CHAPTER XI LOUIS SPRINGS A SURPRISE—AND THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF
May 1, 1914. Nothing special has happened during the last two weeks that is worth writing about. Carol and I haven't made the least progress in solving the riddles I last mentioned. The Imp fulfilled all my expectations, and has been most objectionable ever since that day. Queer how she turns completely around at times, especially when she feels the least bit touchy, and acts as if we were her mortal enemies. She has hardly spoken to us lately.
Monsieur came home from his sanitarium, and seems a lot improved. The weather is lovely, anyhow, and he stays outdoors a good deal, so I suppose that helps, too. Carol and I have had several interesting talks with him. You can't help seeing a good deal of your neighbors in this shut-off spot around the Green, when the weather is nice, and even Monsieur seems to have become used to strolling over and having little friendly chats with us. He has "thawed out" a lot, and actually seems quite human now. The Imp is still his favorite, of course, but he has come to realize our existence when she isn't about.
What I wanted specially to write about to-night was the delightful time we had to-day. Louis gave us all a treat, and besides providing such a good time, he also gave us the surprise of our lives. There was to be a big aviation exhibition over in Bridgeton this afternoon, and yesterday Louis gave us all invitations to go with him and see it. He said he had unusually good seats on the flying field. It was something we wouldn't have missed for anything, and so we all went,—Dave, Carol, and myself, and even the Imp. Louis said he had invited Monsieur, too, but Monsieur did not care to go, not feeling as well as usual to-day.
I've never seen an aëroplane near by before. To tell the truth, the nearest I ever did see one was probably a thousand feet up in the air, sailing over our house one time. We had gorgeous seats right in front, and could see everything plainly. I was so thrilled when the first one rolled out and soared up majestically that I could have risen and shouted myself hoarse. Carol had to pull me down once, to keep me from tumbling right over the railing in my excitement. But that was nothing to what was to come. We were so absorbed that we didn't notice that after a while Louis slipped away and disappeared. What was our astonishment to see him suddenly strolling down the field in a regular aviator's costume, with a helmet in his hand. He came over to us, laughing, and said:
"I know I've given you all a shock, that is, all except Dave. He's been in the secret. But I might as well up and confess my crimes now. I've been mad about this aviation business for a year or more, and I have been studying it secretly for some time. A fellow I know here in Bridgeton has a machine and is to fly to-day. His name is Page Calvin. He hasn't gone up yet. I've studied and worked on his machine till I know it by heart, but I've never been up in it yet. To-day he's going to take me up, and if I stand it all right,—some people can't, you know,—why then it's aviation for me, in preference to everything else!"
Well, we were so thunderstruck that we couldn't say a word for a moment, and just gasped. At last I managed to stammer:
"And—and is Dave going in for this, too?"
"Not I!" said Dave. "I haven't any head for it. I get too dizzy. But I'm going to help Louis build a model aëroplane when we've finished that motor-boat. I'm interested in the mechanical part of it."
"But what about Monsieur?" Carol asked Louis. "Have you told him about this?"
"No, I haven't," said Louis. "That's why I wanted him to come to-day, so that I could surprise him, too. I'm sorry he couldn't—"
Just then some one came and told Louis that the biplane he was to go up in was ready, so that he said good-bye and walked away. We watched him put on his helmet and climb into the machine, and I confess now that I never expected to see him alive again. It's all right when some one you don't know is going up; you're just excited and thrilled. But when it's some one that you do, you're simply frozen stiff with fright, and you're morally certain that he'll come crashing to earth any second!
Carol and I gripped hands and held our breath, and I believe it was the longest fifteen minutes I ever knew or expect to know. They sailed completely out of sight for a while, and then the suspense was worse. But at last the biplane came back and settled on the field as gracefully as a bird. Louis was wild with excitement when he returned to us, and he says it's the most wonderful experience imaginable. The Imp was so worked up over it that she wanted Louis to persuade his friend to take her up and "loop the loop"! He laughed, and told her it was not allowed, but I believe that for a while she really thought she could tease him into it.
There was one other exciting thing that happened. Toward the last a machine went up and something went wrong with the engine when it was about two hundred and fifty feet in the air. It began to droop over in a sort of lopsided fashion, and then began to settle, like a bird that has been wounded in the wing. Before it reached the ground it was almost upside down, and every one was nearly frantic, thinking the man in it would fall out. But he didn't, and at last it came to earth with quite a crash. A lot of people rushed to help the aviator out, Louis among them. He wasn't killed, but they said he had a badly fractured arm, and we saw him being fairly carried off the field. It made me actually sick to think what a horribly dangerous career Louis was letting himself in for. But it didn't seem to disturb him a bit. All he would say was that a careful aviator would never let a thing like that happen.
