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Page 2
RUTH FIELDING IN THE GREAT NORTHWEST
CHAPTER I
RUTH IN PERIL
The gray dust, spurting from beneath the treads of the rapidly turning
wheels, drifted across the country road to settle on the wayside hedges.
The purring of the engine of Helen Cameron's car betrayed the fact that
it was tuned to perfection. If there were any rough spots in the road
being traveled, the shock absorbers took care of them.
"Dear me! I always do love to ride in Nell's car," said the plump and
pretty girl who occupied more than her share of the rear seat. "Even if
Tom isn't here to take care of it, it always is so comfy."
"Only one thing would suit you better, Heavy," declared the
sharp-featured and sharp-tongued girl sitting next to Jennie Stone. "If
only a motor could be connected to a rocking-chair--"
"Right-o!" agreed the cheerful plump girl. "And have it on a nice shady
porch. I'd like to travel that way just as well. After our experience
in France we ought to be allowed to travel in comfort for the rest of
our lives. Isn't that so, Nell? And you agree, Ruthie?"
The girl at the wheel of the flying automobile nodded only, for she
needed to keep her gaze fixed ahead. But the brown-haired, brown-eyed
girl, whose quiet face seemed rather wistful, turned to smile upon the
volatile--and voluble--Heavy Stone, so nicknamed during their early
school days at Briarwood Hall.
"Don't let's talk about it, honey," she said. "I try not to think of
what we all went through."
"And the soup I tasted!" groaned the plump one. "That diet kitchen in
Paris! I'll never get over it--never!"
"I guess _that's_ right," agreed Mercy Curtis, the sharp-featured girl.
"How that really nice Frenchman can stand for such a fat girl--"
"Why," explained Heavy calmly, "the more there is of me the more there
is for him to like." Then she giggled. "There were so few fat people
left in Europe after four years of war that everybody liked to look at
me."
"You certainly are a sight for sore eyes," Helen Cameron shot over her
shoulder, but without losing sight of the road ahead. She was a careful,
if rapid, driver. "And for any other eyes! One couldn't very well miss
you, Heavy."
"Let's not talk any more about France--or the war--or anything like
that," proposed Ruth Fielding, the shadow on her face deepening. "Both
your Henri and Helen's Tom have had to go back--"
"Helen's Tom?" repeated Mercy Curtis softly. But Jennie Stone pinched
her. She would not allow anybody to tease Ruth, although they all knew
well enough that the absence of Helen's twin brother meant as much to
Ruth Fielding as it did to his sister.
This was strictly a girl's party, this ride in Helen Cameron's
automobile. Aside from Mercy, who was the daughter of the Cheslow
railroad station agent, and therefore lived in Cheslow all the year
around, the girls were not native to the place. They had just left that
pretty town behind them. It appeared that Ruth, Helen, and surely Jennie
Stone, knew very few of the young men of Cheslow. So this jaunt was, as
Jennie saucily said, entirely "_poulette_".
"Which she thinks is French for 'old hen,'" scoffed the tart Mercy.
"I do not know which is worse," Ruth Fielding said with a sigh, as Helen
slowed down for a railroad crossing at which stood a flagman. "Heavy's
French or her slang."
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