When Judy arrived at the little station a train was on the track, and without waiting to ask any question of the guard, since she had her ticket, she jumped into a second cla.s.s coach from which someone had just alighted, slammed the door shut, sank back on the cushions and burst out crying. Crying was something in which Judy was not an adept and only a few tears came, but she felt better because of them. Then she settled herself for a pleasant, if short, trip to Paris. There was no one in the coach with her, for which she was very thankful.

"I'd hate for anyone, even a Frenchy, to see me blubber. Oh, how I should have liked to hit that man a good uppercut on the jaw! I shall crow over Molly. I did as much with a piece of gingerbread as she did with a tennis racket when she floored the burglar who was after Mildred Brown's wedding presents. This looks like a long trip to Paris. We should be getting there by this time. We are going mighty fast for a local. Oh, these beastly foreign trains where they hermetically seal you and you can't ask a question until you get to a station."

The train slowed up but did not stop. They pa.s.sed a village and then another and another. The country was not familiar to Judy. She read "Rambouillet" on a pa.s.sing station, and then the fact became clear to her that she was on the wrong train, going from Paris instead of towards it.

"Rambouillet is at least twenty miles from Paris. Judy Kean, you idiot, you idiot, you idiot!"

Judy was in truth on the Chartres express with six sous in her pocket, left after she bought her ticket to Paris; and the one piece of jewelry she might have converted into enough cash at least to telegraph her friends, was pinned on the coat of that crazy old dancing fiend.

CHAPTER XIV.

COALS OF FIRE.

A furious, vociferous guard bundled Judy out of the coach, when on arriving at Chartres the door was unlocked. She showed her ticket to Paris and endeavored to explain her mistake and situation, but he was almost inarticulate with rage at her for having "stolen a ride" as he expressed it; and now she could look out for herself. It was none of his affair. She went into the waiting room to find out when the next train to Paris was due. She debated whether or not she should tell the ticket agent of her trouble and see if he could pa.s.s her back to Paris, but his appearance was so forbidding and his eyes so fishy that she could hardly make up her mind even to ask the time for the train. She made out from a bulletin that it was not due until ten at night. That would land her in Paris at midnight. In the meantime, she must raise enough money to pay for her ticket and hire a taxi when she got to Paris. She must also manage to send a telegram to Molly.

"Julia Kean, you have always thought yourself pretty clever and this is the first time in all your life you have had really and truly to depend on yourself. Now let's see what you can do. First thing, I warn you not to sniffle and get sorry for yourself. If you do, the game is up.

Suppose I can't raise the spondulicks in time for the ten train! Maybe I had better drop a postal to Molly with some of my six sous so she can get it first pop in the morning."

This she accordingly did. She found a tobacco shop where stamps and postal cards were sold and mailed a piteous appeal to Molly. She then found a telegraph office and wrote a telegram to be sent collect, but the hard-hearted operator refused to send it unless she prepaid it, and that she could not do. Her French deserted her whenever she thought of explaining her situation to anyone. She kept her eye open for Americans or even English, but not a sign of a foreigner did she see.

"I might have raised a little money on the American flag if I only had not been so smart-Alec and given it to that old man. I wonder what possessed me to eat such an expensive lunch at Versailles! I fancy it was my virtuous resolve to be nice to Frances Andrews that made me feel like treating myself. Thank goodness for the gingerbread! I won't starve, at least," and she hugged to her faint heart the remains of her preserver in time of peril and need.

Whom should she see approaching at this juncture but Frances Andrews and her grandmother? Judy's first feeling was one of delight; but she remembered how rude she had been to Frances and her resolve to be nice to her, and felt if she should be cordial now there could be but one interpretation for Frances to put on it, and that would be: she had an "axe to grind."

She bowed coldly and Frances returned the salutation, but she stopped her to ask if the Browns were in Chartres, too.

"No, I am here alone," said Judy with great nonchalance, "I bid you good afternoon," and she walked on, trying to keep her back from looking dejected.

