Mr. Doane, Gloria’s father, had returned from abroad during the previous late winter, only to enter upon a longer trip to the Philippines. His homecoming the Christmas before added the final happy chapter to Gloria’s adventure as a real estate expert, for with Mr. Doane had come the young engineer, Sherry Graves, whose venture in Echo Park proved disastrous, ruined his hopes, and all but sent him adrift in despair. Then, the natural enemy of the pretty little park, an underground river vein, was accidentally discovered by Gloria and promptly turned into a harmless course by Sherry and his friend, Ben Hardy.
The result was a boomerang credited to Gloria. These home conditions explain the dearth of letters coming or not coming to her just now, at the new boarding school.
There had been one, however, from her father, remailed at San Francisco, and also a characteristic scrawl from Tommy Whitely, her childhood friend at Barbend. Aunt Harriet had written, of course, telling of her daughter Hazel’s wonderful progress in voice culture. Hazel had spent the previous year at Altmount, while Gloria submitted meekly to a confused, if not unjust plan, of giving this preference to the “artistic cousin.”
Trixy’s letters were not quite so restricted, as she was in the finishing class. Among the most interesting was one from Sherry, who told of a “perfectly thrilling plan” for the further development of Gloria’s Echo Park.
“You’ll be rich, Glo, if Sherry keeps on. He writes of perfectly fairy like castles on your property.”
“I don’t want to be rich,” replied Gloria evenly, “but I am glad that the poor mason and his family, the one who at first lost so much in the work there, are finally made happy and comfortable. Of course it was Ben’s genius in engineering that did it all.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” drawled Trixy. “It was rather queer the genius couldn’t find that sneaky little river vein, that almost turned the pretty park on end. A mere girl, one Gloria Doane, managed that.”
The two chums were spending the evening in their connecting rooms, discussing the home news. A letter to Trixy received on the late mail added zest to the discussion.
“Really, how do you like it here, Glo?” asked Trixy. She shot her feet out in front of her with the question, and kicked over a useless little stool in the process.
“Much better than I expected,” admitted Gloria. “Pat’s always so jolly, then there’s the haughty Mary Mears and the breezy Jack Corday for variety. Who could complain with all that?”