The Bat | Page 8

York was a red-roofed
Nieuw Amsterdam and Peter Stuyvesant a parvenu, sat propped up in
bed in the green room of her newly rented country house reading the
morning newspaper. Thus seen, with an old soft Paisley shawl tucked
in about her thin shoulders and without the stately gray transformation
that adorned her on less intimate occasions, - she looked much less
formidable and more innocently placid than those could ever have
imagined who had only felt the bite of her tart wit at such functions as
the state Van Gorder dinners. Patrician to her finger tips, independent
to the roots of her hair, she preserved, at sixty-five, a humorous and
quenchless curiosity in regard to every side of life, which even the full
and crowded years that already lay behind her had not entirely satisfied.
She was an Age and an Attitude, but she was more than that; she had
grown old without growing dull or losing touch with youth - her face
had the delicate strength of a fine cameo and her mild and youthful
heart preserved an innocent zest for adventure.
Wide travel, social leadership, the world of art and books, a dozen
charities, an existence rich with diverse experience - all these she had
enjoyed energetically and to the full - but she felt, with ingenious
vanity, that there were still sides to her character which even these had
not brought to light. As a little girl she had hesitated between wishing

to be a locomotive engineer or a famous bandit - and when she had
found, at seven, that the accident of sex would probably debar her from
either occupation, she had resolved fiercely that some time before she
died she would show the world in general and the Van Gorder clan in
particular that a woman was quite as capable of dangerous exploits as a
man. So far her life, while exciting enough at moments, had never
actually been dangerous and time was slipping away without giving her
an opportunity to prove her hardiness of heart. Whenever she thought
of this the fact annoyed her extremely - and she thought of it now.
She threw down the morning paper disgustedly. Here she was at 65 -
rich, safe, settled for the summer in a delightful country place with a
good cook, excellent servants, beautiful gardens and grounds -
everything as respectable and comfortable as - as a limousine! And out
in the world people were murdering and robbing each other, floating
over Niagara Falls in barrels, rescuing children from burning houses,
taming tigers, going to Africa to hunt gorillas, doing all sorts of
exciting things! She could not float over Niagara Falls in a barrel;
Lizzie Allen, her faithful old maid, would never let her! She could not
go to Africa to hunt gorillas; Sally Ogden, her sister, would never let
her hear the last of it. She could not even, as she certainly would if the
were a man, try and track down this terrible creature, the Bat!
She sniffed disgruntledly. Things came to her much too easily. Take
this very house she was living in. Ten days ago she had decided on the
spur of the moment - a decision suddenly crystallized by a weariness of
charitable committees and the noise and heat of New York - to take a
place in the country for the summer. It was late in the renting season -
even the ordinary difficulties of finding a suitable spot would have
added some spice to the quest - but this ideal place had practically
fallen into her lap, with no trouble or search at all. Courtleigh Fleming,
president of the Union Bank, who had built the house on a scale of
comfortable magnificence - Courtleigh Fleming had died suddenly in
the West when Miss Van Gorder was beginning her house hunting. The
day after his death her agent had called her up. Richard Fleming,
Courtleigh Fleming's nephew and heir, was anxious to rent the Fleming
house at once. If she made a quick decision it was hers for the summer,

at a bargain. Miss Van Gorder had decided at once; she took an
innocent pleasure in bargains. The next day the keys were hers - the
servants engaged to stay on - within a week she had moved. All very
pleasant and easy no doubt - adventure - pooh!
And yet she could not really say that her move to the country had
brought her no adventures at all. There had been - things. Last night the
lights had gone off unexpectedly and Billy, the Japanese butler and
handy man, had said that he had seen a face at one of the kitchen
windows - a face that vanished when he went to the window. Servants'
nonsense, probably, but