Miss Swenster knew very little concerning either the old caretaker or his son. When she had left Claymore eight years before, Ross Jackson had been living in a shack down by the railroad tracks but she did not know what had become of him.
“I should have looked after him,” she said regretfully. “I always intended to, but I have had very little ready money. Now that he is an old man it must be difficult for him to find work. I wish I could afford to employ him.”
Madge went away with the avowed intention of discovering what had become of old Uncle Ross Jackson. His name was not in the telephone or city directories. She inquired of any number of persons without success.
Then Jane Allen came to the rescue. Among others, Madge had asked her if she had ever heard of the old Negro. At the time, Jane could not help her, but she had inquired of their negress wash woman and had learned the location of Uncle Ross’ cabin.
“You’re welcome to the information, but I’d not advise you to be going down there by the tracks alone,” Jane warned. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into you lately. You’re so quiet and secretive. Always wanting to know such odd things too!”
Madge did not enlighten her as to what had caused the change, though she was tempted to disclose everything. She knew that Jane and Enid both were somewhat hurt because they felt they were being excluded from something. She must make it up to them later.
Madge had no intention of venturing alone down into the slum district of Claymore. She broached the subject of the trip with Cara who was willing to accompany her when she comprehended that the visit might have an important bearing on the missing pearls.
Monday night after school, Madge borrowed her uncle’s car and they set forth upon their quest. The house they sought was set well back from the road. They parked the car and walked toward a dilapidated shack with a caved-in roof. The place seemed deserted save for a Plymouth Rock hen which fussed busily over her downy brood and a lank, hungry-looking hound that lay on the door-step with eyes half closed as if he were dreaming of some exciting coon hunt of a long departed day when both he and his master were younger.
Cara was afraid of the hound and though he scarcely looked in her direction, held timidly back. Madge went boldly to the door and knocked. There were stirrings within and presently Uncle Ross came to the door, knuckling his eyes as if he had been aroused from a nap, which indeed he had.
“Howdy, Miss, howdy,” he said to Madge and smiled at Cara. “Won’t you step right in—dat is, if you can find a groove to walk in with all this dishevelment.”