Polly and Her Friends Abroad

“From Genoa we can travel along the Coast of the Mediterranean and enjoy the drive to the utmost, for we still have plenty of time to complete our tour back to Paris, and meet Ashby when he plans to be there,” said Mr. Fabian, as they got into the two autos and prepared to start.

The touring car led the way, Mrs. Alexander following, with Mrs. Fabian seated beside her. Perhaps that lady might not have felt quite so fearless with the chauffeur, if Mr. Fabian had not said that the road was splendid and that there were no dangerous places for Mrs. Alexander to run into.

They went through Savona, San Remo, and stopped at Monte Carlo to visit the place and see the famous gambling house.

“Ebeneezer, don’t you go to that wicked house to play!” exclaimed Mrs. Alexander, after they had refreshed themselves at the hotel and were ready to walk about and see Monte Carlo.

“I woulden’ think of doing such a thing, Maggie, with all these young girls to set an example for,” returned the little man, with a serious tone.

“I don’t want to go in there, at all,” declared Polly.

“It won’t hurt anyone to see it, Polly; they say it is one of the most gorgeous places in the world. The decorations and architecture are marvellous,” added Eleanor.

“Well, but don’t let us go near the gaming-tables,” Polly said, grudgingly.

“Oh, no, not one on us would think of such a thing!” said Mr. Alexander, but he watched an opportunity to make sure that a roll of money he carried in his pocket, was still there.

They had done the outside of the place, admiring the beautiful parks and the buildings, and then they thought they would have a peep inside, at the halls and various rooms of the famous house.

“Where’s Ebeneezer?” suddenly asked Mrs. Alexander, as she trailed the others into the Grand Reception Room.

“Why – he was here but a moment ago!” replied Mr. Fabian, glancing around for the missing man.

“Didn’t I tell you what a care he was? I always have to keep him on a leash when I want him to go, somewhere, with me. This is the same trick he played on us at Brindisi – and almost made us miss the boat,” complained the lady.

“He didn’t make us miss it, Ma, but he ’most missed it himself,” laughed Dodo.

“But he did a fine deed for a poor human, which goes to exonerate him for being so late. Maybe he is helping someone, now,” remarked Mrs. Fabian, who was sincerely proud of the little man’s depth of character, even though he had never had the polish and opportunities given other men.

“That’s what you-all think!” snapped Mrs. Alexander. “I bet you’ll find him in the blackest gambling den of all this awful place.”

“Ma, you wait right where you are, and Mr. Fabian and I will find that awful place and tell you if Pa is there,” said Dodo with a stern expression.

“What! Let you go in such a place? No indeed! I’ll go with Mr. Fabian myself if anyone has to go,” declared Mrs. Alexander.

“I don’t want you to; you always nag at Pa and if you start in in a crowd, I know just what he’ll do. It is better for me to go with Mr. Fabian, – but I don’t believe he’s there!” declared Dodo.

“Perhaps Dodo is right, Mrs. Alexander. Let us go while you remain quietly here with the others,” said Mr. Fabian.

So they hurried away, while the girls and the ladies walked about, or sat down to watch the lovely scene in the Park. The two had been gone about ten minutes, when Mr. Alexander was seen coming towards the group on the bench, but he was not alone. A very pretty girl of about sixteen years was with him. Dodo and Mr. Fabian were nowhere in sight.

“Hello there, Maggie,” called out Mr. Alexander, genially, as he came within speaking distance of his wife. “I brought a ’Merican girl to you-all, to take care of her as far as Nice. She thought she was lost, but I soon showed her she was safe with us, until we landed her with her folks.”

Everyone gazed at the well-dressed pretty girl in surprise. It was evident from her red eyes that she had been crying a short time before. But Mr. Alexander said no more about the incident at the moment, merely introducing his companion as Genevieve Van Buren, of New York City.

“Where’s Dodo?” asked Mr. Alexander, suddenly missing his daughter when he wished to introduce her to the newcomer.

“She went with my husband,” hastily replied Mrs. Fabian. “They’ll be back in a few minutes. We are waiting for them, now.”

“Ebeneezer, where did you meet Miss Van Buren?” questioned his wife, suspiciously.

“Oh, just outside that door, where we all went, last,” returned the little man, indefinitely.

