Jason Raids SeriesMissing

A Stalled Car

A bold morning sun thrust its warm glow into the crowded, cheerful room at Cedar Ridge, glinting on half-filled suitcases and revealing with a cruel indifference the dust gathered on the abandoned textbooks flung in a pile on the window seat. It was a hot sun, for summer was upon the land, and the school term was at an end. Arden, Terry, and Sim were packing to go home.

It had been a year full of interesting activity and some genuine fun, but it had not been without hard work in the scholastic field. So, happy that examinations were over at last, and overjoyed that they had passed all subjects, except for a condition in mathematics for Sim, the three girls were losing no time in leaving their beloved college behind them and heading for a summer of rest and hoped-for adventure.

Sim Westover was sitting on a suitcase that refused to close and bouncing up and down in an effort to bring the yawning leather jaws together.

"Oh-Terry-help! I'll never get this old suitcase fastened, and we won't get down till after dark, and your mother will be worried and--" Sim's list of worries and trials was ended by Terry, a smiling, sandy-haired creature, thrusting Sim aside and putting a silk-covered knee on the offending luggage, which closed obediently under such superior pressure.

"There, little one, it's shut. Are you all packed now?" Terry Landry asked, patting Sim maternally on her fair head.

Sim ducked. "Don't do that!" she wailed. "You act like a maiden aunt."

"Phew!" A black-haired, blue-eyed girl crawled out from under a bed. "How did that shoe ever get under there in the first place? I suppose you threw it at a mouse, Sim. I should have made you crawl after it." Arden Blake straightened her smart tan-wool dress as she rose from the floor.

"No," answered Terry before Sim could reply, "you did it yourself three nights ago, I remember. And, incidentally, I seem to be the only one ready, even though you two say I'm always late."

Terry stood surveying the jumbled scene with amused eyes. Her two roommates at once renewed their activity. Arden thrust the recovered shoe into a bag with its fellow and announced that she too was finished. Sim, powdering an uptilted nose, declared that if Arden was ready there was nothing to wait for, so, opening the door of their room, called the porter to take their bags.

Down the long corridor they went, calling "goodbyes" at each open door and gayly knocking at those closed, as they marched down the hall.

For the last time that year they descended the five flights of stairs up which they had so often raced. At the outer door of the building they cast a quick look behind them, then piled into the waiting car. A five-passenger touring car, it was, belonging to Arden's father. In it the three girls were to drive down to Oceanedge, on the coast, where they would spend a month or two visiting Terry and her mother in a seaside cottage. Oceanedge was the development name of the resort. Natives called it Marshlands.

It was the first time the three girls had been permitted to take such a long drive alone, and they were anxious to conduct themselves creditably. Early as the start was, and it was not yet nine o'clock, the girls would not reach the shore until nearly evening, so they were anxious to get going.

Relaxing comfortably against the cool leather upholstery, they soon left Cedar Ridge behind them. Mile on mile piled up as they drove along the uncrowded roads leading out of Morrisville. They talked little; thoughts were too insistent, for leaving school was indeed a big event, and all seemed completely to realize its importance.

At noon they stopped at a wayside Tea Shoppe for lunch, and when fortified by sandwiches and tea and a generous helping of chocolate cake they continued on their journey, becoming less like students and more like ordinary girls as they left college farther in the distance.

The country was now taking on a seashore look, maple trees giving place to patchy-barked sycamores and stunted, conventional pines, and grassy meadows fading into sandy wastes and dunes; the road stretching always before them, a dark ribbon between the yellow hills of sand, pebbles, and broken shells.

It was at just such a portion of country that they came upon the stalled car.

"Wait, Arden," Sim begged as they approached it, "let's see what the trouble is. There hasn't been a garage for miles."

"No, and there won't be another one for miles, either, not until we get to Oceanedge," Terry announced. "Perhaps we should see if we could help."

Arden promptly turned in to the side of the road, where they inspected a rather ancient car, sagging over a flattened tire and looking like anything but the power to move along.

"A blowout," Terry remarked laconically. "The owner is probably walking into town."

Curiously they looked into the abandoned vehicle when, suddenly, a huge white and tan dog, apparently aroused from a pleasant sleep, began to bark ferociously.

"No one could go near that car with that-that-what is it, Arden?" Sim questioned.

"A Russian wolfhound, and a beauty too," Arden replied, pursing her lips into a crooning little whistle and trying to soothe the animal with friendly assurance.

"Look at all the stuff in the back there," Terry called, where, from a safe distance, she was gazing in at the rear window. "Looks like a lot of pictures."

"I guess that's what they are. Well," Arden suggested, "shall we go on? We'll probably overtake the owner."

"Might as well," agreed Sim, and Terry nodded as she got back into Arden's car.

The dog stopped its barking, and as they drove off they could see it curled up again on the front seat to finish its interrupted nap; a nose of silky white and taffy-colored tan. It certainly was a beauty.