Vicky Van

Vicky Van

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Title: Vicky Van
Author: Carolyn Wells
Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6159] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on November 19,
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VAN ***

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VICKY VAN
BY CAROLYN WELLS

AUTHOR OF
"The Affair at Flower Acres," "Anybody But Anne," "The Mystery of
the Sycamore," "Raspberry Jam," "The Vanishing of Betty Varian,"
"Spooky Hollow," "Feathers Left Around," etc.

TO
ONE OF MY BEST CHUMS
JULIAN KING SPRAGUE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
. VICKY VAN II. MR. SOMERS III. THE WAITER'S STORY IV.
SOMERS' REAL NAME V. THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD VI.
VICKY'S WAYS VII. RUTH SCHUYLER VIII. THE LETTER BOX
IX. THE SOCIAL SECRETARY X. THE INQUEST XI. A NOTE
FROM VICKY XII. MORE NOTES XIII. FLEMING STONE XIV.
WALLS HAVE TONGUES XV. FIBSY XVI. A FUTILE CHASE
XVII. THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN XVIII. FIBSY DINES OUT
XIX. PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS XX. THE TRUTH FROM
RUTH

CHAPTER I
VICKY VAN
Victoria Van Allen was the name she signed to her letters and to her
cheques, but Vicky Van, as her friends called her, was signed all over
her captivating personality, from the top of her dainty, tossing head to
the tips of her dainty, dancing feet.
I liked her from the first, and if her "small and earlies" were said to be
so called because they were timed by the small and early numerals on
the clock dial, and if her "little" bridge games kept in active circulation
a goodly share of our country's legal tender, those things are not crimes.
I lived in one of the polite sections of New York City, up among the
East Sixties, and at the insistence of my sister and aunt, who lived with
me, our home was near enough the great boulevard to be designated by
that enviable phrase, "Just off Fifth Avenue." We were on the north
side of the street, and, nearer to the Avenue, on the south side, was the
home of Vicky Van.
Before I knew the girl, I saw her a few times, at long intervals, on the
steps of her house, or entering her little car, and half-consciously I
noted her charm and her evident zest of life.
Later, when a club friend offered to take me there to call, I accepted
gladly, and as I have said, I liked her from the first.
And yet, I never said much about her to my sister. I am, in a way,
responsible for Winnie, and too, she's too young to go where they play
Bridge for money. Little faddly prize bags or gift-shop novelties are her
stakes.
Also, Aunt Lucy, who helps me look after Win, wouldn't quite
understand the atmosphere at Vicky's. Not exactly Bohemian--and yet,
I suppose it did represent one compartment of that handy-box of a term.
But I'm going to tell you, right now, about a party I went to there, and

you can see for yourself what Vicky Van was like.
"How late you're going out," said Winnie, as I slithered into my topcoat.
"It's after eleven."
"Little girls mustn't make comments on big brothers," I smiled back at
her. Win was nineteen and I had attained the mature age of
twenty-seven. We were orphans and spinster Aunt Lucy did her best to
be a parent to us; and we got on smoothly enough, for none of us had
the temperament that rouses friction in the home.
"Across the street?" Aunt Lucy guessed, raising her aristocratic
eyebrows a hair's breadth.
"Yes," I returned, the least bit irritated at the implication of that
hairbreadth raise. "Steele will be over there and I want to