Mr. Fabian and Dodo were now seen coming out of the large building, and Mr. Alexander glanced from them to his wife, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Before anyone could say a word to Dodo, he spoke: “Well, so you’ve been wastin’ all your savings, too, eh?”

“Oh no! Mr. Fabian and I just wanted to see what the place looked like. It is the most gorgeous hall I ever saw, and Mr. Fabian says it is well worth seeing. Why don’t you come and have a look at it, Polly?” replied Dodo.

When she was introduced to the strange girl, Dodo wondered how she came to join their party but she said nothing. At last, Polly consented to go and take a peep at the interior of the palace, but Miss Van Buren preferred to remain on the bench with Mr. Fabian, while Mr. Alexander escorted the ladies.

“That homely little man is wonderful, isn’t he?” asked Miss Van Buren, in a humble little voice, when Mr. Fabian and she were quite alone.

“We think so. In fact, we like him so well that we fail to notice any shortcomings.”

“I feel that I must tell someone what he did for me, a few moments ago, although he was a total stranger,” continued the girl, her chin quivering.

“Were you both in the gambling hall?” was all Mr. Fabian asked.

“No, but I had been there last night, and lost all my money in gambling. Then I borrowed some cash, from a woman, on my jewels, and lost that money, too. I never played before, and it was so terribly exciting that I put aside every other thought but winning.

“The woman who had given me the money, had been very nice to me, when she met me at the hotel; she it was who invited me to go with her to visit the palace, just for fun. But it ended as such visits generally do,” the girl’s lovely blue eyes filled with tears and she dabbed at them, hurriedly.

“I was desperate, and wondered how I should get back to the party with which I am touring Europe. I had no money to pay my way to Paris, and I had nothing of value left with which I could get money.

“Mrs. Warburton who had been so kind, as I thought, had just proposed paying my way to Paris and keeping me at her hotel until my party arrived to call for me, when that little man walked slowly over and stood looking at both of us.”

“‘Maybe you-all are an American?’ he asked Mrs. Warburton.

“She lifted her head and looked insolently at him. But she never said a word. Then he went right on without caring how she looked. ‘I am an old miner from the West. I’ve been in lots of evil places, and seen all sorts of evil people, so I know one when I see and hear ’em. I’ve heard all you offered to this young girl, but I’ll go your offer one better. She comes with my wife and daughter and it won’t cost her a lifetime of regrets.’”

The girl bowed her head and her slender form shook with sobs. Mr. Fabian said nothing. He was too amazed to say a word.

Finally the girl continued, but her head was averted. “Something told me to trust that homely little man so I looked at him and said, ‘I believe you want to save me from some trouble?’

“‘That’s what I do, little gal. Just as I would want some one to help my daughter if she needed help. Now tell me what’s all this about, and maybe we can get down to brass tacks.’ He said it just that way,” repeated Miss Van Buren, looking up at Mr. Fabian.

The gentleman smiled, and nodded understandingly.

“Well, he made that woman give up the jewels and he paid her back the money for them, then he said to her: ‘You ought to be thankful that I am touring with a party, or sure as I am a man, I’d hand you over to the police for what I know you had planned in your evil mind.’ Then he made me come away from her.

“When we were out of hearing he told me that from his experience in mining-camps, and cities where miners go to spend their earnings, he could tell that the woman was not right. He thinks she actually led me on to gamble, to ruin my chances of getting back to my friends.”

The innocent girl gazed at her companion, and Mr. Fabian nodded his head understandingly, without saying a word. Then she continued: “But that is terribly wicked! Why do they permit such things to happen here?”

“Why will people come here to visit the place with the sole idea of going away with more money than they came? They ought to know that all this lavish expenditure and display has to be maintained, and the money for that comes out of the foolish gamesters who always lose at such tables,” said Mr. Fabian.

“I suppose I was very silly to leave my friends and come alone to Nice. They wanted me to go with them, but I preferred this place to the Alps and mountain climbing, so I agreed to meet them at Paris, later. I said I was going to visit with some friends at Nice, but I believed I could take care of myself. Now I think differently.”

