Chapter 11

The voice that came over the telephone when Shirley answered was clipped and impersonal:

"Is a Mr. Thomas Sanders there?"

"He lives here, but he isn't in right now," Shirley explained. "May I take a message?"

"I have a telegram for Mr. Sanders," the voice answered. "When do you expect him?"

"Not tonight. Probably not until tomorrow evening." Isn't there some message?"

After conversation with another person in the office, the voice came again clearly. "You may take the message. Do you care to write it down?"

"Just a minute." Shirley rummaged in the desk and finally found a pencil. The back of an old envelope had to serve; she indicated that she was ready, and the voice said without inflection:

"Mr. Thomas Sanders, care of Jenny Winsted, Burrbridge, Vermont. Truck seems to be having nervous breakdown. Local people in the garages cannot find what trouble is. Suggest you come as soon as possible to get her rolling. Still have ten days' work here. It is signed Ray Marsh, Kansas City, Kansas, care of Drover's Hotel. Do you want it read again?"

"No, thank you," Shirley said as she wrote the word "Drover's."

"I will see that Tom Sanders gets the message."

She propped the envelope in a conspicuous spot on the desk and started back to her room. Aunt Jenny suddenly appeared in her own doorway; she was still dressed, Shirley noticed, although she was undoubtedly tired from the unaccustomed activities of the day.

"Who was it, Shirley?"

"A telegram for Tom Sanders. One of his trucks-the one that's working in Kansas City-is out of order. Somebody named Ray Marsh, who is the driver, I suppose, wants Tom to come out there right away." Shirley could hear the relief in her aunt's voice. "I can't say that I'll be sorry to see him go; that young man is becoming something of a problem."

The next morning and afternoon seemed to go by on leaden feet. It was not raining, but the sky was overcast and even the garden seemed gloomy. Shirley helped Richard put on his sweater and played with him for a while out of doors. Then she read to him for an hour, choosing a story from his favorite book on King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table. Richard should really have a playmate his own age, Shirley thought. But when he went to school next year he would automatically find friends and then he would no longer be alone. Richard had grown very little since he had been with them, but he seemed to stand straighter since the name "Dinky" had been dropped.

Mrs. Jameson called that Richard's supper was ready, and Shirley went to her room to freshen up. Dolly was already in the living room, talking with Aunt Jenny, and Shirley knew that both women were waiting, as she was, for the truckmen to come in.

Dolly had received with surprising indifference the news that Tom would have to leave.

Shirley saw the truck drive up and ran to open the door. She felt a premonitory pang of loneliness as she realized that first Tom and then Dan would no longer be returning at night. They had become a familiar and important part of the household.

When Tom heard the news, he instantly asked if he might use the phone. He called the railroad station in Stanton.

There was a train leaving about midnight bound for New York, Tom reported after talking with the railroad information service. He might not be able to get a berth, but he would try to sleep in the coach.

"The only thing is, how am I going to get to Stanton?" he inquired. "I don't like to take the truck over there again; the brakes should be adjusted before Dan takes it on the job tomorrow."

"But of course I'll drive you in our jalopy," Dolly said quickly. "It's not a fancy job, but it will get to Stanton and back."

Tom objected: "That's a round trip of over a hundred miles."

"You could take my car," Mrs. Jameson offered, pausing on her way downstairs after seeing that Richard was all set for his favorite TV Western-and bed.

"No, thank you," Dolly refused. "I'm used to our old heap and I'd feel nervous driving your car. I haven't been over to Stanton lately, and I'd just as soon go for the ride. Sorry you have to go, Tom. But I suppose there is no help for it."

Dan was making frantic signals to Shirley to follow him outside. Puzzled, she left the living room and followed him through the front door. He was grinning down at her in a conspiratorial manner.

"What gives with the cloak and dagger stuff?" Shirley demanded. "Supper is almost ready, and Tom should eat before he starts on that long journey."

"Where's Dink-I mean Richard?"

"Looking at TV, I suppose. Mrs. Jameson usually gets him ready for bed before she turns on the set. But what in the world...." Shirley began to feel annoyed at his strange air of mystery.

"I have a present for him," Dan said with dignity. "And I'd like you to be there when I give it to him."

"A present?" Shirley asked. "Where is it?"