"Grandmother, there is something the matter with Miss Kean and I feel as though I should find out if she needs help," said Frances, gazing after Judy until she turned the corner.

"Nonsense, my child. She is a bad-mannered piece. I have an idea I know why she is in Chartres. I believe it is a runaway match between her and that dark, middle-aged man we met at the Browns' tea. I caught a glimpse of him at the hotel at dejeuner to-day. Kinsella is his name. I could not quite place him but knew his face was familiar. You keep out of it.

It is none of your business if persons choose to make fools of themselves," and the irate old woman clutched her granddaughter's arm and dragged her along.

"There is no use in trying to stop me, Grandmother. She is Molly Brown's friend, and while she is horrid to me, I am going to see if she needs my help for Molly's sake. You can get back to the hotel alone; if you can't, just call a cab," and Frances whisked off, leaving her aged relative fussing and fuming in the street.

With all of Judy's acting, Frances had seen that she was excited about something and she certainly had not the air of one coming to meet a lover. The day in the country had not been conducive to tidiness. Judy's hair was blown, her collar and shirtwaist were rumpled, her shoes dusty and the tears in the train had left a smudge on her cheek.

On turning the corner, Judy had discovered a p.a.w.nbroker's shop. "That is where people in books go when they are hard up, so that is where I am going," she thought.

It was kept by a benevolent looking old Jew, and benevolent he may have been, but Judy soon found out, as she expressed it, "He was not in business for his health."

She asked him what he would give her for her sketching kit. It was a very attractive and expensive little box, with a palette, a drawer full of color tubes, a part.i.tion with sliding panels for sketching and a tray of brushes. He sniffed with disgust and said, "Two francs."

Judy's heart sank. Forty cents for a box that cost at least ten dollars, counting the tubes of expensive colors! But she remembered that at a p.a.w.nbroker's you can redeem your belongings, so she decided to take the forty cents and send a telegram with it.

"There are some sketches in here that I should like to dispose of, too, but they are more valuable than the box," she added slyly, having an instinct that she must meet the old man on his own ground and cry up her wares. "Be careful! The paint is not quite dry on them."

She slid the panel with the Corot effect out of the back of the box and held it out to the ancient Shylock. He adjusted his horn spectacles on the end of his long nose and holding the sketch upside down, viewed it critically.

"Ah, very pretty, very pretty; two francs fifty for it; but I want to buy it, not to be redeemed. Any more?" and the dealer stretched out his eager hand.

Judy had two more which she got a franc apiece for, making in all six francs fifty, one dollar and thirty cents, enough to get her back to Paris traveling third cla.s.s, since she already had her ticket from Versailles to Paris.

"I can't telegraph to Molly, though, I haven't enough money," she thought sorrowfully. "I hate to think how worried all of them will be. I should have told Frances about my predicament, but somehow I could not bring myself to ask a favor of her when I have always been so nasty to her."

The old p.a.w.nbroker could hardly wait for Judy to get out of his shop to begin his work on the sketches, converting them into perfectly good, authentic antiques. The Corot effect he put by a very hot fire, not quite hot enough to scorch it but hot enough to dry it very quickly and bake it, so it was covered with innumerable tiny cracks. Then he took some sh.e.l.lac, dissolved in alcohol and mixed with a little yellow ochre, and sprayed this all over the sketch. The result was remarkable. He then slipped it into a heavy gilt frame (still upside down), and displayed it in his window with the price mark: forty francs, without the frame.

Judy, feeling a little sad over her beloved sketching kit but jubilant over her financial success, started down the street and b.u.mped right into Frances Andrews, who was eagerly searching for her. Judy made a sudden resolve to be nice to Frances from that time on. Frances spoke first:

"Miss Kean, I do not want to intrude on you, but I want you to feel that you can call on me to serve you in any way in my power. We are both of us Molly's friends and somehow I have a feeling that you need help of some sort."

