The Red Cross Girl
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Richard Harding Davis >> The Red Cross Girl
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But with none of these plans was Fred entirely satisfied. The
question deeply perplexed him. How best could a naked man clothe
himself? And as he sat pondering that point, from the bushes a
naked man emerged. He was not entirely undraped. For around his
nakedness he had drawn a canvas awning. Fred recognized it as
having been torn from one of the row-boats in the lake. But,
except for that, the man was naked to his heels. He was a young
man of Fred's own age. His hair was cut close, his face
smooth-shaven, and above his eye was a half-healed bruise. He
had the sharp, clever, rat-like face of one who lived by evil
knowledge. Water dripped from him, and either for that reason or
from fright the young man trembled, and, like one who had been
running, breathed in short, hard gasps.
Fred was surprised to find that he was not in the least
surprised. It was as though he had been waiting for the man, as
though it had been an appointment.
Two thoughts alone concerned him: that before he could rid
himself of his visitor his wife might return and take alarm, and
that the man, not knowing his friendly intentions, and in a state
to commit murder, might rush him. But the stranger made no
hostile move, and for a moment in the moonlight the two young men
eyed each other warily.
Then, taking breath and with a violent effort to stop the
chattering of his teeth, the stranger launched into his story.
"I took a bath in your pond," he blurted forth, "and--and they
stole my clothes! That's why I'm like this!"
Fred was consumed with envy. In comparison with this ingenious
narrative how prosaic and commonplace became his own plans to rid
himself of accusing garments and explain his nakedness. He
regarded the stranger with admiration. But even though he
applauded the other's invention, he could not let him suppose
that he was deceived by it.
"Isn't it rather a cold night to take a bath?" he said.
As though in hearty agreement, the naked man burst into a violent
fit of shivering.
"It wasn't a bath," he gasped. "It was a bet!"
"A what!" exclaimed Fred. His admiration was increasing. "A bet?
Then you are not alone?"
"I am NOW--damn them!" exclaimed the naked one. He began again
reluctantly. "We saw you from the road, you and a woman, sitting
here in the light from that room. They bet me I didn't dare strip
and swim across your pond with you sitting so near. I can see now
it was framed up on me from the start. For when I was swimming
back I saw them run to where I'd left my clothes, and then I
heard them crank up, and when I got to the hedge the car was
gone!"
Keep smiled encouragingly. "The car!" he assented. "So you've
been riding around in the moonlight?"
The other nodded, and was about to speak when there burst in upon
them the roaring scream of the siren. The note now was of deeper
rage, and came in greater volume. Between his clinched teeth the
naked one cursed fiercely, and then, as though to avoid further
questions, burst into a fit of coughing. Trembling and shaking,
he drew the canvas cloak closer to him. But at no time did his
anxious, prying eyes leave the eyes of Keep.
"You--you couldn't lend me a suit of clothes could you?" he
stuttered. "Just for to-night? I'll send them back. It's all
right," he added; reassuringly. "I live near here."
With a start Keep raised his eyes, and distressed by his look,
the young man continued less confidently.
"I don't blame you if you don't believe it," he stammered,
"seeing me like this; but I DO live right near here. Everybody
around here knows me, and I guess you've read about me in the
papers, too. I'm--that is, my name--" like one about to take a
plunge he drew a short breath, and the rat-like eyes regarded
Keep watchfully--"my name is Van Warden. I'm the one you read
about--Harry--I'm Harry Van Warden!"
After a pause, slowly and reprovingly Fred shook his head; but
his smile was kindly even regretful, as though he were sorry he
could not longer enjoy the stranger's confidences.
"My boy!" he exclaimed, "you're MORE than Van Warden! You're a
genius!" He rose and made a peremptory gesture. "Sorry," he said,
"but this isn't safe for either of us. Follow me, and I'll dress
you up and send you where you want to go." He turned and
whispered over his shoulder: "Some day let me hear from you. A
man with your nerve--"
In alarm the naked one with a gesture commanded silence.
The library led to the front hall. In this was the coat-room.
First making sure the library and hall were free of servants,
Fred tiptoed to the coat-room and, opening the door, switched: on
the electric light. The naked man, leaving in his wake a trail of
damp footprints, followed at his heels.
Fred pointed at golf-capes, sweaters, greatcoats hanging from
hooks, and on the floor at boots and overshoes.
"Put on that motor-coat and the galoshes," he commanded. "They'll
cover you in case you have to run for it. I'm going to leave you
here while I get you some clothes. If any of the servants butt
in, don't lose your head. Just say you're waiting to see me--Mr.
Keep. I won't be long. Wait."
