Meg of Mystery Mountain by Grace May North

  CHAPTER II. THE MOST SELFISH GIRL

  The girls who had been inseparable friends during the four years at thefashionable Highacres Seminary parted at the Battery to go in as manydifferent directions.

  Marion Starr's home was far up on Riverside Drive, while Barbara Morris'millionaire father had an extensive estate on Long Island. EstherBallard, the only daughter of devoted parents, resided in the house ofher grandfather, Colonel Ballard, on Washington Square, while JaneAbbott's family of four lived in the same rambling, picturesque woodenhouse that Mr. Abbott's father had built for his bride long before hisname had become so well known on Wall Street. Edgemere, a pretty littletown among the Jersey hills, Mr. Abbott deemed a good place to bring uphis younger girl and boy, and so, although Jane often pleaded that theymove to a more fashionable suburb, in Edgemere they had remained. Norwould her father tear down the old home to replace it with one finer, forhis beloved wife, who had died at the birth of little Julie, had plannedit and had chosen all of the furnishings. "Some day you will have a homeof your own, Jane," he had told his proud older daughter, "and then youmay have it as fine as you wish."

  But in all other things, Mr. Abbott humored her, for she was so like hermother in appearance. It was with sorrow that the father had to confessin his heart that there the resemblance ceased, for the mother, who hadbeen equally beautiful, had been neither proud nor selfish. Little Julie,though not so beautiful, was far more like the mother in nature, and so,too, was Daniel, the nineteen-year-old lad upon whom the father placed somuch reliance.

  Regrettable as it may seem, Jane Abbott, as she stood on the deck of theferry that was to convey her to the Jersey shore, was actually dreadingthe two weeks that she would have to spend in her own home. Marion hadsuggested that they plan going to Newport by the middle of July and itwas now the first.

  It was late afternoon, and there were many working girls on the hugeferry, who were returning to their Jersey homes after a long hot day inthe New York offices. As they crowded against her, Jane drew herself awayfrom them haughtily, thankful, indeed, that her father was so wealthythat she would never have to earn her own way in the world, nor wear suchunattractive ready-made dresses. Unconsciously her lips curled scornfullyuntil she chanced to catch a glimpse of her own trim tailored figure inone of the panel mirrors; then she smiled complacently and seated herselfsomewhat apart from the working girls, who, from time to time, glanced ather, as she supposed, with admiration. But she was disabused of thissatisfying thought when one of them spoke loud enough for her to hear."See that stiff-necked snob! She thinks she's made of different clay fromthe rest of us. I wish her pa'd lose his money, so she'd have to scrubfor a living."

  This remark merely caused Jane to sneer slightly, but what she heard nextfilled her heart with terrified foreboding, for another girl had turnedto look at her and replied:

  "Well, if she's who I think she is, her father's already gone bankrupt,and she's poor enough, all right."

  The working girls then moved to another part of the ferry and Jane wasleft alone. It was ridiculous, of course. Her father could not lose hisvast fortune. Jane determined to think no more about it. The ferry hadreached its destination, and the proud girl hurried away. Never beforehad she so longed to reach her home.

  "Of course it is not true," her panicky thought kept repeating. "But whatcould it mean? What could it mean?"

  * * * * * * * *

  Jane vowed to herself that she would not again think of what the spitefulworking girl had said, for how could she, a mere nobody, have informationconcerning the affairs of a man of her father's standing, which Jane, hisown daughter, did not have?

  But a disquieting thought reminded her that the working girl's face hadbeen familiar, and then memory recalled that she had seen her in the verybuilding on Wall Street where Mr. Abbott's offices were located.

  Jane's troubled reverie was interrupted by a joyous exclamation, and herbrother, who was three years her senior and a head taller, leaped fromthe crowd and held out both hands. His greeting was so enthusiastic, hisexpression so radiant, that the girl was convinced that all was well withtheir father, and so she said nothing of what she had heard.

  It was not until they were seated on the train and had started forEdgemere that Jane noticed how pale and thin was her brother's face, and,when his eager flow of conversation was interrupted by a severe coughingspell, the girl exclaimed with real concern, "Why, Brother Dan, what aterrible cold you have! You ought to be in bed."

  The boy's smile was reassuring. "Don't worry about that cough, sis," hesaid lightly. "Now the grind is over, it will let up, I'm thinking. Butit surely has stuck closer than a postage stamp. Caught it weeks ago, butI've been so busy, well, doing things, that I haven't had time to coddlemyself."

  Suddenly the lad's expression became very serious, and turning, he placeda thin hand, that was far too white, lovingly on his sister's as he said:"Jane, dear, some changes have taken place in our home since you wentback to Highacres last Christmas. For Dad's sake try to bear thembravely."

  Then it was true, true, all that this dreadful working girl had said. Fora moment the girl's whole being surged with self-pity, then she felt coldand hard. What right had their father to lose his fortune and bringdisgrace and privation upon his family? In a voice that sounded mostunfeeling, she asked, "And just what may those changes be?"

  It was hard, so hard for Dan to tell the whole truth to a girl whom heknew, with sorrow, thought only of herself. He had believed that troublemight awaken the true Jane, whom he had always felt must be somewheredeep under all the adamant of selfishness, but as yet there was noevidence of it.

  He removed his hand, as from something that hurt him, and folding hisarms, he began: "Our father is in great trouble, Jane, and he needs ouraid, but at present all we can do is to bear cheerfully theinconveniences that are not nearly as severe as many others have toendure."

  But the girl was impatient. "For goodness sakes, Dan, don't preach! Nowis no time to moralize. If our father has done some idiotic speculatingand has lost his money, tell me so squarely."

  A red spot burned in each pale cheek of the lad and a light of momentaryindignation flashed in his eyes, but he replied calmly enough: "Remember,Jane, that you are speaking of our father, one of the noblest men whoever trod on this earth. You know as well as I do that Dad never did anywildcat speculating."

  "Well, then, stop beating around the bush and tell me just what hashappened."