"In the truck, but it's a secret until I get it up to the room." Dan went over to the cab and took out a bundle wrapped in his old raincoat. He held it carefully, almost as if it were a piece of china and, motioning Shirley to follow, entered the house.

The others were gathered in the living room. Only George looked up as Shirley and Dan started up the stairs, and his glance was casual.

Richard, with only his night light turned on, was watching TV with an enraptured expression. As Shirley came in and turned on the light on the bureau, he blinked.

"Say, what's the idea?" he protested. "The sheriff just shot two men and he has three more to go. This here is a whale of a story. Turn that light off!"

"No, Richard," Shirley said firmly. "You must turn the TV off. Dan has a present for you, and we have only a minute before we go down to supper."

"What kind of a present?"

"I don't know," Shirley admitted. "It's wrapped up in Dan's raincoat." As she spoke Dan deposited the bundle carefully on Richard's bed and started to unwrap it. Richard, instantly diverted, walked over to the bed and stood watching. Shirley took that moment to switch off the television and then, as round-eyed as Richard, stared at the scene unfolding before her unbelieving gaze.

In the middle of an old raincoat stood a shivering ball of fur that was apparently part spaniel, part bird dog and part collie. His face was almost square, but the rest of him was too round for the short stubby legs that supported his body. He took one wavering step and then collapsed, but gamely dragged himself erect and stood watching them warily. His tail was surprisingly long, and he waved it once in a gesture of friendship. He was, Shirley decided, the most mixed-up dog she had ever seen. He was mostly white, but his ears were black and his eyes were ringed with black in an uneven way. His body was freckled with black, almost like a Dalmation, but his tail was like a beautiful white feather.

Richard threw himself on the bed with a joyous yelp that Shirley had never heard before. The little dog was not startled but seemed, instead, to recognize an old friend.

He stopped shivering and licked the boy's face.

"Oh, Stuffy! Stuffy, you came alive! You're alive!" The boy's ecstasy was almost beyond his powers of expression.

Shirley finally came to. "Dan Hallbrook, how could you?" she demanded. "Aunt Jenny will never in the world allow a dog in the house; you've built his hopes up just for nothing." She advanced firmly toward the bed, and Richard threw himself on the puppy protectively.

"No, you mustn't take Stuffy. He's mine; he don't belong to you."

"But, Richard dear, this is Aunt Jenny's house and nobody asked her about a puppy...." Shirley glared at Dan for putting her in such a spot.

Dan Hallbrook did not seem to care. He was regarding the boy and the dog with great satisfaction. "She certainly won't mind if we keep the pup overnight," he said carelessly. "Then in the morning Richard can ask if he can keep him. If she says yes then I will personally build Stuffy a house all his own; he won't have to live in Aunt Jenny's house or bother her in any way. How about it, Richard?"

"Yes, oh yes!" breathed the boy, moving a little away so that Shirley could see the puppy's black-ringed eyes gazing adoringly into Richard's. "I don't never want Stuffy to go away. He's alive!"

Mrs. Jameson called up the stairs: "Shirley, we're just about ready to eat. Will you tell Dan, please?"

Shirley answered in a voice that she hoped sounded normal and then muttered to Dan: "If that puppy is to stay even one night, he'll have to have a box or something of his own. Otherwise I'll go right downstairs and tell Aunt Jenny this minute. It's your problem; what are you going to do about it?"

"No problem at all," Dan said in the same maddeningly calm way. "I have a big box my windbreaker came in. I think it's a little large, but we'll try it on Stuffy for size. There's even some tissue paper still in it."

He disappeared, and Shirley picked up the dog and set him firmly on the foot of the bed. "You get into bed, Richard," she said as sternly as she could, "and remember this is only for tonight. Tomorrow you have to let Aunt Jenny decide about Stuffy. Why do you call him that?"

"Because he's just like the little dog that fell down and died, the one I took into the little house to play with. Can Stuffy have a gold collar, too?"

"The Staffordshire dog!" Shirley did not know whether to laugh or cry. This bundle of fur with the black spots resembled the purebred spaniels of centuries earlier only in coloring. But to Richard that apparently was enough.

"Can Stuffy have a collar?" Richard was repeating as Dan came back. The box was put in a corner and the puppy deposited in it without much ceremony.