"Wait!" snorted the stranger. "You BET I'll wait!'
As Fred closed the door upon him, the naked one was rubbing
himself violently with Mrs. Keep's yellow golf-jacket.
In his own room Fred collected a suit of blue serge, a tennis
shirt, boots, even a tie. Underclothes he found ready laid out
for him, and he snatched them from the bed. From a roll of money
in his bureau drawer he counted out a hundred dollars. Tactfully
he slipped the money in the trousers pocket of the serge suit and
with the bundle of clothes in his arms raced downstairs and
shoved them into the coat-room.
"Don't come out until I knock," he commanded. "And," he added in
a vehement whisper, "don't come out at all unless you have
clothes on!"
The stranger grunted.
Fred rang for Gridley and told him to have his car brought around
to the door. He wanted it to start at once within two minutes.
When the butler had departed, Fred, by an inch, again opened the
coat-room door. The stranger had draped himself in the
underclothes and the shirt, and at the moment was carefully
arranging the tie.
"Hurry!" commanded Keep. "The car'll be here in a minute. Where
shall I tell him to take you?"
The stranger chuckled excitedly; his confidence seemed to be
returning. "New York," he whispered, "fast as he can get there!
Look here," he added doubtfully, "there's a roll of bills in
these clothes."
"They're yours," said Fred.
The stranger exclaimed vigorously. "You're all right!" he
whispered. "I won't forget this, or you either. I'll send the
money back same time I send the clothes."
"Exactly!" said Fred.
The wheels of the touring-car crunched on the gravel drive, and
Fred slammed to the door, and like a sentry on guard paced before
it. After a period which seemed to stretch over many minutes
there came from the inside a cautious knocking. With equal
caution Fred opened the door of the width of a finger, and put
his ear to the crack.
"You couldn't find me a button-hook, could you?" whispered the
stranger.
Indignantly Fred shut the door and, walking to the veranda,
hailed the chauffeur. James, the chauffeur, was a Keepsburg boy,
and when Keep had gone to Cambridge James had accompanied him.
Keep knew the boy could be trusted.
"You're to take a man to New York," he said, "or wherever he
wants to go. Don't talk to him. Don't ask any questions. So, if
YOU'RE questioned, you can say you know nothing. That's for your
own good!"
The chauffeur mechanically touched his cap and started down the
steps. As he did so, the prison whistle, still unsatisfied, still
demanding its prey, shattered the silence. As though it had hit
him a physical blow, the youth jumped. He turned and lifted
startled, inquiring eyes to where Keep stood above him.
"I told you," said Keep, "to ask no questions.
As Fred re-entered the hall, Winnie Keep was coming down the
stairs toward him. She had changed to one of the prettiest
evening gowns of her trousseau, and so outrageously lovely was
the combination of herself and the gown that her husband's
excitement and anxiety fell from him, and he was lost in
admiration. But he was not for long lost. To his horror; the door
of the coat-closet opened toward his wife and out of the closet
the stranger emerged. Winnie, not accustomed to seeing young men
suddenly appear from among the dust-coats, uttered a sharp
shriek.
With what he considered great presence of mind, Fred swung upon
the visitor
"Did you fix it?" he demanded.
The visitor did not heed him. In amazement in abject admiration,
his eyes were fastened upon the beautiful and radiant vision
presented by Winnie Keep. But he also still preserved sufficient
presence of mind to nod his head dully.
"Come," commanded Fred. "The car is waiting."
Still the stranger did not move. As though he had never before
seen a woman, as though her dazzling loveliness held him in a
trance, he stood still, gazing, gaping, devouring Winnie with his
eyes. In her turn, Winnie beheld a strange youth who looked like
a groom out of livery, so overcome by her mere presence as to be
struck motionless and inarticulate. For protection she moved in
some alarm toward her husband.
The stranger gave a sudden jerk of his body that might have been
intended for a bow. Before Keep could interrupt him, like a
parrot reciting its lesson, he exclaimed explosively:
"My name's Van Warden. I'm Harry Van Warden."
He seemed as little convinced of the truth of his statement as
though he had announced that he was the Czar of Russia. It was as
though a stage-manager had drilled him in the lines.
But upon Winnie, as her husband saw to his dismay, the words
produced an instant and appalling effect. She fairly radiated
excitement and delight. How her husband had succeeded in
capturing the social prize of Scarboro she could not imagine,
but, for doing so, she flashed toward him a glance of deep and
grateful devotion.
Then she beamed upon the stranger. "Won't Mr. Van Warden stay to
dinner?" she asked.
Her husband emitted a howl. "He will NOT!" he cried. "He's not
that kind of a Van Warden. He's a plumber. He's the man that
fixes the telephone!"