Her voice was so repentant and meek that Mr. Fabian said: “Maybe this lesson will prove to be the best one of your life. Let it teach you that head-strong ways are always sure to end in a pitfall. And remember, ‘that a wolf generally prowls about in sheep’s clothing to devour the innocent lamb.’ Thank goodness that you escaped the wolf – but thank Mr. Alexander for being that goodness.”

The others returned, now, and as there was nothing more to visit at Monte Carlo, they drove on to Nice to spend the night. The girls found Genevieve Van Buren a most congenial companion and everyone showed a keen desire to befriend her.

A telegram awaited her at Nice, and Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of reading it. Her friends, to whom he had wired from Monte Carlo when he heard Genevieve’s story, said they would be at Paris the following day.

Before Mr. Fabian and his companions drove away from Nice, they saw the repentant girl safely on the train to Paris.

Having said good-by to Genevieve, the tourists left Nice; they drove to Marseilles and the girls visited several mills where famous textiles are woven.

Cannes was the next place the cars passed through, and then Aix was reached. Mr. Fabian wished to stop long enough at this city, which was founded B.C. 122 by a Roman named Sextius Calvinus, to show his students the ruins and historic objects of antiquity.

At Avignon the tourists saw the famous bridge and the many notable and ancient buildings – some ruins having remained there since the town was founded by the Phœnicians in 600 B.C.

They stopped over-night at Avignon, and early in the morning, started cross-country for Bordeaux. The roads were heavy and the travelling slow, and they found it necessary to stop at the peasants’ homes and ask, to make sure they were on the right road. At several of these stops, Mr. Fabian and the girls acquired some old bits of pottery and porcelain which the poor people were glad to sell, and the collectors were over-joyed to buy.

All along the country route from Marseilles, the women seen wore picturesque costumes, with heavy wooden shoes on their feet. These shoes were lined with sheep-skin to protect the instep from bruises. The children playing about their homes were scantily clothed, but their rosy faces and plump little bodies spoke plainer than words, that they were healthy and happy, and cared naught for style.

Quite often, when the cars passed over a stream, or ran along the banks of a river, the occupants would see the peasant women washing linen in the water. They knelt upon the bank, or upon a stone near the shore, and beat the clothes with sticks as the water flowed through the pieces. The garments were rinsed out and then wrung, before hanging upon the bushes nearby to dry.

Mr. Alexander remarked: “Good for dealers in white goods.”

CHAPTER XIV – A HIGHWAYMAN IN DISGUISE

The roads were so poor that it was impossible to reach Bordeaux that evening, and Mr. Fabian said it would be better to stop at a small Inn in a village, should they find a promising one. Consequently they decided that the clean little inn at Agen would answer their needs that night.

The two cars were rolled under a shed at the back, and the guests were shown to the low-ceiled chambers with primitive accommodations. But the supper was good, and the host a jolly fat man.

While the tourists were finishing their coffee, a little bent man limped into the public room. He had great hoops of gold in his ears, and his costume was very picturesque. After he had been given a glass of home-made wine, he sat down in a corner and began playing softly on an accordion.

He had a marvelous talent for this instrument, and the girls crowded about him, listening intently. Soon the host’s grown daughter came out and danced a folk-dance, and then others danced the old-time French dances. When the American girls were called upon to add their quota to the evening’s entertainment, they gladly complied.

Polly and Eleanor, Dodo and Nancy danced the modern steps so popular with young folks of the present day, and the peasants, watching closely, laughed at what they considered awkward and ridiculous gambols. But the dancing suddenly ceased when a young man called upon the musician to have his fortune told; he held out his palm and waited to hear his future.

Fully two hours were spent in laughing at the “fortunes” the old gipsy man told – for he was one of the original Spanish gipsies, who had wandered to the southern part of France and settled there for life.

The girls giggled and reviewed their fortunes that night long after they had retired. As they had to occupy the two massive beds in one guest-room, it gave them the better opportunity to talk when they should have been fast asleep.

Finally they were ready to sleep and Polly was about to snuff the candle before jumping into bed, when Nancy suddenly whispered: “S – sh!”

The four sat up and strained their sense of hearing. “I heard a queer noise just outside our door,” whispered Nancy.

“I’ll tip-toe over and see who it is,” whispered Polly, acting as she spoke.

