Read the book: «The Girls of Central High on Track and Field», page 5

CHAPTER XII – THE RACES

Bobby, as she said, “fished” for this invitation and got it while the girls were dressing in the gym. building, before the try-out work on the field that Saturday afternoon. Eve went to her broad jump, while Bobby lined up with a lot of the would-be sprinters from all four classes, to try their speed from the fifty-yard dash up to the quarter-mile.

Only the very best of the candidates were allowed to try the longer races, and they had all to go to Dr. Agnew’s office first. The doctor spent the most of every Saturday afternoon at the gym. building, and he doled out good advice to the girls while he prodded them, and listened to their heart and lung action, and otherwise discovered if they were “fit.”

Laura had been delegated by Mrs. Case to watch the sprinters, and most of them were quickly sent to the courts to play tennis, or basketball, or some other game, and the cinder track was soon devoted to those only who were earnestly endeavoring to develop their speed as runners – and who had some small chance, at least, to make a good record.

Bobby tried the first short dash, and then the third. There was some crowding on the track and she could not do her best – nor did she wish to. As long as she made a good enough showing to be advised to wait for the finals, she was content, and so was Laura.

“Hold yourself in,” advised Mother Wit, smiling on her. “If you spend your best wind trying to beat these others at first you’ll be lost when it comes to the quarter-mile, and be retired.”

So Bobby bided her time until the quarter-mile was called. There were but six contestants. It was the longest trial of speed that Mrs. Case would allow on the track. The Girls’ Branch Athletic League gave but a doubtful approval, at most, to the quarter-mile trial.

The six were “set” on the line and Laura, watch in hand, waited for the arrow to touch the mark, her hand raised.

“Go!” she shouted, and the girls sprang away, each doing her very best from the start. For the quarter-mile run leaves little space for jockeying. It is soon over, and the contestant who gets off ahead is quite frequently the winner.

The six girls were not so unevenly matched; and they started well on a line. For the first few yards they kept together.

But then the pace began to tell. For fifty yards, say, they were matched to a degree; then it was plain that only two of them had the “sand” to keep up that killing pace for long.

Bobby and one other forged ahead. Breast to breast, their arms working in unison, their stride equal, the two girls passed ahead of the others and shot along the track with unabated swiftness.

The girls behind were panting, and falling back. One wavered and dropped out entirely when she had run but a furlong. The others clung to the track, however, doing their very best to record a fair time, at least. They had learned under Mrs. Case to play the game out, no matter how badly they seemed to be beaten.

Bobby and the girl with her felt the strain growing, however. Unless the runner is experienced, the dogged perseverance of a close opponent is likely to rattle one at the last moment. As the two came down the stretch and the watching girls began to cheer and “root” for their favorite contestant, the runners felt their nerve going.

A misstep now would cause the loss of the race to one, or to the other. Bobby tried not to see the girls along the track, or to think of the one pounding away beside her.

She was breathing with comparative ease herself; but the sound of the other girl’s breathing pumped in her ears, louder and louder! And how loudly her footbeats were, too!

Could she only get away from those sounds – leave them behind her – clear the rushing air about her of those noises!

There was the line stretched across the track. She knew it was there because Laura stood with it in her hand. If she could only breast that ribbon first!

Somewhere – it seemed to be a cry from the air right over her head – a shrill voice kept repeating:

“Come on! Come on, Bobs!”

And Bobby called up that reserve strength that Mrs. Case had talked so much about in her little lectures to the girls, and sprang ahead of her rival. She was unconscious of the fact that she was ahead. It seemed to her that the other girl was still clinging to her. She could hear the footsteps and the heavy breathing.

But suddenly she was aware that it was her own feet spurning the cinders that she heard – and her own breathing. She was winning!

And then the tape snapped across her chest and Jess and Eve Sitz, who had run over to watch the finish of the race, caught her in their arms.

“Splendid! Bully for you, Bobs!” cried Jess. “Why, there isn’t any other quarter-mile runner in Central High. You take the palm!”

And not until then did Bob understand that the girl she thought she had run so closely was a hallucination. The second runner was yards behind her at the finish!

