CHAPTER XL
THE COMET DISGUISED.
"Where is Onoye, O'Haru?" Miss Campbell asked, a few days after the excitement in the library.
"Honorable Madam, Onoye much business."
To Miss Campbell, a seasoned housekeeper, this reply seemed a little irregular.
"What kind of business, O'Haru?" she demanded rather severely.
O'Haru looked amiably sad. It is true that Onoye was on the pay roll of the household servants, but then, did not her mother do work for two when Onoye was not actively engaged? The Japanese reasons thus: if the work is done properly, it is of no consequence who does it. Certainly the machinery of the household moved on without a hitch. There was no cause for complaint, but it seemed to Miss Campbell that if Onoye received wages she should appear about the house. Her position, which was practically that of ladies' maid, had been filled by one of the other small maids while O'Haru had covered up that vacancy by her own redoubled labors.
"Will you send Onoye to me, please," ordered Miss Campbell. "I have some sewing for her to do."
Poor O'Haru bowed. Her face looked wan and sad and it seemed to the Motor Maids that Miss Campbell might not have been so severe; but as a housekeeper, that small, gentle lady was a disciplinarian.
They waited with some curiosity for Onoye to appear. In five minutes
O'Sudzu, one of the other maids, stood framed in the doorway like a
Japanese souvenir post card life size. She bowed low and entered the room
timidly.
"But I sent for Onoye," exclaimed Miss Campbell.
O'Sudzu only smiled. She spoke no English.
"Onoye. Wish Onoye," repeated Miss Campbell. She pointed to the door.
O'Sudzu departed.
O'Matsu appeared next, and after O'Matsu came O'Kiku, who was followed presently by Masako, until these successive apparitions of Japanese maids became positively bewildering. The girls were consumed with the giggles and Miss Campbell was scarcely able to maintain a serious expression.
"No, no!" she would say each time, "Onoye! Wish Onoye!"
At last O'Haru appeared once more.
"August one, much kindness bestow. O'Haru make sewing."
"Where is Onoye? Where is your daughter?" demanded Miss Campbell.
O'Haru on her knees hung her head humbly.
"I think I know what's the matter," put in Mary. "Onoye is ill. I am sure it must be that."
"Is there anything the matter with Onoye?" asked Miss Campbell, but apparently O'Haru's English did not extend so far.
"Much sickness?" asked Billie.
O'Haru's head sank lower and lower.
"Poor thing," exclaimed Mary. "Onoye is ill, Miss Campbell, and O'Haru is afraid to say so."
"You must not be afraid, O'Haru. If little daughter ill, we take care of her. Bring doctor. See?"
"No, no, Onoye better. Onoye soon well," said the woman in a low voice.
"Ask much pardons, gracious lady."
"Can't we see her?" asked Billie.
"Onoye see no one. Onoye only humble servant"
"Nonsense, she might be very ill," put in Miss Campbell. "I'll go with you now, O'Haru. Lead the way."
The housekeeper gave a sigh of patient resignation and rose to her feet. Miss Campbell and the girls followed her down the long hall and across the passage to the servants' quarters.
At last they came to a small room at the end of the house. The floor was covered with the usual wicker mats. The shoji, or sliding partitions, were drawn together, and in the dim mellow light which filtered through these opaque walls they saw Onoye. She was stretched on the mat which is the usual Japanese bed, her neck on the uncomfortable little pillow bench. With a murmur of surprise and apology, she pulled herself weakly to her knees and touched her forehead to the floor.
"Pardon, gracious lady," she said, drawing her kimono closely about her.
"But, child, we didn't know you were so ill," said Miss Campbell, gently forcing the girl to lie down on her bed. "Has the doctor seen you?"
"Yes, gracious lady"
"What is the matter with you?"
Onoye shook her head.
"Not say it in English." She touched her forehead. "Muchly fire."
"It's fever, of course," said Miss Campbell, kneeling beside the sick girl and feeling her forehead. "I think you had better not stay here, children. It might be something contagious."