He seized the visitor by the sleeve of the long motor-coat and
dragged him down the steps. Reluctantly, almost resistingly, the
visitor stumbled after him, casting backward amazed glances at
the beautiful lady. Fred thrust him into the seat beside the
chauffeur. Pointing at the golf-cap and automobile goggles which
the stranger was stupidly twisting in his hands, Fred whispered
fiercely:
"Put those on! Cover your face! Don't speak! The man knows what
to do."
With eager eyes and parted lips James the chauffeur was waiting
for the signal. Fred nodded sharply, and the chauffeur stooped to
throw in the clutch. But the car did not start. From the hedge
beside the driveway, directly in front of the wheels, something
on all fours threw itself upon the gravel; something in a suit of
purple-gray; something torn and bleeding, smeared with sweat and
dirt; something that cringed and crawled, that tried to rise and
sank back upon its knees, lifting to the glare of the head-lights
the white face and white hair of a very old, old man. The
kneeling figure sobbed; the sobs rising from far down in the pit
of the stomach, wrenching the body like waves of nausea. The man
stretched his arms toward them. From long disuse his voice
cracked and broke.
"I'm done!" he sobbed. "I can't go no farther! I give myself up!"
Above the awful silence that held the four young people, the
prison siren shrieked in one long, mocking howl of triumph.
It was the stranger who was the first to act. Pushing past Fred,
and slipping from his own shoulders the long motor-coat, he
flung it over the suit of purple-gray. The goggles he clapped
upon the old man's frightened eyes, the golf-cap he pulled down
over the white hair. With one arm he lifted the convict, and with
the other dragged and pushed him into the seat beside the
chauffeur. Into the hands of the chauffeur he thrust the roll of
bills.
"Get him away!" he ordered. "It's only twelve miles to the
Connecticut line. As soon as you're across, buy him clothes and a
ticket to Boston. Go through White Plains to Greenwich--and then
you're safe!"
As though suddenly remembering the presence of the owner of the
car, he swung upon Fred. "Am I right?" he demanded.
"Of course!" roared Fred. He flung his arm at the chauffeur as
though throwing him into space.
"Get-to-hell-out-of-here!" he shouted.
The chauffeur, by profession a criminal, but by birth a human
being, chuckled savagely and this time threw in the clutch. With
a grinding of gravel the racing-car leaped into the night, its
ruby rear lamp winking in farewell, its tiny siren answering the
great siren of the prison in jeering notes of joy and victory.
Fred had supposed that at the last moment the younger convict
proposed to leap to the running-board, but instead the stranger
remained motionless.
Fred shouted impotently after the flying car. In dismay he seized
the stranger by the arm.
"But you?" he demanded. "How are you going to get away?"
The stranger turned appealingly to where upon the upper step
stood Winnie Keep.
"I don't want to get away," he said. "I was hoping, maybe, you'd
let me stay to dinner."
A terrible and icy chill crept down the spine of Fred Keep. He
moved so that the light from the hall fell full upon the face of
the stranger.
"Will you kindly tell me," Fred demanded, "who the devil you
are?"
The stranger exclaimed peevishly. "I've BEEN telling you all
evening," he protested. "I'm Harry Van Warden!"
Gridley, the ancient butler, appeared in the open door.
"Dinner is served, madam," he said.
The stranger gave an exclamation of pleasure. "Hello, Gridley!"
he cried. "Will you please tell Mr. Keep who I am? Tell him, if
he'll ask me to dinner, I won't steal the spoons."
Upon the face of Gridley appeared a smile it never had been the
privilege of Fred Keep to behold. The butler beamed upon the
stranger fondly, proudly, by the right of long acquaintanceship,
with the affection of an old friend. Still beaming, he bowed to
Keep.
"If Mr. Harry--Mr. Van Warden," he said, "is to stay to dinner,
might I suggest, sir, he is very partial to the Paul Vibert,
'84."
Fred Keep gazed stupidly from his butler to the stranger and then
at his wife. She was again radiantly beautiful and smilingly
happy.
Gridley coughed tentatively. "Shall I open a bottle, sir?" he
asked.
Hopelessly Fred tossed his arms heavenward.
"Open a case!" he roared.
At ten o'clock, when they were still at table and reaching a
state of such mutual appreciation that soon they would be calling
each other by their first names, Gridley brought in a written
message he had taken from the telephone. It was a long-distance
call from Yonkers, sent by James, the faithful chauffeur.
Fred read it aloud.
"I got that party the articles he needed," it read, "and saw him
safe on a train to Boston. On the way back I got arrested for
speeding the car on the way down. Please send money. I am in a
cell in Yonkers."