"We'd better hurry." Dan could not resist giving the puppy a furtive pat. "Tom's already downstairs."

With the thought that the puppy would rather have some food than a collar, Shirley turned out the light on the bureau and followed Dan down to the dining room.

She felt extraordinarily guilty as she settled down to the ordered serenity of the table with a murmured excuse. Mrs. Jameson had made chicken fricassee with fluffy white biscuits on top. It was one of Shirley's favorite dishes, but tonight all she could think of was that absurd little dog and the look of radiance on Richard's face. It would be hard to smuggle out any of the chicken, but somehow she must manage to get a biscuit and cover it with the fricassee sauce.

"That's the best fricassee you ever made, Mabel," Jenny was saying with satisfaction. "Shirley, you usually do a better job than you are doing tonight."

"I'm not too hungry," Shirley said, and caught the twinkle in Dan's eyes. Just for that, she thought to herself, I'll make you carry Stuffy's supper up to him. It had occurred to her that she actually had no excuse to go upstairs after the beds were turned down and Richard settled for the night.

"This must be an exciting life, Tom," George said a little wistfully. "It's sort of-well, sort of romantic to go dashing off across the country at a moment's notice."

"There is nothing romantic about a truck breakdown," Tom assured him. "But it does give us a chance to get around the country and compare different parts of it. I didn't know if we were going to like it here"-Tom's bland stare was for Jenny-"But I declare I've never had such meals in my life. I'll never forget this part of New England, ma'am." Although he spoke to her aunt, Shirley felt sure the words were meant for Dolly.

Her cousin was looking a little pale, and the silk jersey dress was a bright shade of blue that made her eyes look washed out. She had seldom worn the dress and had told Shirley she did not like it. Why would she wear it tonight, the last night she would see Tom? Shirley could not puzzle it out. But Aunt Jenny was waiting for her to clear the table, and she had a special reason tonight for saving a minute or two.

She flew around quickly and managed to find the small covered dish she was looking for. Shirley put her uneaten biscuit into the dish and poured some sauce over it. Then she purposely left one of the coffee cups in the kitchen, and when she came back with it into the dining room it was easy enough to slip the dish onto the sideboard.

All the others were concentrating on the chocolate cake and coffee, with the exception of Dan. His slight nod confirmed the fact that he saw her and would carry Stuffy's supper up to him.

Shirley finally began to relax. Well fed, the puppy would probably sleep through the night, and that meant Richard would sleep well, too. In the morning, she would talk with Aunt Jenny, and perhaps they could think of someone who would give Stuffy a good home. Because, of course, her aunt would not keep the puppy! She did not keep any pets.

After they had left the dining room, Shirley put everything in place and noted with satisfaction that Dan had picked up the dish. He had done it so unobtrusively that she had not seen him, and she doubted if any of the others had noticed it either. Certainly not Aunt Jenny, chatting with Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen as they washed up the dishes. Or George Weaver, who had announced his intention of reading the paint shop annual report in the living room. Or Dolly, who had apparently gone straight to her room.

Shirley started toward the room herself. Then, through the screen door, she saw Dolly outside. She was slamming and locking the trunk door of the car, and for a minute Shirley wondered if, by some misfortune, they had a flat tire and Dolly was getting the spare. Then all at once she realized that Tom must have brought his suitcase downstairs and Dolly had had him put it in the trunk.

"Do you mind if I borrow that white cable knit of yours?" Dolly asked when she came in.

"Of course not," Shirley said at once. "But do you need a sweater on a warm night like this?"

"You never know...." Dolly said vaguely, and broke off as Tom and Dan came downstairs and the older women came out of the kitchen. Even George came out from the living room to join in the farewells.

Jenny, with true graciousness, said: "We have enjoyed having you stay here, Tom. We shall miss you very much indeed. You are both fine boys."

"Well, the job is nearly over so far as we are concerned, anyway," Tom said. "It will only be two weeks longer that Dan has to carry on alone."

"I hadn't realized the highway is so nearly completed," George Weaver said in a surprised tone.

"The landscape men and those who put up the fencing are already working," Dan explained. "The highway should be opened this fall if all goes well."

There was a brief flurry of goodbyes and a salute from Tom to all of them as the car turned into the road. Shirley sighed; it was the end of an interlude.