"If he could attack them with as strong a purpose," Sally agreed, absently, with no great interest herself, apparently, "he would succeed, I think. I know that d.i.c.k thinks he has ability enough."

Fox made no reply and Sally did not pursue the subject further. They drove to the end of the course in silence. Suddenly Sally began to wave her m.u.f.f violently.

"Oh, there is Uncle John," she said. "If you will excuse me, I will get out, Cousin Patty. You needn't stop, Edward. Just go slow. I find," she added, turning again to the back seat, "that it is the popular opinion that it is too cold for me to drive longer in comfort, so I am going to leave you, if you don't mind."

"And what if we do mind?" asked Fox; to which question Sally made no reply. She only smiled at him in a way which he found peculiarly exasperating.

"Take good care of father, Sally," said Patty anxiously.

"I will," Sally replied with a cheerful little nod. "Good-bye." And she stepped out easily, leaving Patty, Fox, and her mother. This was an arrangement little to Patty's liking. Doctor Sanderson was in the seat with Mrs. Ladue. To be sure, he might have changed with Patty when Sally got out, but Mrs. Ladue would not have him inconvenienced to that extent. She noted that his eyes followed Sally as she ran and slid and ran again. Mr. Hazen came forward to meet her and she slipped her hand within his arm, and she turned to wave her m.u.f.f to them. Then Sally and Uncle John walked slowly back, toward the head of the course.

Fox turned to Mrs. Ladue and they smiled at each other. "I guess," Fox remarked, "that she is not changed, after all; except," he added as an afterthought, "that she is more generally cheerful than she used to be, which is a change to be thankful for."

Sally and Uncle John took d.i.c.k Torrington home to dinner; and Henrietta very nearly monopolized his attention, as might have been expected. It was late, as the habits of the Hazens went, when they went up to bed, but Henrietta would have Sally come in for a few minutes. She had _so_ many things to say. No, they wouldn't wait. She would have forgotten them by the next day. And Sally laughed and went with Henrietta.

Henrietta's few minutes had lengthened to half an hour and she had not said half the things she had meant to say. She had told Sally how Mr.

Spencer--Eugene Spencer, you know--had overtaken them at the head of the course and had accosted Mr. Torrington, challenging him to race.

"Mr. Spencer," continued Henrietta, with a demure glance at Sally, "seemed out of sorts and distinctly cross. I'm sure I don't know why.

Do you, Sally?"

Sally looked annoyed. "He is very apt to be, I think," she remarked briefly. "What did d.i.c.k do? He said he was not going to race."

"Yes, that's what he told Mr. Spencer, and Mr. Spencer said, in a disagreeable kind of way, 'You promised Sally, I suppose.' And d.i.c.k--Mr. Torrington--smiled and his eyes wrinkled. I think he was laughing at Mr. Spencer--at the pet he was in. Don't you, Sally?"

Sally nodded. She thought it very likely.

"And d.i.c.k--I must ask Mr. Torrington's pardon, but I hear him spoken of as d.i.c.k so often that I forget--Mr. Torrington told him, in his slow, quiet way, that he hadn't exactly promised you; that, in fact, he had warned you that his horse was spirited and somewhat fractious and he might not be able to hold him. He had warned somebody, anyway, and he thought it was you. It wasn't you, at all, Sally. It was I, but I didn't enlighten him."

"I knew, very well, that he would," Sally observed. "So he raced with Jane?"

"With Mr. Spencer," Henrietta corrected. "Do you call him Jane? How funny! And we beat him and he went off in a shocking temper, for d.i.c.k laughed at him, but very gently."

"I'm not sure that would not be all the harder for Jane. I suppose you were glad to beat him."

"Why, of course," said Henrietta, in surprise. "Wouldn't you have been?"

Sally was rather sober and serious. "I suppose so. It wouldn't have made any particular difference whether you beat him or not."

Henrietta made no reply to this remark. She was sitting on the bed, pretty and dainty, and was tapping her foot lightly on the floor. She gazed at Sally thoughtfully for a long time. Finally Sally got up to go.

"Sally," Henrietta asked then, smiling, "haven't you ever thought of him--them--any one"--she hesitated and stammered a little--"in that way?" She did not seem to think it necessary to specify more particularly the way she meant. "There are lots of attractive men here. There's Everett Morton and there's Eugene Spencer, though he's almost too near your own age; but anybody can see that he's perfectly dippy over you. And--"

"And there, too," Sally interrupted, "are the Carlings, Harry and Horry, neither of whom you have seen because they happen to be in college. The last time they came home, Harry was wearing a mustache and Horry side-whiskers, so that it would be easy to tell them apart.