Chapter 8. THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF
Before he finally arrested him, "Jimmie" Sniffen had seen the man
with the golf-cap, and the blue eyes that laughed at you, three
times. Twice, unexpectedly, he had come upon him in a wood road
and once on Round Hill where the stranger was pretending to watch
the sunset. Jimmie knew people do not climb hills merely to look
at sunsets, so he was not deceived. He guessed the man was a
German spy seeking gun sites, and secretly vowed to "stalk" him.
From that moment, had the stranger known it, he was as good as
dead. For a boy scout with badges on his sleeve for "stalking"
and "path-finding," not to boast of others for "gardening" and
"cooking," can outwit any spy. Even had, General Baden-Powell
remained in Mafeking and not invented the boy scout, Jimmie
Sniffen would have been one. Because, by birth he was a boy, and
by inheritance, a scout. In Westchester County the Sniffens are
one of the county families. If it isn't a Sarles, it's a Sniffen;
and with Brundages, Platts, and Jays, the Sniffens date back to
when the acres of the first Charles Ferris ran from the Boston
post road to the coach road to Albany, and when the first
Gouverneur Morris stood on one of his hills and saw the Indian
canoes in the Hudson and in the Sound and rejoiced that all the
land between belonged to him.
If you do not believe in heredity, the fact that Jimmie's
great-great-grandfather was a scout for General Washington and
hunted deer, and even bear, over exactly the same hills where
Jimmie hunted weasles will count for nothing. It will not explain
why to Jimmie, from Tarrytown to Port Chester, the hills, the
roads, the woods, and the cow-paths, caves, streams, and springs
hidden in the woods were as familiar as his own kitchen garden,
Nor explain why, when you could not see a Pease and Elliman "For
Sale" sign nailed to a tree, Jimmie could see in the highest
branches a last year's bird's nest.
Or why, when he was out alone playing Indians and had sunk his
scout's axe into a fallen log and then scalped the log, he felt
that once before in those same woods he had trailed that same
Indian, and with his own tomahawk split open his skull. Sometimes
when he knelt to drink at a secret spring in the forest, the
autumn leaves would crackle and he would raise his eyes fearing
to see a panther facing him.
But there ain't no panthers in Westchester," Jimmie would
reassure himself. And in the distance the roar of an automobile
climbing a hill with the muffler open would seem to suggest he
was right. But still Jimmie remembered once before he had knelt
at that same spring, and that when he raised his eyes he had
faced a crouching panther. "Mebbe dad told me it happened to
grandpop," Jimmie would explain, "or I dreamed it, or, mebbe, I
read it in a story book."
The "German spy" mania attacked Round Hill after the visit to the
boy scouts of Clavering Gould, the war correspondent. He was
spending the week end with "Squire" Harry Van Vorst, and as young
Van Vorst, besides being a justice of the peace and a Master of
Beagles and President of the Country Club, was also a local
"councilman" for the Round Hill Scouts, he brought his guest to a
camp-fire meeting to talk to them. In deference to his audience,
Gould told them of the boy scouts he had seen in Belgium and of
the part they were playing in the great war. It was his
peroration that made trouble.
"And any day," he assured his audience, "this country may be at
war with Germany; and every one of you boys will be expected to
do his bit. You can begin now. When the Germans land it will be
near New Haven, or New Bedford. They will first capture the
munition works at Springfield, Hartford, and Watervliet so as to
make sure of their ammunition, and then they will start for New
York City. They will follow the New Haven and New York Central
railroads, and march straight through this village. I haven't the
least doubt," exclaimed the enthusiastic war prophet, "that at
this moment German spies are as thick in Westchester as
blackberries. They are here to select camp sites and gun
positions, to find out which of these hills enfilade the others
and to learn to what extent their armies can live on the country.
They are counting the cows, the horses, the barns where fodder is
stored; and they are marking down on their maps the wells and
streams."
As though at that moment a German spy might be crouching behind
the door, Mr. Gould spoke in a whisper. "Keep your eyes open!" he
commanded. "Watch every stranger. If he acts suspiciously, get
word quick to your sheriff, or to Judge Van Vorst here. Remember
the scouts' motto, 'Be prepared!'"
That night as the scouts walked home, behind each wall and
hayrick they saw spiked helmets.
Young Van Vorst was extremely annoyed.
"Next time you talk to my scouts," he declared, you'll talk on
'Votes for Women.' After what you said to-night every real estate
agent who dares open a map will be arrested. We're not trying to
drive people away from Westchester, we're trying to sell them
building sites."
"YOU are not!" retorted his friend, "you own half the county now,
and you're trying to buy the other half."
