Cecily stayed rather late that afternoon. And for the first time in all their acquaintance, the girls were not sorry to have her go, so wild with anxiety were they to hear the major's letter. No sooner had the door closed upon her than they rushed back to the captain.
"What does he say?" they clamored.
[CHAPTER XVIII]
THE MAJOR HAS A FURTHER INSPIRATION
The captain, who was puffing at his pipe, appeared serious. "I don't like the looks of this thing at all," he muttered, reaching in his pocket for the letter.
"But what did he say? Tell us quick!" cried Marcia. "We've been nearly crazy there in the kitchen waiting to have Cecily go so we could hear what he says!"
"Well, I'm glad she did go first," acknowledged the captain, "for somehow I wouldn't care to have her hear just yet what the major has to say. He thinks— But I'll read his letter, and you can understand what I mean. Here it is:
"About the Chinese name first. The one you sent does certainly have a familiar sound to me, especially the last two syllables. I distinctly remember that the name Jack Carringford was called by ended in e lang, or something that sounded amazingly like it. I wouldn't bank on that entirely, however, for the Chinese language is the most confusing and idiotic jargon ever invented by the mind of man, and there might be a dozen other words ending the same and meaning something entirely different.
"Here's a fact more to the point, though. Since writing to you last I've been busy communicating with several old chums of the China days. What I've been trying to find out is, does any one know what has become of Carringford? By the third year after his unfortunate marriage he had pretty well dropped out of sight. Still, I thought I knew of one or two who might have kept some track of him even after that. One of them, Danforth Pettingill, an old chum of Jack's, is now living in New York, and I thought he'd probably know as much as any one. So I wrote him at the very start, and yesterday received this answer. It seems that Carringford and his wife lived with her father for some time—till about two years after their marriage, when a little daughter was born. Then the old mandarin, who was fearfully annoyed because the baby was not a boy (girls being of no earthly account in China, as you know!), made it so unpleasant for the couple that they finally left his establishment. It was then that they began their roaming existence, terribly hampered by the baby, of course, and never remaining long in any city.
"At last, the wife contracted the plague and died very suddenly, and Carringford was left alone with the baby on his hands. It was at this time that he dropped completely out of sight, and Pettingill never heard from him again. He thinks, however, from very substantial rumor, that Carringford went back to England, taking the child with him. He didn't go to his own folks, though, that's certain; for Pettingill has heard from them occasionally, and they never mention him. There was another rumor afloat about him for a time, that he had taken to earning his living by singing at cheap concerts under an assumed name. All of which might be entirely likely. But what became of the child, Pettingill never knew—nor any one else, I'm afraid. Well, that's all I've ascertained up to date, but I'm still on the track, and if I hear any further news, I'll let you know at once."