Read Ebook: The mystery of Central Park by Bly Nellie

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 846 lines and 39706 words, and 17 pages

THE

MYSTERY OF CENTRAL PARK.

THE YOUNG GIRL ON THE BENCH.

"And that is your final decision?"

Dick Treadwell gazed sternly at Penelope Howard's downcast face, and waited for a reply.

Instead of answering, as good-mannered young women generally do, Penelope intently watched the tips of her russet shoes, as they appeared and disappeared beneath the edge of her gown, and remained silent.

When she raised her head and met that look, so sad and yet so stern, the faintest shadow of a smile placed a pleasing wrinkle at the corners of her brown eyes.

"Yes, that is--my final decision," she repeated, slowly.

Dick Treadwell dropped despondently on a bench and, gazing steadily over the green lawn, tried to think it all out.

He felt that he was not being used quite fairly, but he was at a loss for a way to remedy it.

Here he was, the devoted slave of the rather plain girl beside him, who refused to marry him, merely because he had never soiled his firm, white hands with toil, nor worried his brain with a greater task, since his school days, than planning some way to kill time.

He was one of those unfortunate mortals possessed of an indolent disposition, and had been left a modest legacy, that, though making him far from wealthy, was still enough to support him in idleness.

He lacked the spur of necessity which urged men on to greater deeds.

In short, Richard was one of those worthless ornaments of society that live, and die without doing much good or any great harm.

That he was an ornament, however, none dared to deny, and the expressive brown eyes of the girl, who had seated herself beside him bore ample testimony that she was not unconscious of his manly charms.

Dick took off his straw hat, and after running his firm, white fingers through his kinky, light hair, crossed one leg over the other, while he brooded moodily on his peculiar fate. The frank, boyish expression, that had won him so many admirers, was displaced by a heavy frown, and his bright blue eyes gazed unseeingly over the beautiful vista before him.

He could not understand why a girl should get such crazy ideas, any way. There were plenty of girls who made no effort to hide their admiration for him, and he knew that they could be had for the asking, if it only wasn't for Penelope.

But, somehow, Penelope had more attraction for him than any girl he had ever met. Her very obstinacy, her independence, made her all the more charming to him, even if it was provoking.

Penelope Howard was in no wise Dick Treadwell's mate in beauty.

She was slender to boniness and tall, but willowy and graceful, and one forgot her murky complexion when gazing into the depths of her bright, expressive eyes and catching the curve of a wonderfully winsome smile.

Penelope was an heiress, though, to a million dollars or more, and so no one ever called her plain.

She was an orphan and had been reared by a sensible old aunt, who would doubtless leave her another million.

Penelope knew her defects as well and better than did other people. She had no vanity and was blessed with an unusual amount of solid sense.

Penelope Howard was well aware that she would not have to go begging for a husband, but she had loved handsome Dick Treadwell ever since the year before she graduated at Vassar. He had gone there to pay his devotions to another fair under-graduate and came away head over heels in love with Penelope. Nevertheless Penelope was in no hurry to marry.

She loved Richard with all her heart, but there was a barrier between them which he alone could remove.

"Yes, this makes the sixth time I have proposed," he said, savagely, still looking away.

"I have always told you," smiling slightly at his remark and lowering her voice as she glanced apprehensively at a girl seated on a bench near by, "that I will not marry you as long as you live as you do. I have money enough for two, so it makes no difference whether the man I marry has any or not. But I can't and won't marry a--a worthless man--one who has never done anything, and is too indolent to do anything. I want a husband who has some ability--who has accomplished something--just one worthy thing even, and then--well, it won't make so much difference if he is indolent afterwards. You know, Dick, how much I care for you," softly, "how fond I am of you, but I will not marry you until you prove that you are able to do something."

"It's all very easy to talk about," he replied savagely, "but what can I do? I don't dare risk what little I have in Wall street. I don't know enough to preach, or to be a doctor, or a lawyer, and it takes too infernally long to go back to the beginning and learn. You object to my following the races, and I couldn't sell ribbons or run a hotel to save me. Tell me what to do, Penelope, and I will gladly make the attempt. When you took a--a craze to walk in the Park at a hideous hour every morning before your friends, who don't think it good form, were out to frown you down, did I not promise to be your escort, and haven't I faithfully got up--or stayed up--to keep my promise?"

"And only late--let us see how many times?" she asked roguishly.

"Hush!" she whispered, warningly, pointing to the girl on the other bench.

"Oh, she is asleep," Dick replied carelessly.

"Don't be too sure," Penelope urged, gazing abstractedly towards the girl, her eyes soft with the feeling that was thrilling her heart.

Like all girls Penelope never tired of hearing the man who had won her love swearing his devotion, but like all girls she preferred to be the sole and only listener to those vows, to that tone.

"If she is awake she is the first young woman I ever saw who would let her new La Tosca sunshade lie on the ground," he said laughingly.

"She must be sleeping," Penelope assented indifferently, glancing at the parasol lying in the dust where it had apparently rolled from the girl's knee.

Two gray squirrels, with their bushy tails held stiffly erect, came out on the dusty drive, and finding everything quiet scampered across to the green sward, where they stood upright in the green grass viewing curiously the unhappy lovers.

Penelope had a mania for carrying peanuts to the Park to give to the animals. She took several from her reticule and tossed them towards the gray squirrels.

The one, with a little whistling noise scampered up the nearest tree and the other, taking a nut in his little mouth, quickly followed.

"I have not seen her move since we came here," she said, returning to the subject of the girl. "Do you suppose she put her hat over her eyes in that manner to keep the light out of them, or was it done to keep any passers-by from staring at her?"

"I don't know," carelessly. "Probably she is ill."

"Ill? Do you think so, Dick? I am going to speak to her," declared Penelope, impulsively.

"Don't, I wouldn't," urged Dick.

"But I will," declared Penelope.

"You don't know anything about her," he continued pleadingly. "She may have been out all night, or you can't tell but perhaps she has been drinking too much, and if you wake her she will doubtless make it unpleasant for you."

"How uncharitable you are," indignantly exclaimed Penelope, who feared no one. She had spent much time and money in doing deeds of charity, and she had met all sorts and conditions of women. That a woman was in trouble and she could help her, was all Penelope cared to know.

She got up and walked towards the girl. Richard, knowing all argument was useless, went with her. When they stopped, Penelope, bending down, peeped beneath the brim of the lace hat which, laden with an abundance of red roses, was tilted over the motionless girl's face.

"She is sleeping," she whispered softly to Dick. "Her eyes are closed. She has a lovely face."

"Has she, indeed?" and Dick, with increased interest, bent to look. "She is very pale and--I am afraid that she is ill," in an awed tone. "Young lady!" he called nervously.

The girlish figure never moved. Richard's and Penelope's eyes met with a swift expression--a mingled look of surprise and fear.

"My dear!" called Penelope, gently shaking the girl by the shoulder.

The lace hat tumbled off and lay at their feet; the little hands, which had been folded loosely in her lap, fell apart and the girlish figure fell lengthwise on the bench.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet