For one thing, Uncle Bob found that he could not go as soon as he thought, and that put off the packing, so Rosanna had time to get used to the idea of being left behind without all the misery of seeing the trunks filled. Claire, who did not know what a sacrifice Rosanna was about to make for her, made happy plans and dozens of them. Colonel Maslin, surprised at Claire's sudden refusal to plan for the seashore trip, insisted on a reason and was made very happy by the knowledge that his cold and moody daughter really loved her unhappy father more than she did her own pleasure.
Late in the afternoon of the third day Rosanna was called to the telephone. It was a long distance call from Cincinnati and for a full five minutes Dr. Branshaw talked to her.
Rosanna was very thoughtful when she hung up the receiver and went down to ask Claire who was sitting in the rose arbor, if she was going to drive to camp after her father. Claire was, and together they started.
On a sunny corner, up by the Reform School, they saw Mabel Brewster standing.
She looked warm and dejected, and Claire stopped the car and asked the young newspaper woman if she cared to ride with them.
Mabel accepted with very little enthusiasm, remarking as she did so that she had to be back at the office at a quarter before six.
When they reached Camp, Rosanna slipped her hand in Claire's and said coaxingly, "Claire dear, I want to see your father all by himself. Will you mind?"
"A secret?" asked Claire, laughing. "Dear me, how exciting this is!
Shall I ever know what it is about?"
"If you are a good girl perhaps," said Rosanna, skipping toward the Colonel's office. When she found herself seated facing Colonel Maslin across the big flat-top desk, her courage failed her for a minute, then she plunged into the story.
"I don't know if I have done right or not, Colonel Maslin," she said.
"All I thought was that Claire is a Girl Scout and we are bound to help each other. And I did not stop to ask anyone's advice."
"What can it be?" said Colonel Maslin, smiling.
"Claire told me about her mother," resumed Rosanna. "And what she is afraid of, you know; and I felt as though there must be _some_ way to help. So Sunday morning, you know, we went to church; and I just sat there and thought and _thought_, and then I prayed. I did not hear a word of the sermon, but right away Doctor Ford just shouted at me, and asked if _I_ had been trying to _do_ anything. And that I had better had if I expected God to help me. But even then I didn't know what to do.
When we were writing letters after dinner, it all came to me. You know the little Gwenny I told you about, and the doctor in Cincinnati who made her perfectly well?
"Well, I wrote him a letter right then. I asked him to please cure Mrs.
Maslin as soon as he had time, because Claire is a Girl Scout. This afternoon Doctor Branshaw telephoned me. He says he can't go ahead and take care of Mrs. Maslin unless you tell him to. He can't have anything to do with it at all unless you say so. But he knows the doctor where Mrs. Maslin is, so he went up to see her and he asked me if I knew how long since Mrs. Maslin fell."
"She never had a fall," said Colonel Maslin positively.
"Yes, she fell from her horse about six years ago," said Rosanna. "It gave her fearful headaches."
"How do you know all this?" demanded the Colonel.
"Claire told me. She was with her mother but she promised not to tell on account of worrying you, and it didn't amount to anything."
"Good heavens!" muttered Colonel Maslin. "Go on!"
"I told the Doctor about that, and he said if you wanted to consult him, to telephone him."
Instead of answering, the Colonel took down the telephone receiver and inquired about trains to Cincinnati. Then he rose, came to Rosanna, and very solemnly kissed her on the forehead.
"I shall take the nine o'clock train for Cincinnati to see this doctor of yours, and I think it would be well if we kept our hopes to ourselves for awhile. It would not be kind to raise Claire's hopes again."
"That is what I thought," answered Rosanna. "She will just think our talk is something about vacation. Oh, Colonel, I am so _sure_ that Doctor Branshaw will cure Mrs. Maslin! If you had seen Gwenny, you would feel just as I do, I am sure."
"Claire's mother is ill in a different way, my dear," said Colonel Maslin sadly, "but we will hope for the best. As soon as I return from Cincinnati, I will tell you just what the doctor says. I would try anything in the world--but we must go now."
Together they went out to the car, Colonel Maslin looking so thoughtful that Claire declared that she didn't see how they could either of them bear to leave her out of the secret. They drove down to the _Times-Leader_ office with Mabel, and on the way home Claire said that Mabel was awfully excited. She had written a poem and had left a copy of it on the Editor's desk.
"She says," said Claire, "that she knows it is good, and if the _Times-Leader_ pays a dollar a line, the way lots of the magazines do, she will get a hundred dollars for it."