They bore Bobby into the gym. building and Mrs. Case insisted upon Dr. Agnew’s seeing her again almost immediately. The physician was still in the building, and he came when called. The physical instructor was examining the time card Laura and her assistants had made out. She would not divulge their time to the runners, and the time keepers were sworn to secrecy; but everybody knew that Bobby Hargrew had made a good showing.

“There’s nothing the matter with that little girl,” said the doctor, confidently. “Only, these sudden strains are not valuable. Yes, once, by the way, is all right. As long as one does not go beyond that reserve strength that your instructor harps upon,” and he laughed.

Bobby was naturally proud over her achievement, for she knew that she had run a very fast quarter. She was only sorry that she could not know herself just how fast she was. But that was a secret Mrs. Case kept from her.

“The worst possible thing for a runner in training to know is how fast, or how slow, he is,” she often declared, “Do your best each time; that is your business.”

So Bobby got into her street clothes and, having telephoned to her father as she had promised Eve Sitz, she ran home to pack her bag. On the way she passed by the house where Miss Carrington boarded. Gee Gee had two rooms in a wing of the old Boyce house, in which the Widow Boyce kept lodgers. Her front room had long, French windows which swung outward like doors upon the porch. And as Bobby ran by she saw a man come down from this porch, as though he had been listening at the windows, and hurry around the corner of the house and behind the thick hedge of the kitchen garden.

“That was the Gypsy – Jim Varey,” Bobby thought, hesitating before the house. “What is he haunting Gee Gee for? Ought she to know that he is hanging around?”

But the girl hesitated about going in and speaking to the teacher. Gee Gee, she considered, was really her arch-enemy. Why should she try to shield her from any trouble? And, too, Miss Carrington might not thank her for interfering in her private affairs.

So Bobby ran on home and told Mrs. Ballister where she was going, huddled a few things into her bag, kissed “the kids,” as she termed her sisters, and ran off for the station, there to meet Eve for the 5:14 train to Keyport.

And while she waited who should appear but that black-faced man with the gold hoops in his ears – Jim Varey!

The Gypsy saw her – Bobby knew he did. But he paid her no attention, slinking into the men’s room and not appearing again until Eve arrived and the two girls went aboard the train. Then Bobby saw him once more.

“Do you see that fellow, Eve?” she demanded, whispering into the bigger girl’s ear.

“What fellow?”

“There! he’s gone,” said Bobby, with a sigh. “I feared he was following us.”

“Whom do you mean?” queried Eve, rather surprised by her manner.

“Jim Varey, the Gypsy.”

“Why! is he about?” asked Eve. “You mean the husband of Queen Grace? Well, he’s a bad egg, he is! I hope he won’t dog us to the house, for he might learn then where that poor girl is hiding.”

When they were in the car Bobby stuck her head out of the window to look along the platform. She did not see Jim Varey in the crowd; but she might better have kept in her head – for he saw her.

CHAPTER XIII – WHAT MARGIT SAID

The two girls settled back into their seats, each having one to herself, for the car was not filled. Bobby was soon laughing and joking in her usual way.

“If I ride backward like this, will I get to the same place you do, Eve?” she asked.

“What a ridiculous question!” exclaimed Eve.

“I don’t know. One of the ‘squabs’ was going around yesterday asking everybody a much more foolish one.”

“What was that?”

“Why, what was the largest island in the world before Australia was discovered?” queried Bobby, giggling.

“Why – why – Newfoundland, perhaps?”

“Nope.”

“Madagascar?”

“No,” said Bobby, shaking her head.

“England and Scotland together?”

“Huh! You couldn’t divide them very well,” jeered Bobby. “But that’s not the answer.”

“What was the biggest island, then? I give, it up,” said Eve.

“Why, Australia, of course,” chuckled Bobby. “It was there all the time, even if it wasn’t discovered. Don’t you see?”

And so she passed the time without betraying the fact that she had a very serious reason for wishing to see and talk with Margit Salgo.

When the girls left the train they had no idea that Jim Varey got out of the smoking car on the wrong side from the station and hid in the bushes. When the girls started across the fields toward the Sitz place, the Gypsy dogged them.

