A Rock in the Baltic - Robert Barr (interesting novels in english .txt) 📗

in all seasons it is situated a considerable distance from New York. Where do you intend to go, Dorothy?"

"That will depend largely on where my friend Kate advises me to go, because I shall take her with me if she will come."

"Companion, lady's-maid, parlor maid, maid-of-all-work, cook, governess, typewriter-girl--which have I to be? Shall I get one afternoon a week off, and may my young man come and see me, if I happen to secure one, and, extremely important, what are the wages?"

"You shall fix your own salary, Kate, and my lawyer men will arrange that the chosen sum is settled upon you so that if we fall out we can quarrel on equal terms."

"Oh, I see, it's an adopted daughter I am to be, then?"

"An adopted sister, rather."

"Do you think I am going to take advantage of my friendship with an heiress, and so pension myself off?"

"It is I who am taking the advantage," said Dorothy, "and I beg you to take compassion, rather than advantage, upon a lone creature who has no kith or kin in the world."

"Do you really mean it, Dot?"

"Of course I do. Should I propose it if I didn't?"

"Well, this is the first proposal I've ever had, and I believe it is customary to say on those occasions that it is so sudden, or so unexpected, and time is required for consideration."

"How soon can you make up your mind, Kate?"

"Oh, my mind's already made up. I'm going to jump at your offer, but I think it more ladylike to pretend a mild reluctance. What are you going to do, Dorothy?"

"I don't know. I've settled on only one thing. I intend to build a little stone and tile church, very quaint and old-fashioned, if I get the right kind of architect to draw a plan for it, and this church is to be situated in Haverstock."

"Where's Haverstock?"

"It is a village near the Hudson River, on the plain that stretches toward the Catskills."

"It was there you lived with your father, was it not?"

"Yes, and my church is to be called the Dr. Amhurst Memorial Church."

"And do you propose to live at Haverstock?"

"I was thinking of that."

"Wouldn't it be just a little dull?"

"Yes, I suppose it is, but it seems to me a suitable place where two young women may meditate on what they are going to do with their lives."

"Yes, that's an important question for the two. I say, Dorothy, let's take the other side of the river, and enter Vassar College. Then we should at least have some fun, and there would be some reasonably well-educated people to speak to."

"Oh, you wish to use your lately acquired scientific knowledge in order to pass the examinations; but, you see, I have had no tutor to school me in the mysteries of lime-burning and the mixing of cement. Now, you have scorned my side of the river, and I have objected to your side of the river. That is the bad beginning which, let us hope, makes the good ending. Who is to arbitrate on our dispute?"

"Why, we'll split the difference, of course."

"How can we do that? Live in a house-boat on the river like Frank Stockton's 'Budder Grange'?"

"No, settle in the city of New York, which is practically an island in the Hudson."

"Would you like to live in New York?"

"Wouldn't I! Imagine any one, having the chance, living anywhere else!"

"In a hotel, I suppose-- the Holldorf for choice."

"Yes, we could live in a hotel until we found the ideal flat, high up in a nice apartment house, with a view like that from the top of Mount Washington, or from the top of the Washington Monument."

"But you forget I made one proviso in the beginning, and that is that I am going to build a church, and the church is to be situated, not in the city of New York, but in the village of Haverstock."

"New York is just the place from which to construct such an edifice. Haverstock will be somewhere near the West Shore Railway. Very well. We can take a trip up there once a week or oftener, if you like, and see how the work is progressing, then the people of Haverstock will respect us. As we drive from the station they'll say:

"'There's the two young ladies from New York who are building the church.' But if we settle down amongst them they'll think we're only ordinary villagers instead of the distinguished persons we are. Or, while our flat is being made ready we could live at one of the big hotels in the Catskills, and come down as often as we like on the inclined railway. Indeed, until the weather gets colder, the Catskills is the place.


'And lo, the Catskills print the distant sky,
And o'er their airy tops the faint clouds driven,
So softly blending that the cheated eye
Forgets or which is earth, or which is heaven.'"


"That ought to carry the day for the Catskills, Kate. What sort of habitation shall we choose? A big hotel, or a select private boarding house?"

"Oh, a big hotel, of course-- the biggest there is, whatever its name may be. One of those whose rates are so high that the proprietor daren't advertise them, but says in his announcement, 'for terms apply to the manager.' It must have ample grounds, support an excellent band, and advertise a renowned cuisine. Your room, at least, should have a private balcony on which you can place a telescope and watch the building of your church down below. I, being a humble person in a subordinate position, should have a balcony also to make up for those deficiencies."

