in her eye. “If it only turns out to be the right one!”

Billie left the street car on the edge of town and walked down a country lane. At the end of it was a queer contraption on wheels, a covered motor truck with windows cut in it and a door at the back. This was, undoubtedly, Dan Larkin’s traveling store.

Billie hurried forward. Before the rude, ladder-like steps of the “store” she hesitated, but voices from within reassured her.

Dan Larkin was dealing with a customer. He was wrapping up a large parcel when Billie Bradley entered.

The customer lingered, exchanging reminiscences with the grizzled old fellow behind the counter. She went at last, however, and Billie fumbled in her purse for the stained five dollar bill.

She thrust this across the counter toward Dan Larkin.

“Please!” she cried eagerly, “can you tell me where you got that bill?”

CHAPTER XXIII

DAN LARKIN REMEMBERS

Dan Larkin was a character. He stood behind the little counter of his traveling store, sleeves rolled up to display sinewy forearms, small, good-humored eyes twinkling out from masses of puffy flesh, and a derby hat set rakishly on the back of his grizzled head.

He looked from the bill in Billie’s hand to Billie’s face and shook his head waggishly.

“You oughtn’t to startle an old feller like that,” he said. “I ain’t sure where I got that bill, young lady – let’s see, it’s a five dollar one, ain’t it? But one thing’s certain – I come by it honest!”

“I don’t doubt it,” replied Billie, smiling engagingly. “Anyone would know you were honest, just to look at you.”

“Would they now!” exclaimed the old man delightedly. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a powerful long time. I am honest you know – as the day!”

“I’m sure of it,” Billie repeated. “Mr. Larkin,” pushing the bill toward him again, “won’t you please look at this again closely and tell me if you don’t notice anything strange about it?”

“Hm!” said the old man, giving her an extraordinarily shrewd glance from his little, good-humored eyes. “Important, is it?”

“Oh, very, very important!” said Billie.

She waited in an agony of impatience, of mingled hope and fear, while the old man removed one pair of spectacles and replaced them by another. Taking the bill in his hand he peered intently at it.

“A five dollar bill, eh —with a blot on it,” he ruminated. “Now, what’s to be made of that?”

For a long moment he appeared lost in thought, then, with a gesture of regret, pushed the bill across the counter toward Billie.

“Sorry I don’t seem to recollect – ” Then, as Billie’s fingers reached for the bill: “Whoa there! Hold your horses! Sure, I know who give me that five dollars with the spot onto it.” The blue eyes twinkled and danced at Billie from between mounds of flesh. “’Twas Mrs. Maria Tatgood. That’s who ’twas!”

The interior of that quaint place reeled before Billie. She clung to the counter and heard her voice say faintly, joyfully:

“Has – has Mrs. Maria Tatgood been buying much of you lately?”

“Ho! That’s a queer question! But I’ll answer it honestly. That’s my way. Now you come to speak of it, Mrs. Tatgood has been buying quite a lot of me lately.”

“More than she used to?” Billie persisted.

“Quite a good deal more.” The small eyes beamed and danced at her. “Yes, I should say she’s buying quite a good deal more than usual these days. Which is gratifying to an old chap who has to make his living trundling a store about on wheels. Ain’t it, now?”

Billie agreed that it was and, reminded of her own deep obligation to Dan Larkin, she emulated the good example of Mrs. Tatgood and bought several things of him, all of which she could have done very well without.

Scarcely able to believe in her good fortune, Billie returned as quickly as possible to Three Towers Hall. All during the ride in the street car she debated the question as to whether it would be wise to confide her extraordinary news to Laura and Vi.

“Not just yet,” was her decision. “Monday and Tuesday are the days of the tennis tournament. I’ll wait till after that. Meantime,” imitating Mr. Dan Larkin, “I’ll keep my eyes open. Oh, won’t I just!”

The next day Billie went about radiating so much joyfulness that her chums were curious. Some of them even went so far as to be suspicious.

“Billie Bradley looks like the cat who has just swallowed the canary,” said Jessie Brewer. “I wonder,” musingly, “if she could have had a hand in the disappearance of that Gift Club money!”

“Don’t be a goose!” said her companion shortly. “Billie Bradley would never steal anything!”

However, the seed of doubt had been planted, and it grew!

Toward the end of the long pleasant Sunday, Billie’s mood of optimism began to wane somewhat. After all, argued the still, small voice of her pessimism, even though she had turned up a red-hot clue, what right had she to believe that she would be able to follow it through to a successful conclusion? It was not a very convincing clue, she told herself, and she was not very experienced in running down clues or trails of any kind.

If only to-morrow were not the beginning of the tennis tournament! If only – if only —

That night Laura and Vi worked over Billie’s knee, rubbing, massaging, as earnest in their ministrations as any professional trainer.