It was late when we came home, so we invited Louis and Carol over to our house to tea, and had a jolly evening afterward.
I've had a gorgeous day and, as Louis said, "the surprise of my life." But I cannot help wondering how Monsieur is going to take this piece of news.
It was the day after Louis's great surprise, and, since it was Saturday, he was out in the barn hard at work putting the finishing touches to the motor-boat that was to be launched on the river during the coming week. Carol, Sue, and the Imp had also drifted over to admire the "toot-and-scramble," as the Imp insisted on pronouncing Louis's favorite French expression, tout ensemble.
"Won't it be jolly to have our first picnic up the river in her?" remarked the boy, stopping to glance critically at a stroke of varnish he had just administered. "Do you know, I really began this boat just to get my hand into that kind of mechanical work, but I believe we're going to have a lot of fun out of her, too. However, just you wait till I begin my biplane—"
At that moment a shadow fell across the doorway, and the figure of Monsieur entered unexpectedly behind the group.
"Bon matin," he began, as was his custom. Then suddenly and sharply he added in English to Louis, "What is that you say?"
"Good-morning," said Louis, politely. "I haven't seen you, sir, since our expedition yesterday, or I would have told you what I told the girls at the aviation field. I hope you'll be pleased."
With a visible effort, for, in reality, he greatly dreaded this revelation to Monsieur, yet simply and directly he told the old gentleman what he had said and done on the previous day.
The result was as unexpected as it was distressing. Not one of the listeners but was fully prepared to see the excitable French gentleman rage and storm and attempt to forbid Louis to engage in so dangerous a pursuit. From all they had heard of him, they could imagine no other course of action. They were entirely unprepared, however, for the strange quiet with which he received the news. It was not till Louis began to tell of yesterday's flight that Monsieur suddenly raised his hand and cried in a low voice:
"Stop! A chair, if you please! I—I feel very—ill!"
Not till then did they notice the strange, gray pallor that had crept into his face. Louis hurried into the main part of the barn and came back with a rickety chair. When he had placed it, Monsieur sat down heavily and, groaning slightly, pressed his hand to his side.
"Hurry in—to—Mademoiselle Yvonne!" he gasped. "Tell her—bring my medicine. My heart! It—it has been weak for years!"
Louis dashed out of the barn to obey his command, and Carol dashed after him, glad to get away from the sight of physical suffering. But the Imp and Sue stayed with the old gentleman, the Imp steadying him in his chair with her strong young arm, for he seemed to be slipping down. Sue began fanning him frantically with a newspaper. It seemed as if the other two were gone for an age, and, in fact, they were gone longer than might have been expected, for Miss Yvonne was not about the house and had to be hunted up in the big garden.
Before they came back, however, Monsieur appeared to grow a trifle easier. But the only word he said during the absence of the others was just before they came back with Miss Yvonne.
"It is useless!" they heard him murmur, and the Imp, bending over, asked him what he had said and if they could do anything. But he acted hardly aware of her presence, and went on murmuring something in French. Then the others returned, bringing Miss Yvonne, breathless and excited, but carrying a bottle and spoon. A few moments after taking the medicine Monsieur seemed easier, and with the help of all he managed to get back to the house.
"It's all right now," Louis told the girls. "He says he will go to bed and rest, but the worst of the attack is past. Don't you worry."
The three girls wandered back across the Green, subdued and upset by what had happened. Even the Imp was apparently forgetful of her past grievances toward the others.
"I wonder what he was trying to say?" marvelled Sue, as the three roamed aimlessly toward Carol's barn. "Did you catch it, Bobs? You were nearest to him, and I think he spoke in French."
"Yes, I caught it," said the Imp, turning to them suddenly. "And look here, girls, I believe I might as well tell you the whole thing now, if you care to hear. I'm getting tired of the worry of carrying this thing around by myself!"
If she had exploded a bomb in their midst, she could not have startled them more.
"Gracious! What has made you change so?" demanded Sue, wonderingly.
"Well, I feel kind of upset by what has happened this morning," admitted the Imp, "and so I feel like getting this thing off my mind. Do you know what he was muttering in French, as he sat there? It was this: 'It is useless to try any longer to keep the secret. I must tell him at once'!"
"So you see, if he tells Louis," went on the Imp, "there's no reason, so far as I can see, why I shouldn't tell you now. Come up into your den, and I'll tell you all I know!"
She began to climb the ladder to the haymow, and the two followed her, silent with amazement.