The Poor Little Rich Girl Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  Bobbing and swaying foolishly, the nurse-maid shuffled to her feet. AndGwendolyn, though she wanted to turn and flee beyond the reach of thosebig, clutching hands, found herself rooted to the ground, and could onlystand and stare helplessly.

  The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stepped to her side hastily. His look wasperturbed. "My! My!" he exclaimed under his breath. "She's worse than Ithought!--_much_ worse."

  With a little gasp of relief at having him so near, Gwendolyn slippedher trembling fingers into his. "She's worse than _I_ thought," shemanaged to whisper back.

  Neither was given a chance to say more. For seeing them thus, hand inhand, Jane suddenly started forward--with a great boisterous hop andskip. Her front face was distorted with a jealous scowl. She gaveGwendolyn a rough sidewise shove.

  "Git away from that old beggar!" she commanded harshly. "Why, he'llkidnap you! Look at his knife!"

  Nimbly the little old gentleman thrust himself in front of her, barringher way, and shielding Gwendolyn. "Who told you where she was?" he askedangrily.

  "Who?" mocked Jane, impudently. "Well, who is it that tells peoplethings?"

  "You mean the _Bird?_"

  Jane's front face broke into a pleased grin. "I mean the Bird," shebragged And balanced from foot to foot.

  Gwendolyn, peeking round at her, of a sudden felt a fresh concern. TheBird!--the same Bird that had repeated tales against her father! Andnow he was tattling on her! She saw all her hopes of finding herparents, all her happy plans, in danger of being blighted.

  "Oh, my goodness!" she said mournfully.

  She was holding tight to the little old gentleman's coat-tails. Now heleaned down. "We _must_ get rid of her," he declared. "You know what Isaid. She'll make us trouble!"

  "Here! None of that!" It was Jane once more, the grin replaced by a darklook. "I'll have you know this child is in _my_ charge." Again she triedto seize Gwendolyn.

  The Man-Who-Makes-Faces stood his ground resolutely--and swung thecurved knife up to check any advance.

  "She doesn't need you," he declared "She's seven, and she's grown-up."And to Gwendolyn, "_Tell_ her so! Don't be afraid! Tell her!"

  Gwendolyn promptly opened her mouth. But try as she would, she could notspeak. Her lips seemed dry. Her tongue refused to move. She could onlyswallow!

  As if he understood her plight, the little old gentleman suddenly sprangaside to where was the sauce-box, snatched something out of it, ran tothe other table and picked up an oblong leather case (a case exactlylike the gold-mounted one in which Miss Royle kept her spectacles), putthe something out of the sauce-box into the case, closed the case with asnap, and put it, with a swift motion, into Gwendolyn's hand.

  "There!" he cried triumphantly. "There's that stiff upper lip! _Now_you can answer."

  It was true! No sooner did she feel the leather case against her palm,than her fear, and her hesitation and lack of words, were gone!

  She assumed a determined attitude, and went up to Jane. "I don't needyou," she said firmly. "'Cause I'm seven years old now, and I'm grownup. And--what are you here for _anyhow?_"

  At the very boldness of it, Jane's manner completely changed. That frontcountenance took on a silly simper. And she put her two-faced head, nowon one side, now on the other, ingratiatingly.

  "What am I here for!" she repeated in an injured tone. "And you ask methat, Miss? Why, what _should_ I be doin' for you, lovie, but dancin'attendance."

  At that, she began to act most curiously, stepping to the right andpointing a toe, stepping to the left and pointing a toe; setting downone heel, setting down the other; then taking a waltzing turn.

  "Oh!" said Gwendolyn, understanding. (For dancing attendance wasprecisely what Jane was doing!) After observing the other's antics for amoment, she tossed her head. "Well, if _that's_ all you want to do," shesaid unconcernedly, "why, _dance_."

  "Yes, dance," broke in the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, snapping his fingers."Frolic and frisk and flounce!"

  Jane obeyed. And waltzed up to the bill-board. "Say! what's the price ofthat big braid?" she called--between her tortoise-shell teeth. She hadspied the red coronet, and was admiring its plaited beauty.