In half an hour Eve and her guest reached the house, never suspecting that they had been the subject of attention.

Bobby was welcome at the farmhouse. She had been there several times before and from Farmer Sitz down they enjoyed the whimsical, irrepressible girl. The expectation that she would be “good fun” put Bobby on her mettle, despite the fact that, secretly, she did not feel cheerful.

Margit Salgo was better and seemed content enough to occupy the comfortable bed in the room next Eve’s own. She knew Bobby immediately, and looked a bit disturbed. But Bobby gave her to understand that she had told nobody about what the Gypsy girl had said the day they were caught together in the rain.

“But to-night, when the other folks are abed, I want you to tell Eve and me what you care to about yourself, Margit,” said Bobby, when the others were out of the room. “Perhaps we can help you. All we girls are interested in you, for, you see, at least seven of us saw you that day when you ran away from your friends.”

“No friends of mine! no friends of mine!” gasped the girl, half in fear.

“All right. You tell us all about it this evening,” whispered Bobby and then whisked out to help Eve with her duties.

Not that she was of much help when she followed Eve out to the clean and modern barn where Eve had her own six cows to milk, while Otto or the hired man milked the rest of the herd. But she was amusing.

“Goodness me!” was Bobby’s first comment, when she came into the shed and saw the row of mild-eyed cattle standing in their stalls. “What a lot of cows – and every one of them chewing gum! Can you beat it?”

“What do you suppose Miss Carrington would say to a row of girls who chewed their cud as seriously as these bossies?” laughed Eve.

Bobby arched her brows, screwed up her mouth, and replied, in a stilted manner:

“‘Young ladies! I am surprised. Do my eyes deceive me? Do you consider it polite to wag your jaws like that in public? Fie, for shame!’ And much more to the same purpose,” added Bobby, laughing. “Oh, Gee Gee and her lessons in politeness make me tired. She’s so polite herself that she’d even return a telephone call! Hullo! what’s this?”

“A bridle,” said Eve, as Bobby took it down from its hook.

“Oh! Sure! You see, I’m a regular green-horn when it comes to country things. Of course, that’s the bit. But say! how do you ever get it into the horse’s mouth? I’d have to wait for him to yawn, I expect,” and she laughed.

She was great fun at supper, too, to the delight of the family. Otto, with his queer notions of the English language, made Bobby very gay; and the young man complained of his difficulties with the English language just for the sake of encouraging Bobby to correct his speech. Finally she made up one of her little doggerel verses for him, to Otto’s great delight:

 
“Otto saw a sausage in a pan,
He smelled a smelt a-frying;
He saw the sheep that had been dyed
Look not the least like dying.
 
 
“He saw a hen sit on an egg,
Although she had been set;
Heard Eve complain of being dry
Though plainly she was wet.
 
 
“He looked upon the window pane,
Quite sure no pain it had;
Then sighed, and shook his head, and said:
’Dot English, she iss pad!‘”
 

Good Mrs. Sitz had not allowed Margit to get out of bed, but Eve and Bobby took supper in to the Gypsy girl on a tray. She protested that she was not an invalid, and after Otto and the old folks had gone to bed, Margit, well wrapped in shawls and a comforter, came out to sit in a big chair before Eve’s fire.

“I am not like you girls,” she said, wistfully. “You go to school and learn things out of books, eh? Well, I never went to school. And then, this big America is so different from my country. You do not understand.”

“I guess I can understand something of what you mean,” observed Eve, soberly. “You see,we came from Europe, too.”

“Not from Hungary – Austria-Hungary?” cried Margit Salgo, with excitement.

“No, no. From Switzerland,” replied Eve, smiling. “And I was very small when we came, so I do not remember much about it.”

“But I came only last year,” explained Margit. “And I was given to the Vareys – ”

“Goodness me! Don’t talk that way,” interrupted Bobby. “It sounds just as though you were owned by those Gypsies.”

