Marlowe Amy Bell - The Girl from Sunset Ranch: or, Alone in a Great City стр 8.

A pompous, well-fed man was Willets Starkweather and always imposingly dressed. He was very bald, wore a closely cropped gray beard, eyeglasses, and Ahem! was an introduction to almost everything he said. That clearing of the bronchial tubes was an announcement to the listening world that he, Willets Starkweather, of Madison Avenue, was about to make a remark. And no matter how trivial that remark might be, coming from the lips of the great man, it should be pondered upon and regarded with awe.

Mr. Starkweather was a widower. Helens Aunt Eunice had been dead three years. It had never been considered necessary by either Mr. Starkweather, or his daughters, to write Aunt Marys folks in Montana of Mrs. Starkweathers death.

Correspondence between the families had ceased at the time of Mrs. Morrells death. The Starkweather girls understood that Aunt Marys husband had done something before he left New York for the wild and woolly West. The family did not Ahem!  speak of him.

The three girls were respectively eighteen, sixteen, and fourteen. Even Flossie considered herself entirely grown up. She attended a private school not far from Central Park, and went each day dressed as elaborately as a matron of thirty.

For Hortense, who was just Helen Morrells age, school had become a bore. She had a smattering of French, knew how to drum nicely on the piano she was still taking lessons in that polite accomplishment had only a vague idea of the ordinary rules of English grammar, and couldnt write a decent letter, or spell words of more than two syllables, to save her life.

Belle golfed. She did little else just now, for she was a creature of fads. Occasionally she got a new one, and with kindred spirits played that particular fad to death.

She might have found a much worse hobby to ride. Getting up early and starting for the Long Island links, or for Westchester, before her sisters had had their breakfast, was not doing Belle a bit of harm. Only, she was getting in with a somewhat sporty class of girls and women older than herself, and the bloom of youth had been quite rubbed off.

Indeed, these three girls were about as fresh as is a dried prune. They had jumped from childhood into full-blown womanhood (or thought they had), thereby missing the very best and sweetest part of their girls life.

They had come in from their various activities of the day when Helens telegram arrived. Naturally they ran with it to their fathers den a gorgeously upholstered yet small library on the ground floor, at the back.

What is it now, girls? demanded Mr. Starkweather, looking up in some dismay at this general onslaught. I dont want you to suggest any further expenditures this month. I have paid all the bills I possibly can pay. We must retrench we must retrench.

Oh, Pa! said Flossie, saucily, youre always saying that. I believe you say We must retrench! in your sleep.

And small wonder if I do, he grumbled. I have lost some money; the stock market is very dull. And nobody is buying real estate. I I am quite at my wits ends, I assure you, girls.

Dear me! and another mouth to feed! laughed Hortense, tossing her head. That will be excuse enough for telling her to go to a hotel when she arrives.

Probably the poor thing wont have the price of a room, observed Belle, looking again at the telegram.

What is that in your hand, child? demanded Mr. Starkweather, suddenly seeing the yellow slip of paper.

A dispatch, Pa, said Flossie, snatching it out of Belles hand.

A telegram?

And youd never guess from whom, cried the youngest girl.

I I Let me see it, said her father, with some abruptness. No bad news, I hope?

Well, I dont call it good news, said the oldest girl, with a sniff.

Mr. Starkweather read it aloud:

Coming on Transcontinental. Arrive Grand

Central Terminal 9 P.M. the third.

Now! What do you think of that, Pa? demanded Flossie.

Helen Morrell, repeated Mr. Starkweather, and a person more observant than any of his daughters might have seen that his lips had grown suddenly gray. He dropped into his chair rather heavily. Your cousin, girls.

Fol-de-rol! exclaimed Belle. I dont see why she should claim relationship.

Send her to a hotel, Pa, said Flossie.

Im sure I do not wish to be bothered by a common ranch girl. Why! she was born and brought up out in the wilds; wasnt she? demanded Hortense.

Her father and mother went West before this girl was born yes, murmured Mr. Starkweather.

He was strangely agitated by the message. But the girls did not notice this. They were not likely to notice anything but their own disturbance over the coming of that ranch girl.

Why, Pa, we cant have her here! cried Belle.

Of course we cant, Pa, agreed Hortense.

Im sure I dont want the common little thing around, added Flossie, who, as has been said, was quite two years Helens junior.

We couldnt introduce her to our friends, declared Belle.

What a fright shell be! wailed Hortense.

Shell wear a sombrero and a split riding skirt, I suppose, scoffed Flossie, who madly desired a slit skirt, herself.

Of course shell be a perfect dowdy, Belle observed.

And be loud and wear heavy boots, and stamp through the house, sighed Hortense. We just cant have her, Pa.

Why, I wouldnt let any of the girls of our set see her for the world, cried Flossie.

Their father finally spoke. He had recovered from his secret emotion, but he was still mopping the perspiration from his bald brow.

I dont really see how I can prevent her coming, he said, rather weakly.

What nonsense, Pa!

Of course you can!

Telegraph her not to come.

But she is already aboard the train, objected Mr. Starkweather, gloomily.

Then, I tell you, snapped Flossie, who was the most unkind of the girls. Dont telegraph her at all. Dont answer her message. Dont send to the station to meet her. Maybe she wont be too dense to take that hint.

Pooh! these wild and woolly Western girls! grumbled Hortense. I dont believe shell know enough to stay away.

We can try it, persisted Flossie.

She ought to realize that were not dying to see her when we dont come to the train, said Belle.

I dont know, mused their father.

Now, Pa! cried Flossie. You know very well you dont want that girl here.

No, he admitted. But Ahem!  we have certain duties

Bother duties! said Hortense.

Ahem! She is your mothers sisters child, spoke Mr. Starkweather, heavily. She is a young and unprotected female

Seems to me, said Belle, crossly, the relationship is far enough removed for us to ignore it. Mothers sister, Aunt Mary, is dead.

True true. Ahem! said her father.

And isnt it true that this man, Morrell, whom she married, left New York under a cloud?

O oh! cried Hortense. So he did.

What did he do? Flossie asked, bluntly.

Embezzled; didnt he, Pa? asked Belle.