"Great Scott!" said Colonel Maslin. "How long is it?"
"Twenty stanzas, five lines each," said Claire. "She made them four lines each at first, then she put on a sort of refrain, on account of the extra dollar."
"A very businesslike young poet," said Colonel Maslin. "I would like to see a sample of that poem. I am not sure that I would have time to read twenty stanzas, but I could get a good idea of it from eight or ten verses, no doubt."
"Well, we will see it all, if it is published," said Claire. "Mabel says she will not allow them to print it unless they pay her price for it.
She says good work is always worth its price."
Colonel Maslin shook his head solemnly. "That beats all!" he said. "I suppose by now she has her check and is wondering what to do with the one hundred dollars."
Nothing like that was happening to Mabel!
Since the fatal Sunday when she had refused to attend the office boy's picnic, he had regarded her with such scorn that it was apparent to the whole force. Mabel's small, shy overtures of friendship were simply scoffed at. He did not leave her alone; he put himself in her way for the pleasure it gave him to stalk off again, with a grin on his face and his snub nose in the air. Reams of society notes which Mabel had written, only to have them discarded by Miss Gere, he picked out of the waste baskets and laid on her desk, saying loudly, "I think these are yours, Miss Brewster."
When she went out at night, she found him hanging affectionately over Frank's shoulder, but at the sight of her he turned and strutted off.
Mabel was sure that the City Editor was watching her more than he had at first, but her conceit took that as a compliment. Miss Gere's manner had not changed, but Mabel heard her sigh often.
Miss Gere _was_ sighing over Mabel, but Mabel did not guess that. She would not have believed such a thing possible.
She did not like the manner of the office boy, however. It hurt her pride. When she reached the door of the office, it was deserted excepting for Jimmie who, with his face pressed close to the dingy window pane, was watching something in the street below. In a corner near the door a temporary cloak-room had been made by running up two flimsy partitions. They were only six feet high but there was a place to fix one's hair at a little glass and keep coats and hats out of the dust. Mabel tiptoed quickly into this haven and decided to wait there until someone else came in. She sat down noiselessly on the rickety chair but immediately she heard steps and voices. Before she could rise she heard a sentence that froze her. She forgot that listening is a despicable trick. She just sat transfixed! The voice was that of the Editor and he was evidently talking to Miss Gere about her, because he said:
"Why, today I found a poem on my desk, with a letter. Why, Miss Gere, that kid ought to be home under her mother's wing, and here she is trying to be sophisticated, and writing drivel that would shame a child six years old!"
Miss Gere laughed.
"Don't be so severe, Chief," she begged.
"I am _not_ severe!" he said savagely. "You are not fair with her. If that girl has no more feeling for her mother and no appreciation of her brother--Why, do you know that youngster sleeps outside her door every night to take care of her, for fear someone might frighten her? She _needs_ a good scare _I_ should say. Sleeps there on the floor!"
Miss Gere interrupted. "Not quite as bad as that," she said. "I happen to know that there is a settee there."
"Well, what's a settee for a growing boy?" growled the Chief. "Well, if she has no affection, no gratitude and evidently no natural love for her own people and only an _ordinary_ brain, what's the use of bothering with her? _I_ don't want to see her hanging around. I know she is under your charge, Miss Gere, but I wish you would let me fire her. I want to tell her to go home and ask her mother to forgive her, and see if she can get a little sense into her head, and try to live and act according to her years. Where in time did she get such notions?"
"She reads a good deal, I believe," said Miss Gere. "Cheap magazines and silly novels."
"Well, fire her! As far as I go, the experiment is over!" He walked over to his desk. "When she comes in tomorrow, send her to me. I will at least have the comfort of telling her what I think of this poem. You will hear the truth about your imagined talents for once, Miss Mabel Brewster." He slammed down the top of his desk and stalked out without saying good-night.
Jesse, quite pale under his freckles, came over to Miss Gere.
"My land!" he said. "What ails the Old Man? Somebody on the _Journal_ must 'a' got a scoop away from him. Say, he gave it to her good, didn't he?"
"She deserves all that, Jesse, but he was rather wild about it."
"_I_ don't think she deserves such a call," said Jesse. "And I don't say that because she ever fell for me, because she didn't. She hates me worse'n a stingin' adder, but I bet she's a darned nice girl if it wasn't for this foolishness about a career. She's a Girl Scout, too, and has a whole sleeve full of Merit badges. You can't fake those, you know.
She's due to get a fierce bump, and if she doesn't get it here, she will the next place. Gee, I'm glad I'm not her!"