"Nonsense," thought Billie; but Miss Campbell was in one of her compelling humors and they retreated obediently, leaving her to hold a conference with O'Haru and to see that everything was done that could be done to alleviate Onoye's sufferings. She finally departed, after satisfying herself that Onoye was in the toils of a bilious attack. But she did not administer calomel as she would have done in ordinary cases of torpid liver. "I suppose the doctor knows what he is about," she said, "and there must be a Japanese equivalent to calomel in a country where it rains eternally."
It was decided that they should take the "Comet" out after lunch. Miss Campbell wished to visit an apothecary shop and there were other plans for sight-seeing,—perhaps the magnificent Shiba Temple and the wisteria in the park. But before they were to go, there were two surprises in store, one for Billie alone and one for all of them. Just after luncheon while the others were dressing for the trip, Billie, who needed about two minutes for pinning on her hat and slipping on her coat, went back to the stable to take the "Comet" from his garage. On the way, she passed the room occupied by O'Haru and her daughter. Not having the least fear of contagion, she entered a back passage of the intricate house, which reminded her of the houses she used to build with cards as a child. Pushing back the partition she marched into Onoye's room without announcing herself.
"There's nothing to knock on, so why knock?" she thought.
Billie surprised the little Japanese girl sitting up examining her arm, which was wrapped in bandages.
"Why, Onoye, I didn't know you had been injured," she exclaimed, running over and kneeling beside the sick girl.
Onoye was speechless. She tried to cover her arm with the sleeve of her kimono and to apologize and bow all at the same time.
"Not muchly badly," she said at last in a low voice.
"But how did it happen?"
"Not nothing. Pardon grant," murmured Onoye.
"Of course, you poor dear, but how did you injure yourself?"
She laid the bandaged wrist gently on the palm of her hand and looked at it.
"Poor small accident," said Onoye.
"But why was it?"
The two girls looked at each other silently.
"Was it in the library that night?" asked Billie after a long pause.
Onoye's head drooped more and more.
"Poor little thing. Poor child," exclaimed Billie, consumed with pity and remorse, since it had been her own carelessness that had caused the poor small accident.
Onoye had doubtless put out the lights and when she, Billie, had crept into the room like a thief, the Japanese girl was frightened and hid herself behind a chair. Then when they had collided, they had both lost their heads and the pistol had gone off. In spite of her remorse, Billie was immensely relieved.
"Papa will be, too," she thought. "It had much better be Onoye than a robber."
And Mr. Campbell was decidedly relieved when he heard the story from his daughter that night.
"I'll keep it a secret, Onoye, dear," said Billie, moved by compassion. "I'll only tell Papa. I am so sorry I shot you. It must have hurt terribly."
Onoye tried to smile.
"Forgiveness grant," she murmured again.
"I think I'd better say 'forgiveness grant,'" said Billie. "But I must be going now." She patted Onoye on the cheek and then tiptoed out of the room. "It is a relief," she thought, turning her footsteps toward the garage.
Some minutes later, Billie ran into her cousin's room breathlessly.
"Ready in one moment," called Miss Campbell, who had heard the whir of the motor at the door.
"I want to prepare you for a surprise," said Billie solemnly. "I don't mind telling you that I have had the shock of my life."
"But what is it?" they all demanded in one voice.
"I'll only say this much. Papa has punished the 'Comet' for running over the child that day."
"How?"
"You'll see. I thought I had better prepare you. The shock might have killed you if I hadn't."
"Goodness gracious me, what is it?" cried Miss Campbell, seizing her reticule and gloves and rushing into the hall, followed by the others.
When she reached the piazza, she sat down flat in a chair and gasped.
There was the "Comet," to be sure. His outlines were as familiar as the profile of a beloved brother, but his beautiful scarlet coat had been taken from him and he wore instead a quiet covering of dark blue. The luxurious red cushions were covered with buff linen. One small decoration had been conceded by Mr. Campbell. The dark, quietly colored coat was relieved on each side by the buff-colored initials, "M-M" lovingly intertwined.
"I suppose Papa thought the red coat was too gaudy," said Billie, who was indeed just a little tearful over the loss of that cheerful and familiar scarlet dress which would never again flash along the highways like a scarlet bird. "But he's the same old 'Comet' inside," she added hastily. "You couldn't change his noble disposition if you painted him sea green."
