“Do you think there’s any use hunting much longer?” demanded Betty, who was fast losing courage.
“Of course,” Madeline shot back unhesitatingly. “Something will turn up; it always does—if you turn it. Let’s make perfectly sure about this nearer-the-campus proposition.”
But there was nothing there, and Madeline, not daring to suggest refreshing themselves at Cuyler’s, after Betty’s strict prohibitions, led the way up the high terrace to the back steps of Science Hall, where they could rest and consider what to do next. Right across from them was the little white house with the big barn looming up behind it.
“What a shame that isn’t a house,” said Betty sadly. “How did such a tiny house ever happen to have such a big barn, I wonder?”
“It didn’t,” explained Madeline. “The barn went with the house over on that other street—the one that used to be a big mansion—and now is only part of a factory. But if the barn were a house, Miss Wales, the riding-master wouldn’t be moving out of it. It would have been appropriated long ago by some thrifty boarding-house keeper, and we shouldn’t be sitting here staring at it and wondering whether the owner could be persuaded to make it over into a house in hurry-up order.”
“I wasn’t wondering that,” said Betty simply. “I was wondering if we could possibly use it as it is. There’s nothing else that I can see, and it’s an awfully nice barn. Don’t you remember how Mr. Ware showed us through once when he first moved in, and how proud he was that it was all paneled in solid oak, with those lovely great beams in the ceiling? And afterward the pickle heiress’s father wanted to buy the beams for his library, and he would have, too, only the owner was in Europe and the pickle man couldn’t wait to cable.”
“Yes, I remember,” agreed Madeline. “It’s a beautiful barn, but it’s a barn nevertheless, with stalls and mangers and grain-bins and——” Madeline paused abruptly and stared across at the barn through half-shut eyes for a long minute. “Why, of course it will do,” she announced briskly. “Of all the idiots—to sit here gaping! Come on!” And grasping Betty’s arm, she dragged her in a headlong race down the terrace, across the road, and up the drive to the big barn.
“Oh, I’m so glad it’s open,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Now I can show you. I see it all myself plain as anything. Long narrow tables in the stalls—ideal nooks for romantic couples. Big sociable round tables out here. Ferns and oak branches in the mangers. Bins transformed into linen and china cupboards. Old sporting prints on the walls—father has some beauties tucked away somewhere. Gargoyles and candlesticks and Flemish lamps scattered around in dark corners. Lights—let me see—oh, yes, carriage lamps for lights. An open fire—we simply must have that—it’s the one thing lacking. Why, Betty Wales, there’s nothing like it anywhere! People will go crazy over it, and we shall make our everlasting fortunes. See, this little room back here—it’s a harness-room, I suppose—is just the thing for the kitchen. Why, it’s perfect, and the rent will be a mere song. Come and tell Babbie this minute.
“And to think that it was Betty and not I who had the inspiration!” Madeline sighed, as she ended her enthusiastic recital to Babbie and Mary. “When Mrs. Bob and Mrs. Hildreth are paying me for supplying them, too. It’s disgraceful.”
“But, Madeline”—it was the first chance Betty had had to get in a word—“I only said I wondered if it would do, and I’m not sure yet. Where could we put the range and the sink in that harness-room? Barns don’t have furnaces, do they? Even if there could be an open fire, that wouldn’t make it warm enough in winter; and I doubt if carriage lamps would make it light enough. Those things are even more important than your beloved features.”