  From under those long, square brows, the little old gentleman frownedacross the table at her. "I'll quote you no prices," he answered. "Youhaven't paid me yet for your extra face."

  Jane's reply was an impudent double-laugh. She was examining thedifferent things on the bill-board, and hopping sillily from foot tofoot.

  Gwendolyn tugged gently at a coat-tail. "Can't we run now?" she asked;"and hide?"

  _Boom-er-oom-er-oom!_

  "Sh!" warned the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, not stirring. "What was that!"

  "I don't know."

  Both held their breath. And Gwendolyn took a more firm hold of thelip-case.

  After a moment the little old gentleman began to speak very low: "Weshan't be able to steal away. She's watching us out of the back of herhead!"

  "Yes. I can see 'em shine!"

  "I believe that when she rolled her eyes from one face to the other itmade that _rumbley sound_."

  "Scares me," whispered Gwendolyn.

  "Ump!" he grunted. "Ought to cheer you up. For it's my opinion that hereyes rumble _because her head's empty_."

  "If it was hollow I think I'd know," she answered doubtfully. "You seeshe's been my nurse a long time. But--would it help?"

  "_Find out_," he advised. "And if it's a fact, your mother ought toknow."

  _Boom-er-oom-er-oom!_

  Gwendolyn, watching, saw two shining spots in Jane's back face growsuddenly small--to the size of glinting pin-points; then disappear. Thenurse turned, and came dancing back.

  "You'd better let me have that braid, old man," she cried rudely.

  "I'll smooth down your saucy tongue," he threatened.

  "Tee! hee! hee! hee!" she tittered. "Ha! ha! ha!"

  Gwendolyn had heard her laugh before. But it was the first time she had_seen_ her laugh. The Man-Who-Makes-Faces, too. Now, at the same moment,both witnessed an extraordinary thing: As Jane chuckled, she lifted onestout arm so that a black sateen cuff was close to the mouth of thefront face. And holding it there, actually _laughed in her sleeve!_

  Laughed in her sleeve--_and a great deal more!_ For with each chuckle,from the top of her red head to her very feet, _she grew a trifle moreplump!_

  The little old gentleman warned her with one long finger. "You lookout, young lady!" said he. "One of these days you'll laugh on the otherside of your face." (Which made Gwendolyn wish that it was not impoliteto correct those older than herself; for it was plain that he meant"you'll laugh on your _other_ face.")

  Jane put out a tongue-tip at him insolently. Then dancing near, "Come!"she bade Gwendolyn. "Come away with Nurse."

  The Man-Who-Makes-Faces made no effort to interpose. But he wagged hishead significantly. "It's evident, Miss Jane," said he, "that you'veforgotten all about--the Piper."

  She came short. And showed herself upset by what he had said, for shedid a hop-schottische.

  He was not slow to take advantage. "We're sure to see him shortly," hewent on. "And when we do--! Because your account with him is adding up_terrifically_. You're dancing a good deal, you know."

  "How can I help _that?_" demanded Jane. "Ain't I dancin' atten--"

  Gwendolyn forgot to listen to the remainder of the sentence. All at onceshe was a little apprehensive on her own account--remembering how _she_had danced beside the soda-water, not half an hour before!

  "Mr. Man-Who-Makes-Faces," she began timidly, "do you mean the Piperthat everybody has to pay?"

  "Exactly," replied the little old gentleman. "He's out collecting somepay for me now--from a dishonest fellow who didn't settle for two dozenears that I boxed and sent him."

  At that, Jane began tittering harder than ever (hysterically, thistime), holding up her arm as before--and filling out two or threewrinkles in the black sateen! And Gwendolyn, watching closely, saw thatwhile the front
face of her nurse was all a-grin, the face on the backof her head wore a nervous expression. (Evidently that front face wasnot always to be depended upon!)