“Well, it is so,” said Margit. “I am a Gypsy, too. My father was Belas Salgo. He was a musician – a wonderful musician, I believe. But he was a Gypsy. And all the Romany are kin, in some way. These Vareys are English Gypsies. They are kind enough to me. But I sure believe they hide from me who I am.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Eve, in surprise, although Bobby said not a word, but listened, eagerly.

“Only my father, you see, was a Gypsy. My mother – ”

“Who was she?” asked Bobby, suddenly.

“I – I do not know. But she was not of those people – no. I am sure of that. She died when I was very little. I went about in many lands with my father. Then he died – very suddenly. Gypsy friends took me for a while, but they all said I belonged over here – in America. So they sent me here finally.”

“Your mother was American, then, perhaps?” said Eve, shrewdly.

“That may be it. But these Vareys care nothing about my finding any relatives, save for one thing,” said Margit, shaking her head, gloomily.

“What is that?” asked Bobby.

“If there is money. They believe my mother’s people might be rich, or something of the kind. Then they would make them pay to get hold of me. But suppose my mother’s people do not want me?” slowly added the fugitive, sadly.

“You are quite sure this is the idea the Vareys have?” asked Bobby.

“Oh, yes. I heard them talking. Then I saw a – a card with a name written on it. They said, when they were looking at the card, ‘Shewill know all about it. It is to her we must go.’ So I know it was a woman’s name.”

“But how did you know – or suspect – that the name was that of any teacher in our school?” demanded Bobby, much to Eve’s surprise.

“Ah! I learned much – here a word, there a word – by listening. I knew we were coming to Centerport for the purpose of getting speech with this woman whose name had been given them by the Hungarian people who brought me over here to America.”

“But mercy on us!” cried Eve, in vast amazement. “What name is it?”

“She can’t explain, for she cannot pronounce it,” said Bobby, instantly.

“Grace, or Jim Varey, never spoke the name aloud,” said Margit, shaking her head. “But I know there are eighteen letters in the name. I counted them.”

“And what teacher at Central High has eighteen letters in her name?” murmured Eve, staring at Bobby.

Bobby took a pencil and wrote Miss Carrington’s full name slowly on a piece of paper. She put it before the Gypsy girl.

“Is that the name?” she asked. “When we spoke together before I had forgotten that Miss Carrington always spells her middle name out in full when she writes it at all.”

“Miss Carrington!” gasped Eve, and, like Bobby, looked in the Gypsy girl’s face questioningly.

CHAPTER XIV – ANOTHER FLITTING

“Is she nice?” asked Margit Salgo, eagerly, looking at the two Central High girls.

“Bless us!” muttered Bobby.

“She is a very well educated lady,” said Eve, seriously. “I cannot tell whether you would like her. But – but do you really believe that she knows anything about you, Margit?”

“I do not know how much she knows of me,” said the Gypsy girl, quickly. “But of my mother’s people she knows. That I am sure. She – she holds the key, you would say, to the matter. It is through her, I am sure, that the Vareys expect to get money for me.”

“To sell you to Miss Carrington?” gasped Eve.

“I do not know,” replied the Gypsy girl, shaking her head. “But there is money to be made out of me, I know. And Queen Grace is – is very eager to get money.”

“She’s avaricious, is she?” said Eve, thoughtfully.

But Bobby Hargrew’s mind was fixed upon another phase of the subject. She took Margit’s hand and asked, softly:

“What was your mother’s name, dear?”

“Why – Madam Salgo.”

“But her first name – her intimate name? What did your father call her? Do you not remember?”

Margit waited a moment and then nodded. “I understand,” she said. “It was ‘Annake.’”

“Anne?”

“Ah, yes – in your harsh English tongue,” returned Margit. “But why do you ask?”

Bobby was not willing to tell her that – then.

“At any rate, Margit,” Eve told her, soothingly, “you will stay here with us just as long as you like.” The girl had narrated her flight from Centerport when she saw the Gypsies in that town and knew they would hunt her down. “And we girls will help you find your friends.”

“This Miss Carrington,” spoke Margit, eagerly. “She knows. I must meet her. But do you not tell her anything about me. Let me meet and judge her for myself.”

“Don’t you think we’d better tell her something about you?” asked Eve, thoughtfully.