"Frances--I am not going to call you Miss Andrews--I have been in a pickle but since I met you and your grandmother on the street I have come into a fortune of a dollar and thirty cents, so my troubles are about over. I am going to tell you all about it, but first I want to tell you that I am sorry I have been so rude and hateful and cold to you. I have been out in the country alone with my conscience all day and determined to be a nicer, sweeter girl and to apologize to you and to Molly; but I got on the train at Versailles going away from Paris instead of towards it, and landed here in Chartres with only six sous in my purse. When I met you on the street, I felt if I told you how sorry I was that I had been so studiedly mean, you would think I had a change of heart because I wanted something out of you; but now that I have earned enough to get back to Paris, you can't think that. You show yourself to be generous-hearted and kind by coming back to look me up after I was so unbearable to you and your grandmother. You have heaped coals of fire on my head."

As the girls talked they had come near the hotel where Frances and her grandmother were stopping.

"Well, Judy--I can't call you Miss Kean ever again--I think you are simply splendid and worthy to be Molly's friend and I do thank you for what you have said. Now you must promise to have dinner with grandmother and me at the hotel and you can come up to my room and rest." And be it said right here that Frances proved herself to be very much of a lady for not adding "and wash your face," for Judy's face was ludicrously dirty. "Grandmother said she thought she saw Mr. Kinsella at the hotel."

"What, Uncle Tom? How splendid!" exclaimed Judy, realizing that her troubles were at last over.

Mr. Kinsella was sitting on the piazza as they approached. He jumped to his feet and hurried down the steps. Explanations were soon over and the kind gentleman took affairs in his own hands. The plan was that all of them should take the ten o'clock train back to Paris. Mr. Kinsella went off immediately to telegraph Mrs. Brown of Judy's whereabouts.

The friends in Rue Brea had begun to be very uneasy about Judy. All they knew was what Elise could tell them of the girl's sudden determination to cut the art school and spend the morning in the country. Dark came and no Judy. Pierce Kinsella was called into consultation and could throw no light on the subject. Jo Williams consoled them greatly by saying:

"Don't worry about Judy Kean. She is the kind to light on her feet."

So she was, but worry they did. Elise reproached herself for not going with her. Pierce wished his uncle had come back as he had half hoped he would that afternoon. They were a very disconsolate crowd. It was seven o'clock and no clue to their beloved friend. A knock on the door: "_Une depeche pour Madame Brune!_"

"A telegram, a telegram!" Mrs. Brown's hands trembled so that Pierce had to open it for her.

"Why, it is from Uncle Tom! 'Miss Judy Kean safe in Chartres with me.

Will arrive in Paris at midnight. T. Kinsella.' That's all."

"Well, of all things! What is Judy doing in Chartres?" exclaimed Molly and her mother in one breath.

Elise, her face crimson and eye flashing, burst out with: "Lighting on her feet, evidently, like the cat she is!" She covered her face with her hands and fled to her room.

Pierce looked mystified, the Browns both distressed, and Jo Williams snorted: "So that's what is the matter!"

In the meantime, Judy was having a splendid time. Knowing her friends in Rue Brea were no longer worrying about her, she gave herself up to enjoyment. Mr. Kinsella dined with the three ladies and Judy kept them in a gale with the description of her day of adventure. That young woman never did things by halves, and she was now engaged in fascinating Frances and her grandmother with as much spirit as she had formerly exercised in insulting them. The old lady was completely won over and Frances was too glad to have Molly's friends like her not to want to let bygones be bygones.

After dinner Mr. Kinsella redeemed the sketching kit, paying twenty per cent. interest for the loan. He saw the Corot in the window, where it looked very genuine in its old gilt frame. He offered the man forty francs for it, including the frame and the bargain was clinched in short order. They made very merry over this, and Judy descanted on the genius that could paint a picture that looked just as well upside down as rightside up.

"You see the bit of sky in the upper right corner makes very good water when turned over, and the water in the lower right corner makes a dandy sky."

Mr. Kinsella wrapped his prize up very carefully and said he intended to fool Pierce with his find of a genuine old master.