“No – no! Don’t open the door! That gipsy may be there,” cried Nancy, fearfully.

But another scratching sound under the low window now drew all attention to that place. Polly slowly tip-toed silently to the open window and tried to peer out. The trees and vines made the back of the garden shadowy and she could not see if anyone were under the window, or trying to get in somewhere else.

The other three girls now crept out of bed and joined Polly at the window. They waited silently, and were soon rewarded for their patience. They distinctly heard voices almost under their window, whispering carefully, so no one would be awakened.

“I think we ought to rouse Daddy, or Mr. Alexander,” said Nancy, trembling with apprehension.

“You run and tell your father, while I get Pa out of bed,” said Dodo, groping about for her negligee.

Meantime Polly and Eleanor watched so no one could get in at their window, and the two other girls ran across the hall to their parents’ rooms. In a short time both Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander came in and crept over to the window where the girls had heard the burglars plotting.

Mr. Fabian understood French so now he interpreted what he overheard: “Drop the bundle and I’ll catch it. Don’t make a noise, and be careful not to overlook anything valuable.”

“Dear me! If they are burglars where is the one who is told to drop a bundle? He must be inside, somewhere!” whispered Dodo, excitedly.

There followed a mumbling that no one could understand, and then a splash, – as if a bundle of soft stuff had dropped into water from a height. Immediately after this, the voice from below excitedly spoke to the companion above: “ – It fell in the well! Now what is to be done?”

“Goody! Goody!” breathed Polly, eagerly, when she heard how the burglars had defeated their own purpose.

But no sound came from the other burglar who was working indoors, and Mr. Alexander had an idea which he suggested to Mr. Fabian.

“You go downstairs softly, while I scout around up here and locate the room where the helper is working. When I give a whistle it means ‘I’ve got the other feller under hand’ – then you catch your man, red-handed, out in the garden, and the girls will rouse the house and we will present our prisoners to the host.”

That sounded fine, so Mr. Alexander hurried to his room for his western gun, and started out to hunt up the indoor worker. Mrs. Alexander realized that he was about to do something unusual, or he never would have taken his big revolver.

“Ebeneezer, what is wrong? Are we in danger of being robbed?”

“I’m going to catch one before we can think if there is any danger, for anyone,” said her husband, going for the door.

“Listen, Ebeneezer! Don’t you go and risk your life for that! You promised to take care of me first! Let Mr. Fabian, or some of the Frenchmen here, try and catch the man!” cried Mrs. Alexander, hysterically, running after her spouse.

But the little man was spry and he was out of the door and down the entry before his wife reached the doorway. There was but one alternative for her, and that was to go to the girls’ room and pour her troubles forth into their ears.

But the four girls were too intent upon what was going on to sympathize with Mrs. Alexander. Dodo merely said, in reply to her mother’s complaints: “Get into my bed, Ma, and pull the covers over your head, if you’re so frightened.”

All this time, the man down in the garden was directing his associate above, and at last the girls indistinctly saw someone slowly descend, what seemed to be a rope hanging close to the side of the house. They held their breath and waited, for Mr. Fabian surely must have reached the garden by this time and would be ready to capture the escaping thieves, before they could get away.

But a loud shouting and a great confusion in the large public room drew their attention to the upper hall, where they could hear what was going on below. Mrs. Fabian joined her friends in the entry at the head of the stairs and they heard the host shout:

“So! You look like a decent gentleman and you creep down here to take my living from me! Shame, shame!”

Then to the horror of the girls, they heard Mr. Fabian remonstrate volubly and try to explain his reason for going about the place so stealthily.

Mrs. Fabian rushed down the stairs, regardless of her curl-papers and kimono, and the girls followed closely upon her heels. Only Mrs. Alexander remained upstairs under the bed-covers, thinking discretion to be the better part of valor.

The host and some other guests were surrounding Mr. Fabian who tried to explain that Mr. Alexander and he were following burglars who were looting the place. The host smiled derisively, and told his guest to prove what he said was true.

Just then Mrs. Alexander screamed, and came pell-mell down the stairs. “Oh, oh! A gipsy man came out of the girls’ room!”