  The little old gentleman also remarked the nervous expression. Andfollowed up the advantage already won. "Now," said he, "perhaps you'llbe willing to come along quietly. We're just starting, you understand."He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  Gwendolyn glanced in the direction he pointed. And saw--for the firsttime--that a wide, smooth road led away from the Face-Shop, a road aswide and smooth and curving as the Drive. Like the Drive it waswell-lighted on either side (but lighted low-down) by a row of tinyelectric bulbs with frosted shades, each resembling an incandescenttoadstool. (She remembered having once caught a glimpse of somethingsimilar in a store-window.) These tiny lamps were set close together onshort stems, precisely as white stones of a selected size edged all thepaths at Johnnie Blake's. And each gave out a soft light. She did nothave to ask about them. She guessed promptly what they were--lights tomake plain the way for people's feet: in short, nothing more nor lessthan footlights!

  A few times in her life--so few that she could tell them off on her pinkfingers--she had been taken to the theater, Jane accompanying her byright of nurse-maid, Miss Royle by her superior right as judge of allmatters that partook of entertainment; Thomas coming also, thoughapparently for no reason whatever, to grace a rear seat along with thechauffeur. Seated in a box, close to the curved edge of the stage, shehad seen the soft glow of the footlights. But for some reason which shecould not fathom, the footlights had always been carefully concealedfrom everyone but the people on the stage. Trying to imagine themwithout any suggestions from Miss Royle or Jane, she had patterned themafter a certain stuffed slipper-cushion that stood on Jane'sdressing-table. How different was the reality, and how much moresatisfactory!

  Jane looked up the road, between the lines of footlights. "You're juststartin'," she repeated. "Where?"

  "To find her father and mother," answered the Man-Who-Makes-Faces,stoutly.

  At that Jane shook her huge pompadour. "Father and mother!" she cried."Indeed, you won't! Not while _I'm_ a-takin' care of her." And reachingout, caught Gwendolyn--by a slender wrist.

  The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seized the other. And the next moment Gwendolynwas unpleasantly reminded of times in the nursery, times when, MissRoyle and Jane disagreeing about her, each pulled at an arm andquarreled. For here was the nurse, tugging one direction to drag heraway, and the little old gentleman tugging the other with all his might.

  "Slap her hands! Slap her hands!" he shouted excitedly. "It'll startcirculation."

  Both slapped--so hard that her hands stung. And with the result hesought. For instantly all three began going in circles, around andaround, faster and faster and faster.

  It was Jane who first let go. She was puffing hard, and the perspirationwas standing out upon her forehead. "I'm going to call the Policeman,"she threatened shrilly.

  "Oh! Oh! Please don't!" Gwendolyn's cry was as shrill. "I don't want himto get me!"

  "_Call_ the Policeman then," retorted the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. And toGwendolyn, soothingly, "Hush! Hush, child!"

  Jane danced away--sidewise, as if to keep watch as she went. "Help!Help!" she shouted. "Police! Police!! _Poli-i-i-ice!!!_"

  Gwendolyn was terribly frightened. But she could not run. One wrist wasstill in the grasp of the little old gentleman. With wildly throbbingheart she watched the road.

  "Is he coming?" called the little old gentleman. He, too, was looking upthe curving road.

  A whistle sounded. It was long-drawn, piercing.

  And now Gwendolyn heard movements all about her in the forest--the soft_pad, pad_ of running paws, the _hushing_ sound of wings--as if smalllive things were fleeing before the sharp call.

  Jane hastened back, galloping a polka. "Turn a stone! Turn a stone!" shecried, rumbling her eyes.

  Gwendolyn clung to the little old gentleman. "Oh, don't let her!" sheplead. "What if--"

  "We _must_."

  "Will a pebble-size do?" yelled Jane, excitedly.

  "Yes! Yes!" answered the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "You've seen stones inrings, haven't you? Aren't _they_ pebble-size?"

  The nurse stooped, picked up a small stone, and sent it spinning fromthe end of a thumb.

  Faint with fear, Gwendolyn thrust a trembling hand into the patch-pocketand took hold of the lip-case. Then leaning against the little oldgentleman, her yellow head half-concealed by the dusty flap of his torncoat, she waited.