Betty Gordon in Washington | Page 7

it from the barn," she argued wisely, "and know that I am not
asleep."
Her reasoning proved correct, for in a few minutes a well-known
whistle sounded below her window. She blew out the light and leaned
out.
"Oh, Betty!" Bob's tone was one of repressed excitement. "I've got
something great to tell you."
"Have you had any supper?" demanded Betty, more concerned with
that question than with any news. "I've something for you, if you're
hungry."
"Hungry? Gee, I'm starved!" was the response. "I didn't dare stop to ask
for a meal anywhere, because I knew I'd be late getting home as it was.
The horse was never cut out for a saddle horse; I'm so stiff I don't

believe I can move to-morrow. Where's the eats?"
"Here. I'll let it down in a moment," answered Betty, tying a string to
the parcel. "Sorry it isn't more, Bob, but the larder's getting low again."
Bob untied the can and cracker box she lowered to him, and Betty
pulled in the string to be preserved for future use.
"Thanks, awfully," said Bob. "You're a brick, Betty. And, say, what do
you think I heard over in Trowbridge?"
"Don't talk so loud!" cautioned Betty. "What, Bob?"
"Why, the poorhouse farm is this side of the town," said Bob,
munching a cracker with liveliest manifestations of appreciation.
"Coming back to-night--that's what made me late--Jim Turner, who's
poormaster now, called me in. Said he had something to tell me. It
seems there was a queer old duffer spent one night there a while back
--Jim thought it must have been a month ago. He has a secondhand
bookshop in Washington, and he came to the poorhouse to look at
some old books they have there--thought they might be valuable. They
opened all the records to him, and Jim says he was quite interested
when he came to my mother's name. Asked a lot of questions about her
and wanted to see me. Jim said he was as queer as could be, and all
they could get out of him was that maybe he could tell me something to
interest me. He wouldn't give any of the poorhouse authorities an
inkling of what he knew, and insisted that he'd have to see me first."
"Where is he?" demanded Betty energetically. "I hope you didn't come
away without seeing him, Bob. What's his name? How does he look?"
"His name," said Bob slowly, "is Lockwood Hale. And he went back to
Washington the next day."
Betty's air castles tumbled with a sickening slump.
"Bob Henderson!" she cried, remembering, however, to keep her voice
low. "The idea! Do you mean to tell me they let that man go without

notifying you? Why I never heard of anything so mean!"
"Oh, I'm not important," explained Bob, quite without bitterness.
"Poorhouse heads don't put themselves out much for those under 'em
--though Jim Turner's always treated me fair enough. But Lockwood
Hale had to go back to Washington the next day, Betty. There honestly
wasn't time to send for me."
"Perhaps they gave him your address," said Betty hopefully. "But, oh,
Bob, you say he was there a month ago?"
Bob nodded unhappily.
"He hasn't my address," he admitted. "Jim says he meant to give it to
him, but the old fellow left suddenly without saying a word to any one.
Jim thought maybe he had the name in mind and would write anyway.
I'd get it, you know, if it went to the poorhouse. But I guess Hale's
memory is like a ragbag--stuffed with odds and ends that he can't get
hold of when he wants 'em. No, Betty, I guess the only thing for me to
do is to go to Washington."
"Well, if you don't go to bed, young man, I'll come down there and help
you along," an angry whisper came from the little window up under the
roof. "You've been babbling and babbling steady for half an hour,"
grumbled the annoyed Ethan. "How do you expect me to get any sleep
with that racket going on? Come on up to bed before the old man
wakes up."
Thankful that it was Ethan instead of Mr. Peabody, Bob gathered up his
sardines and the remnants of the crackers and tiptoed up the attic stairs
to the room he shared with the hired man.
Betty hastily slipped into bed, and though Bob's news had excited her,
she was tired enough to fall asleep readily.
In the morning she watched her chance to speak to Bob alone, and
when she heard him grinding a sickle in the toolhouse ran out to tell
him something.

"You must let me lend you some money, Bob," she said earnestly. "I
know you haven't enough to go to Washington on. I've been saving,