"I think he looks beautiful," put in Elinor. "He's so neat and elegant in buff and blue. It's like a livery."
The other girls laughed because Elinor's speech was so characteristic.
"Oh, you regal young person," exclaimed Nancy. "Your imagination doesn't stop at anything short of liveried retinues of servants. There is no doubt you were a royal princess in a previous existence. And suppose you are a fat old pug in another life, like Nedda!"
"I am sure Nedda is waited on hand and foot," cried Elinor. "She has a maid who follows her around with a cushion and a silk cover."
Komatsu, standing at the side of the motor, grinned with amusement.
"They are foolish children, aren't they, Komatsu?" observed Miss
Campbell, climbing into her accustomed seat.
Nedda, hearing her name mentioned, wobbled on her uncertain old legs to the edge of the piazza and whined piteously.
"Go back to your mat, you pathetic, pampered old great grandmother," called Nancy.
The aged animal turned obediently and curled herself on her cushion. Then she lifted her wrinkled, snub-nosed face to watch the departing motorists.
"She does look like our Irish cook's grandmother," said Nancy.
Everybody laughed gaily and the feelings regarding the "Comet's" new blue coat were dispelled. Nedda had been a welcome interruption.
"Papa always does the right thing," Billie announced presently. "I'm glad he did it now. I was a little hurt at first, of course. But I understand perfectly what his reasons were. Everybody will be looking out for a red motor car that runs over people and they'll never recognize the 'Comet' It's just as if he wore a disguise."
The dark blue car was, as a matter of fact, not nearly so conspicuous as he skimmed along over the road, and it was the very wisest thing Billie's father could have done to change the color. Probably every man, woman and child in the multitude that had clustered around the car that day on Arakawa Ridge would be constantly on the look-out for the red machine, and never glance twice at the blue one.
"I do feel so inconspicuous and quiet and lady-like," remarked Billie when some time later they left the motor car in charge of Komatsu and went in to visit Shiba Temple in Shiba Park. These chapels are mostly the tombs of the Shoguns who for many years were powerful nobles and who really ruled Japan in place of the Emperor, a mere figurehead in those days. The magnificent tombs they built for themselves are now the very pride of Tokyo. Within the great red gates of the main temple, upheld with scarlet columns, wheeled flights of pigeons quite tame. The girls bought packages of grain from little booths and fed them and presently one of the pretty creatures perched on Mary's wrist and ate from her hand.
"Don't frighten him," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears of pleasure.
All the afternoon the tourists wandered through the wide courts where were armies of stone lanterns placed in exactly the right spots. They passed softly flowing fountains wherein the worshippers washed themselves and climbed stately stairs by fern-set walls. Court within court they entered adorned with magnificent paintings and carvings of marvelous workmanship. They walked through the great hall of books where scrolls of immense value are kept, each swathed in silk and lying in its own lacquer box. At last dazzled and silenced by the succession of magic courts, they returned to the outer world of the living, and climbed into the motor car.
"Before we go home, don't you think we had better inquire for Mme.
Fontaine?" Billie suggested.
Miss Campbell assented. So long as they did not go in, she was quite willing.
They found the gate of the Widow of Shanghai's garden stretched wide open; a jinriksha was about to pass into the street. A Japanese lady in a rich costume was the occupant. She exchanged one swift glance with Billie and quickly looked the other way. Billie started slightly. She felt uncomfortable. It seemed to her that she had been looking straight into the eyes of Mme. Fontaine.
"Did you notice," said Mary, "that the Japanese lady in the 'riksha wore her arm in a sling?"
No, they had not noticed it, but there was nothing remarkable in that. No one even commented on the fact, while they waited for Komatsu to inquire and leave their cards.
"Mme. Fontaine was still very much indisposed," the message came back, "but she would be glad if the ladies would enter and have some refreshment. She regretted she would not be able to see them herself."
The ladies would not enter, however, as it was nearing the hour when Mr. Campbell would return and expect to find them in the garden waiting tea, and the "Comet" bore them swiftly home.