"Very well, Kate, that's settled. But although two lone women may set up housekeeping in a New York flat, they cannot very well go alone to a fashionable hotel."

"Oh, yes, we can. Best of references given and required."

"I was going to suggest," pursued Dorothy, not noticing the interruption, "that we invite your father and mother to accompany us. They might enjoy a change from sea air to mountain air."

Katherine frowned a little, and demurred.

"Are you going to be fearfully conventional, Dorothy?"

"We must pay some attention to the conventions, don't you think?"

"I had hoped not. I yearn to be a bachelor girl, and own a latch-key."

"We shall each possess a latch-key when we settle down in New York. Our flat will be our castle, and, although our latch-key will let us in, our Yale lock will keep other people out. A noted summer resort calls for different treatment, because there we lead a semi-public life. Besides, I am selfish enough to wish my coming-out to be under the auspices of so well-known a man as Captain Kempt."

"All right, I'll see what they say about it. You don't want Sabina, I take it?"

"Yes, if she will consent to come."

"I doubt if she will, but I'll see. Besides, now that I come to think about it, it's only fair I should allow my doting parents to know that I am about to desert them."

With that Katherine quitted the room, and went down the stairs hippety-hop.

Dorothy drew the letter from its place of concealment, and read it for the third time, although one not interested might have termed it a most commonplace document. It began:

"Dear Miss Amhurst," and ended "Yours most sincerely, Alan Drummond." It gave some account of his doings since he bade good-bye to her. A sailor, he informed her, needs little time for packing his belongings, and on the occasion in question the Prince had been of great assistance. They set out together for the early morning train, and said "au revoir" at the station. Drummond had intended to sail from New York, but a friendly person whom he met on the train informed him that the Liverpool liner "Enthusiana" set out from Boston next day, so he had abandoned the New York idea, and had taken passage on the liner named, on whose note-paper he wrote the letter, which epistle was once more concealed as Dorothy heard Katherine's light step on the stair.

That impulsive young woman burst into the sewing room.

"We're all going," she cried. "Father, mother and Sabina. It seems father has had an excellent offer to let the house furnished till the end of September, and he says that, as he likes high life, he will put in the time on the top of the Catskills. He abandons me, and says that if he can borrow a shilling he is going to cut me off with it in his will. He regrets the departure of the British Fleet, because he thinks he might have been able to raise a real English shilling aboard. Dad only insists on one condition, namely, that he is to pay for himself, mother and Sabina, so he does not want a room with a balcony. I said that in spite of his disinheritance I'd help the family out of my salary, and so he is going to reconsider the changing of his will."

"We will settle the conditions when we reach the Catskills," said Dorothy, smiling.


CHAPTER VII


"A WAY THEY HAVE IN THE NAVY"

CAPTAIN and Mrs. Kempt with Sabina had resided a week in the Matterhorn Hotel before the two girls arrived there. They had gone direct to New York, and it required the seven days to find a flat that suited them, of which they were to take possession on the first of October. Then there were the lawyers to see; a great many business details to settle, and an architect to consult. After leaving New York the girls spent a day at Haverstock, where Dorothy Amhurst bought a piece of land as shrewdly as if she had been in the real estate business all her life. After this transaction the girls drove to the station on the line connecting with the inclined railway, and so, as Katherine remarked, were "wafted to the skies on flowery beds of ease," which she explained to her shocked companion was all right, because it was a quotation from a hymn. When at last they reached their hotel, Katherine was in ecstasies.

"Isn't this heavenly?" she cried, "and, indeed, it ought to be, for I understand we are three thousand feet higher than we were in New York, and even the sky-scrapers can't compete with such an altitude."

The broad valley of the Hudson lay spread beneath them, stretching as far as the eye could see, shimmering in the thin, bluish veil of a summer evening, and miles away the river itself could be traced like a silver ribbon.

The gallant Captain, who had been energetically browbeaten by his younger daughter, and threatened with divers pains and penalties should he fail to pay attention and take heed to instructions, had acquitted himself with eclat in the selection of rooms for Dorothy and his daughter. The suite was situated in one corner of the huge caravansary, a large parlor occupying the angle, with windows on one side looking into the forest, and on the other giving an extended view across the valley. The front room adjoining the parlor was to be Dorothy's very own, and the end room belonged to Katherine,