Chapter 3 A PROSPECTIVE VISIT

Doris brought out the crumpled letter written by the Misses Gates which she had thrust carelessly into her pocket, and handed it to her uncle. Adjusting his glasses, he read it through and then sat thoughtfully stroking his hair.

"What do you think of it?" Doris demanded.

"Very strange indeed. But just how do you think this letter will help to solve your financial problems?"

"Why, I thought perhaps I am to inherit some money."

Wardell Force folded the letter and returned it to his niece.

"I hope for your sake that you are right, but I would advise you not to build up your hopes."

"Don't you think I should go?"

"I scarcely know what to say, Doris. I recall that years ago your mother had an older brother who for some reason or other left home to travel. He was a young man at that time. To the best of my knowledge he was never heard of again."

"How queer!"

"Yes, as I remember, the members of the family were unwilling to talk of the matter."

"He didn't leave because of some disgrace?"

"Not as far as anyone knew. His leave-taking was shrouded in mystery."

"I never knew I had such an interesting relative!" Doris declared. "The Misses Gates must know more than that about him and I'm curious to learn what they may have to tell me. I wish I could go to Rumson and visit them this summer. May I?"

"You really think you would enjoy it?"

"Perhaps not, but it would be something to do. And then, of course there is a possibility that I am to inherit money. If only Kitty were going along, I know I'd have fun."

"But I don't know anything about these women you are invited to visit, Doris."

"Oh, they must be nice," Doris urged. "You can almost tell by their handwriting-it's so refined."

Uncle Ward smiled. When his niece's mind was made up, he seldom could hold out against her.

"Very well," he gave in reluctantly. "I suppose I must say you may go. Mind, I don't feel entirely easy about it."

"Rumson isn't very far away, Uncle Ward, and nothing could happen to me. Besides, Dave lives out that way, and he can sort of keep an eye on me."

"I don't doubt but that he will do that, all right," Mr. Force grunted. "I suspect he is your real reason for this trip."

"Honestly, I never thought of that at first."

"All right, run along." He glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Won't you be late for your music lesson?"

Guiltily, Doris snatched up a roll of music she had dropped on the table and dashed into the bedroom for her hat. With a hasty kiss dropped on the top of her uncle's head, she dashed for the door and clattered down the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the street, she ran all the way to the corner and there swung upon the rear end of a street car just as it was starting. Breathlessly, she dropped into the nearest seat and looked at her wrist watch.

"Ten minutes to four," she told herself. "If this old car isn't too poky, I'll make it on time yet."

Doris seldom was late for her vocal lessons, for her interest in music was genuine, and she realized that it was a privilege to be a student of the famed Herr Von Heflinger who accepted only the most promising pupils. On more than one occasion, Doris had become a trifle discouraged, for Von Heflinger was strict and offered criticism more freely than praise.

On this afternoon she reached the studio just as the clock was striking four and so avoided the displeasure of the master. Always blunt, he offered only a few words of greeting and seated himself at the piano, quickly arranging the music. Striking a few chords, he selected a difficult piece and bade Doris sing.

Somewhat disturbed by Von Heflinger's austere manner, she began a trifle shakily, but before she had sung a dozen notes, she found herself. Soon she had forgotten her accompanist, had forgotten everything save the song. She sang brilliantly and with more feeling than ever before. Von Heflinger caught the spirit and his hands moved quickly over the keyboard, now running arpeggios, now crashing in loud chords or falling so softly that the tones were scarcely audible.

The last note of the song died away, and the master turned to Doris with an expression she had never seen on his face before.

"Ah, Miss Force," he said, "you have the divine spark! You will go far! This summer you must study hard your French and German-and perhaps, who knows, you shall yet be presented in Grand Opera!"

Doris scarcely could believe her own ears, for she knew her teacher was not given to idle praise. Grand Opera! How she longed to become famous! She could almost see herself on the stage, taking her curtain calls, making her bows, accepting the flowers.

She was brought back to reality by hearing her teacher repeat, more sternly:

"This summer you must work-study hard your languages."

The lesson went on, and at five o'clock Doris left the studio, still somewhat dazed at the thought of what might be ahead of her.

"I will work," she told herself as she walked slowly toward the street car. "I'll work night and day!"

Doris had always been one to make the most of her opportunities, and from childhood she had determined upon a career. Her sweet bell-like soprano voice had been inherited from her mother, but only training and diligent practice had developed its full power and volume. Doris's ability and her willingness to help others had made her much in demand as a singer at teas, parties and entertainments.

Many girls would have been satisfied with such popularity, but not Doris Force. From the very start she had set her heart upon reaching the highest rung in the ladder.

"I must study my German and my French this summer," she told herself, "and I really can't do much by myself. I should have a teacher."

This brought a cloud to her face, for she remembered the discussion she had just had with her uncle.

"Money!" she thought impatiently. "I need it so badly, and I don't see where it is coming from unless it turns out that I am to inherit it from my Uncle John Trent."