The only trouble with that device was that I forgot which was which.

And there is Ollie Pilcher, and there is--oh, the place is perfectly boiling with men--if it is men that you are looking for."

Henrietta gave a little ripple of laughter. "You are too funny, Sally.

Of course I am looking for men--or for a man. Girls of our age are always looking for them, whether we know it or not--deep down in our hearts. Remember Margaret Savage? Well, she seems to be looking for Fox, and I shouldn't wonder if he succ.u.mbed, in time. She is very pretty."

There was a look of resentment in Sally's eyes, but she made no remark.

"And I have not finished my list," Henrietta went on. "I can only include the men I have seen to-day. To end the list, there is d.i.c.k Torrington. Haven't you--haven't you thought--"

Sally flushed slowly; but she smiled and shook her head. "You see, Henrietta," she said apologetically, "I have my teaching to think of--"

"Oh, bosh!" cried Henrietta, smiling.

"Fox knows," Sally continued, defensively, "and you can't have wholly forgotten, Henrietta."

"Bosh, Sally!" said Henrietta again.

CHAPTER V

IT was but a few steps from Henrietta's door to Sally's own. Sally, her ideas a little confused by that exclamation of Henrietta's and by what it implied, walked those few steps softly and had her hand upon the k.n.o.b of her own door when she found herself sniffing and realized that she smelt smoke. It was a very faint smell and she hesitated, even then, and stood there in the dark hall, recalling the fires that had been left. There had been no wood fire.

She took her hand softly from the k.n.o.b. "I believe I'll just look around," she told herself. "It's a terrible night for a fire. I hope n.o.body'll take me for a burglar."

She went downstairs quickly, taking no pains to be quiet. If she were not quiet, she thought, with an involuntary chuckle, Uncle John would not be likely to think she was the sort of person that had no business to be in the house at all. She looked into the back parlor. All was right there. Then she opened the door leading into the back hall. The smell of smoke was stronger. She glanced into the kitchen. The top of the range was red-hot, to be sure, but that was not unusual enough to excite surprise, and the great old chimney, with its brick oven and broad brick breast and the wide brick hearth reaching out well beyond the range were enough a.s.surance. The smoke must come from the cellar.

The cellar door was in the back hall, just at Sally's hand as she stood. She opened it; and was almost stifled by the smoke that poured out. She gasped and shut the door again quickly, and ran and opened a kitchen window, fumbling a little at the fastening, and drew two or three long breaths of the crisp night air, thinking how cold it was.

Then she opened the cellar door again, held her breath, and went down.

It was a little better when she got down, although the smoke was thick up by the floor beams. Sally glanced in the direction of the furnace; and she saw, through the smoke, a dull red glow, with little licks of flame running up from it, now and then. The man had forgotten the furnace and had left it drawing. That pipe was perilously near the beams.

"The idiot!" Sally exclaimed. And she held her breath again while she ran up the cellar stairs.

She was angry with herself because her hands trembled as she lighted the gas in the kitchen and found the lantern and lighted it. The slight trembling of her hands did not matter so much in filling a pitcher with water and by the time the pitcher was full her hands were steady enough. She ran down cellar again, the lantern in one hand and the pitcher in the other; and she shut the drafts in the furnace as far as she could. She heard the flame roaring in the pipe and the damper was red-hot.

"Oh, dear!" she said, under her breath. "If there was only something to take hold of it with! And the beams are all afire. Well,--"

She threw the water from her pitcher upon the beams in little dashes.

"Oh, dear!" she said again. "I can't do it."

A quiet voice spoke behind her. "Better give it up, Sally, and rouse the people."

Sally was too intent upon her purpose to be startled. "Oh, Uncle John!" she cried. "You are a very present help in trouble. We could put it out if this was all, but I'm afraid it has already got up between the walls."

"Come up, then," Uncle John spoke calmly and without haste. "Never mind the lantern. I will rouse Patty and Doctor Sanderson and you get at Henrietta and your mother and the servants. Don't send Patty to the servants," he added, with a smile. "I will send in the alarm."

Mr. Hazen had forgotten Charlie. Sally ran upstairs. There was still a light showing under Henrietta's door and Sally went in.

"You'd better not undress, Henrietta," she said. "There is a fire and we may have to get out. You may have time to do a good deal, if you hurry--even to pack your trunk. You'd better put on your furs. It's terribly cold."