“Perhaps she might not want to know me,” replied the Gypsy girl, anxiously. “Who am I? A Romany! All you other people look down on the Romany folk.”

“Well, you are only part Gypsy,” said the practical Evangeline. “And your father was an educated man – a great musician, you say.”

“Surely!”

“Then I wouldn’t class myself with people who would chase me with a bloodhound, and only wanted to make money out of me,” said Eve, sensibly.

“Ah! but all the Romany folk are not like, the Vareys,” returned Margit.

Eve would not allow the girl to talk until late, for her experience in the swamp had been most exhausting. They bundled her into bed, and laid all her poor clothing – which Mrs. Sitz had washed and ironed with her own hands – on the chair beside her.

Bobby had one more question to ask the Gypsy girl before she went to sleep, and she asked that in secret.

“How did that Varey woman – that Gypsy queen – know so much about me, and about Laura Belding, and our affairs?”

“Did she?” returned Margit, sleepily. “She is a sharp one! But, then, the Vareys have worked through this part of the country for years and years. That is why I was given to them, I think. Perhaps Grace Varey has been to Centerport many times – I do not know. We Romany folk pick up all sorts of information – yes!”

Bobby stole into bed beside Eve. She could not sleep for some time; but finally her eyes closed and – for some hours, or some minutes, she never knew which – she slept. Then, a dog’s howling broke her rest.

Bobby sat up and listened. The dog’s mournful howling sounded nearer. Some dog about the Sitz premises answered with several savage barks. But, as nothing followed, the city girl dropped back upon her pillows again.

The night noises of the country, however, disturbed her. She could not sleep soundly. Once she thought she heard voices – and so clearly that it seemed as though they must be in the bedroom.

But it was still dark. Nobody could be astir, she told herself, at such a dark hour. A rooster crowed, and then several others followed. She fell asleep again slowly counting the chanticleers.

And then – suddenly, it seemed – Eve was shaking her and calling in her ear:

“Oh, Bobby! Bobby! Wake up – do! What do you suppose has happened?”

It was broad daylight. Eve was more than half dressed and the door between their room and that occupied by the Gypsy girl was open.

“What’s the matter?” gasped Bobby.

“She’s gone!” wailed Eve.

“Who’s gone?” and Bobby leaped out of bed.

“That girl. Out of the window. She’s run away!”

Bobby ran to look into the room. The window sash was up and the blinds wide open. The girls had slept on the ground floor, and alone in this wing of the rambling old farmhouse.

“What did she run away for?” demanded Bobby, slowly. “She could have walked away, had she wanted to, couldn’t she? Nobody would have stopped her.”

“But she’s gone!” cried Eve.

“So I see,” Bobby admitted, grimly. “She didn’t go of her own free will, you can just bet!”

“I didn’t think of that,” cried Eve, running to the window.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and even farmer folk remain an hour longer in bed on that day. The sun, which had just risen, revealed the hillside fields and pastures clearly. There was not an object in sight which suggested the missing girl’s escape, saving just beneath the window. There several planks had been laid upon the soft earth, to make a walk to the hard path. This had been done by those who had come after Margit Salgo, so as to leave no footprints.

Eve finished dressing in a hurry and ran to tell her parents and Otto. Mr. and Mrs. Sitz slept at the other end of the house, and Otto and the hired man on the floor above.

Whoever had kidnapped the girl – for such it seemed to be – had worked very circumspectly. The watchdog, chained by his hutch, had been caught and a strong rubber band fastened about his jaws so that he could not bark. This had evidently been the first work of the marauders.

Then they had gone about taking out the girl coolly enough. There were few footprints anywhere. And in the roadway they found where a wagon had been turned around. In this wagon, it was likely, Margit had been carried away, and it had started along the road in the direction of Centerport.

“They have got her again,” sighed Bobby. “And goodness only knows what they will do with her, or where they will hide her away.” “Perhaps we will never see the poor girl again,” ventured Eve.

But Bobby did not believe that. She knew now, for sure, that Margit Salgo was in some manner closely connected with the private affairs of Miss Carrington. She was sure that both the Gypsies and Margit would appear near the high school again.