Walter and the Wireless

by Sara Ware Bassett

And yet as he thought it over afterward the hero of his sudden adoration had not uttered one syllable about jails, criminals, robberies, or crimes of any sort. In fact he had talked really very little. What he had done had been to smile, nod, and let the other fellow babble. It had, to be sure, been a delightful experience to find yourself a lion, and everything you did of interest to your listener; but you did not learn much about the business of being a detective, reflected Walter, a bit mortified by his discovery. Well, the next time he was with Mr. Dacie he would ask him some questions and let him relate everything about his mysterious calling.

Strange to say, however, the moment for such disclosures never appeared to come right. There was always so much else to talk of. Mr. Dacie wanted most terribly to catch some flounders and wondered if there were any to be found; and of course as Walter knew of three secret places where flounders were sure to lurk he eagerly told his new friend about them. And then he had to talk swimming and school—and how he hated it! Why, there were endless things to tell Mr. Dacie. The visit of the two men was, moreover, surprisingly short. They remained at Surfside only one night and the next morning, together with Mr. Crowninshield, who led the way in his car, they disappeared leaving His Highness none the wiser and regretfully mourning his lost opportunity to be initiated into the gruesome mysteries of a detective's career.

The realization that in exchange for telling everything he knew or ever had thought Mr. Dacie had told him nothing suddenly caused the lad to speculate as to whether after all both Mr. Dacie and his associate, Mr. Lyman, were not cleverer than they looked to be.

It seemed incredible to recall, now that they were gone, that he had not once asked them what they thought about Lola and whether they had any idea where the man who had taken her had gone. How much better it would have been had he made that inquiry instead of chattering about his own affairs. But somehow when there had been a lull in the conversation they had always been busy measuring footprints or automobile ruts, and writing down these unending dimensions. Moreover, something which he was unable to explain always halted the questions.

Well, it was useless to regret his vanished opportunities. The detectives were now far beyond his reach and probably he would never see them again. He might as well go about his work and put them, together with Lola and her baffling disappearance, out of his mind. This he tried valiantly to do, but in spite of his utmost endeavor his thought constantly reverted to the missing dog, and when toward dusk Mr. Crowninshield's car came whirling up the avenue His Highness had all he could do not to rush out and demand of the master whether he had secured any further information.

To remember that he must keep constantly in the background was, in fact, one of the most difficult aspects of Walter's job. As a democratic young American who had always mingled in the best society Lovell's Harbor had to offer he had been free to give a hail to anybody he desired to greet. But at Surfside everything was different. He must stifle his natural impulses and curb his tongue, a role very hard for one who had had no previous experience with class distinctions. Difficult as it had been he had made up his mind to being excluded from the gayety that went on about him. It was, to be sure, no fun to view automobile loads of young people roll out of the drive bent on a day of pleasure; to look on while motor boats pulled up anchor and puffed across the blue of the bay. And how he would have adored to try his hand at a set of tennis on that fine dirt court! Ah, there were moments when to a normal, healthy boy the world appeared a very unfair place; and the lot of one who worked for a living a wretched one.

And then, when his spirits had reached their lowest ebb, he would resolutely take himself to task. Was there not his pay envelope to compensate him? He was not at Surfside to have a good time; he was there to earn his daily bread and very fortunate was he to have so good a place. Having read himself this lecture he was wont to turn to his duties with lighter heart, closing his ears to the laughter and his eyes to the merriment that made up the days of the idle. But what he never could get used to was the fact that he must not ask questions or voice his opinions. In a free country where one man was as good as another the mandate seemed absurd. But it wasn't done. That was all there was about it. Jerry said so and so did Tim.

Instead of piping, "Hi, Mr. Crowninshield, did you find out anything?" one awaited the information until it was voluntarily imparted.

In this particular case, as good fortune would have it, His Highness's impatience had seethed and bubbled only a half hour before who should come strolling down to the kennels but the very gentleman the lad was feverish to interrogate.

Arrayed in a cool Palm Beach suit and a soft hat of white felt he sauntered up as indifferently as if the boy's curiosity were not at the boiling point and said, "Good evening," in a perfectly calm, self-possessed tone.