Everyone ran upstairs to catch the trespasser, but he was not to be found. Then a scuffle, and confused shouts from the garden, reached the ears of the crowd who stood wondering what next to do. A clear shrill whistle echoed through the place, and Mr. Fabian turned impatiently.

“Now you’ve spoiled the arrest of those two burglars. I was to get the outside man when that whistle sounded, to tell me that Mr. Alex had the inside man safely in hand.”

But the shouting and whistling sounded more confused on the garden-side of the house, so they all ran downstairs again, and went out to assist in any way they might.

Someone was hanging on to someone else who clung for dear life to a thick vine that grew up the side wall and over the roof of the inn. It was this rope-like vine that the girls had mistaken for a rope of escape for the thief. Mr. Alexander was in the garden, trying to drag down the escaping burglar, while that individual was trying to climb back into the room whence he had recently come.

Just as the others rushed out into the dark garden to assist Mr. Alexander, another man appeared at the upper window and caught hold of his associate’s hands to pull him back to safety.

“Wait! I get my ladder!” shouted the host, running for the shed. But a howl of rage, and French curses tumbling pell-mell from him told the others that he had gone headlong into a new danger.

Mr. Fabian and the young man-waiter ran to help the poor inn-keeper, and to their amazement they found he had collided with Mrs. Alexander’s roadster which was standing behind the bushes, facing towards the road.

“I’ll turn on the lights, in a moment, and see if all is right,” quickly said Mr. Fabian, jumping up to start the engine.

Before he could switch on the lights, however, a general shout of dismay came from the people assembled under the window, and the three men ran back to see what had happened.

The second-story windows were not more than eight feet above the garden at the rear, as the ground sloped down gradually to the front of the Inn. The first story was very low, too, so that anyone could climb up at the rear without difficulty.

When Mr. Fabian and his two companions reached the scene under the windows, they found three people rolling upon the ground in a tight clutch. The man from the inside of the room who had been finally pulled out and over the ledge; the man who had clung to the vine, for some reason or other, and the third man who had stood at the bottom of the vine and hung on to the climbing man’s heels.

From this mêlée of three, Mr. Alexander’s voice sounded clear and threatening. A deep bass voice gurgled as if in extremity, but the third voice was shrill and hysterical and sounded like a woman’s.

Lights were hurried to the spot, and the three contestants were separated, then Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of turning to the inn-keeper and saying: “I caught them both without help. I saved your place from being robbed.”

But one of the two captured burglars sat down on the grass and began to sob loudly. The host seemed distracted for a moment, then tore off the big soft hat the gypsy wore. Down came a tangle of hair, and his daughter turned a dirt-streaked face up at her furious father.

“What means this masquerading! And who is the accomplice?” shouted he.

“Oh, father,” wailed the girl. “Pierre and I were married at the Fête last week, but you would not admit him to the house and I never could get away, so we said we would run away together and start a home elsewhere,” confessed the frightened daughter.

Pierre stood by, trembling in fear of his father-in-law, but when everyone realized that poor Pierre was but trying to secure his bride’s personal effects which she had tied in several bundles, they felt sorry for the two.

It had been Pierre’s idea to dress Jeanne in a gypsy’s garb that no one could recognize her when they escaped, and it was Jeanne who suggested that they use the roadster to carry all her effects, and then Pierre could drive it back and leave it near the inn without the owner’s knowledge.

The father led his two prisoners to the public-room and the guests trailed behind them, wondering at such an elaborate plan for escape when the two had been married a week and might have walked out quietly without disturbing others, at night.

In an open session of the parental court, the inn-keeper was induced to forgive the culprits and take the undesirable Pierre to his heart and home. Then everyone smiled, and the waiter proposed that the host open a bottle of his best old wine to celebrate the reception of the married pair.

“Why did you object to the young man? He looks like a good boy?” asked Mr. Fabian, when the young pair were toasted and all had made merry over the capture of the two.

“He has a farm four miles out, and I want a son who will run this inn when I am too old. He dislikes this business and I dislike farming. So there you are!” explained the host.

“But you won’t have to work the farm,” argued Mr. Fabian. “You have the inn and many years of good health before you to enjoy it, and they have the farm. I think the two will work together, very nicely, for you can get all your vegetables and eggs and butter from your daughter, much cheaper than from strangers.”