"I'm a justice of the peace," explained Van Vorst. "I don't know
WHY I am, except that they wished it on me. All I get out of it
is trouble. The Italians make charges against my best friends for
overspeeding and I have to fine them, and my best friends bring
charges against the Italians for poaching, and when I fine the
Italians, they send me Black Hand letters. And now every day I'll
be asked to issue a warrant for a German spy who is selecting gun
sites. And he will turn out to be a millionaire who is tired of
living at the Ritz-Carlton and wants to 'own his own home' and
his own golf-links. And he'll be so hot at being arrested that
he'll take his millions to Long Island and try to break into the
Piping Rock Club. And, it will be your fault!"
The young justice of the peace was right. At least so far as
Jimmie Sniffen was concerned, the words of the war prophet had
filled one mind with unrest. In the past Jimmie's idea of a
holiday had been to spend it scouting in the woods. In this
pleasure he was selfish. He did not want companions who talked,
and trampled upon the dead leaves so that they frightened the
wild animals and gave the Indians warning. Jimmie liked to
pretend. He liked to fill the woods with wary and hostile
adversaries. It was a game of his own inventing. If he crept to
the top of a hill and on peering over it, surprised a fat
woodchuck, he pretended the woodchuck was a bear, weighing two
hundred pounds; if, himself unobserved, he could lie and watch,
off its guard, a rabbit, squirrel, or, most difficult of all, a
crow, it became a deer and that night at supper Jimmie made
believe he was eating venison. Sometimes he was a scout of the
Continental Army and carried despatches to General Washington.
The rules of that game were that if any man ploughing in the
fields, or cutting trees in the woods, or even approaching along
the same road, saw Jimmie before Jimmie saw him, Jimmie was taken
prisoner, and before sunrise was shot as a spy. He was seldom
shot. Or else why on his sleeve was the badge for "stalking." But
always to have to make believe became monotonous. Even "dry
shopping" along the Rue de la Paix when you pretend you can have
anything you see in any window, leaves one just as rich, but
unsatisfied. So the advice of the war correspondent to seek out
German spies came to Jimmie like a day at the circus, like a week
at the Danbury Fair. It not only was a call to arms, to protect
his flag and home, but a chance to play in earnest the game in
which he most delighted. No longer need he pretend. No longer
need he waste his energies in watching, unobserved, a greedy
rabbit rob a carrot field. The game now was his fellow-man and
his enemy; not only his enemy, but the enemy of his country.
In his first effort Jimmie was not entirely successful. The man
looked the part perfectly; he wore an auburn beard, disguising
spectacles, and he carried a suspicious knapsack. But he turned
out to be a professor from the Museum of Natural History, who
wanted to dig for Indian arrow-heads. And when Jimmie threatened
to arrest him, the indignant gentleman arrested Jimmie. Jimmie
escaped only by leading the professor to a secret cave of his
own, though on some one else's property, where one not only could
dig for arrow-heads, but find them. The professor was delighted,
but for Jimmie it was a great disappointment. The week following
Jimmie was again disappointed.
On the bank of the Kensico Reservoir, he came upon a man who was
acting in a mysterious and suspicious manner. He was making notes
in a book, and his runabout which he had concealed in a wood road
was stuffed with blue-prints. It did not take Jimmie long to
guess his purpose. He was planning to blow up the Kensico dam,
and cut off the water supply of New York City. Seven millions of
people without water! With out firing a shot, New York must
surrender! At the thought Jimmie shuddered, and at the risk of
his life by clinging to the tail of a motor truck, he followed
the runabout into White Plains. But there it developed the
mysterious stranger, so far from wishing to destroy the Kensico
dam, was the State Engineer who had built it, and, also, a large
part of the Panama Canal. Nor in his third effort was Jimmie more
successful. From the heights of Pound Ridge he discovered on a
hilltop below him a man working alone upon a basin of concrete.
The man was a German-American, and already on Jimmie's list of
"suspects." That for the use of the German artillery he was
preparing a concrete bed for a siege gun was only too evident.
But closer investigation proved that the concrete was only two
inches thick. And the hyphenated one explained that the basin was
built over a spring, in the waters of which he planned to erect a
fountain and raise gold fish. It was a bitter blow. Jimmie became
discouraged. Meeting Judge Van Vorst one day in the road he told
him his troubles. The young judge proved unsympathetic. "My
advice to you, Jimmie," he said, "is to go slow. Accusing
everybody of espionage is a very serious matter. If you call a
man a spy, it's sometimes hard for him to disprove it; and the
name sticks. So, go slow--very slow. Before you arrest any more
people, come to me first for a warrant."
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