LORNA'S QUEST FOR PLEASURE
In the same morning papers Burke saw lengthy notices of the engagement
of Miss Sylvia Trubus, only child of William Trubus, the famous
philanthropist, to Ralph Gresham, the millionaire manufacturer of
electrical machinery.
"There, that should interest Mr. Barton. His ex-employer is marrying
into a very good family, to put it mildly, and Trubus will have a very
rich son-in-law! I wonder if she'll be as happy as I intend to make
Mary when she says the word?"
He cut one of the articles out of the paper, putting it into his pocket
to show Mary that evening. He had a wearing and sorrowful day; his
testimony was important for the arraignment of the dozen or more
criminals who had been rounded up through his efforts during the
preceding twenty-four hours. The gloom of Maguire's death held him in
its pall throughout the day in court.
He hurried uptown to meet Mary as she left the big confectionery store
at closing time.
Mary had been busy and worried through the day. At noon she had gone
to the station to bid goodbye to Henrietta Bailey, who was now well on
her way to the old town and Joe.
As the working day drew to a close Mary was kept busy filling a large
order for a kindly faced society woman and her pretty daughter.
"You have waited on me several times before," she told Mary, "and you
have such good taste. I want the very cutest bon-bons and favors, and
they must be delivered up on Riverside Drive to our house in time for
dinner. You know my daughter's engagement was announced in the papers
to-day, while we had intended to let it be a surprise at a big dinner
party to-night. Well, the dear girl is very happy, and I want this
dinner to give her one of the sweetest memories of her life."
Mary entered into the spirit with zest, and being a clever saleswoman,
she collected a wonderful assortment of dainty novelties and
confections, while the manager of the store rubbed his hands together
gleefully as he observed the correspondingly wonderful size of the bill.
"There, that should help the jollity along," said Mary. "I hope I have
pleased you. I envy your daughter, not for the candies and the dinner,
but for having such a mother. My mother has been dead for years."
The tears welled into her eyes, and the customer smiled tenderly at her.
"You are a dear girl, and if ever I have the chance to help you I will;
don't forget it. I am so happy myself; perhaps selfishly so. But my
life has been along such even lines, such a wonderful husband, and such
a daughter. I am so proud of her. She is marrying a young man who is
very rich, yet with a strong character, and he will make her very happy
I am sure. Well, dear, I will give you my address, for I wish you
would see personally that these goodies are delivered to us without
delay."
Mary took her pad and pencil.
"Mrs. William Trubus--Riverside Drive."
The girl's expression was curious; she remembered Bobbie's description
of the husband. It hardly seemed possible that such a man could be
blessed with so sweet a wife and daughter--but such undeserved
blessings seem too often to be the unusual injustice of Fate in this
twisted, tangled old world, as Mary well knew.
"All right, Mrs. Trubus; I shall follow your instructions and will go
to the delivery room myself to see that they are sent out immediately."
"Good afternoon, my dear," and Mrs. Trubus and her happy daughter left
the store.
Mary was as good as her word, and she made sure that the several
parcels were on their way to Riverside Drive before she returned to the
front of the store. When she did so she saw a little tableau,
unobserved by the busy clerks and customers, which made her heart stand
still.
Lorna was standing by one of the bon-bon show cases talking to a tall
stranger who ogled her in bold fashion, and a manner which indicated
that the conversation was far from that of business.
"Who can that be?" thought Mary. An intuition of danger crept over her
as she watched the shades of sinister suggestion on the face of the man
who whispered to her sister.
The man was urging, Lorna half-protesting, as though refusing some
enticing offer.
Mary stepped closer, and the deep tones of the stranger's voice filled
her with a thrill of loathing. It was a voice which she felt she could
never forget as long as she lived.
[Illustration: The deep tones of the stranger's voice filled her with a
thrill of loathing.]
"Come up to my office with me when you finish work and I'll book you up
this very evening. The show will open in two weeks, and I will give
you a speaking part, maybe even one song to sing. You know I'm strong
for you, little girl, and always have been. My influence counts a
lot--and you know influence is the main thing for a successful actress!"
Mary could stand it no longer.
She touched Lorna on the arm, and the younger girl turned around
guiltily, her eyes dropping as she saw her sister's stern questioning
look.
"Who is this man, Lorna?"
The stranger smiled, and threw his head back defiantly.
"A friend of mine."
"What does he want?"
"That is none of your affair, Mary."
"It is my affair. You are employed here to work, not to talk with men
nor to flirt. You had better attend to your work. And, as for you, I
shall complain to the manager if you don't get out of here at once!"
The stranger laughed softly, but there was a brutal twitch to his jaw
as he retorted: "I'm a customer here, and I guess the manager won't
complain if I spend money. Here, little girlie, pick me out a nice box
of chocolates. The most expensive you have. I'm going to take my
sweetheart out to dinner, and I am a man who spends his money right.
I'm not a cheap policeman!"
Mary's face paled.
Her blood boiled, and only the breeding of generations of gentlewomen
restrained her from slapping the man's face. She watched Lorna, who
could not restrain a giggle, as she took down a be-ribboned candy box,
and began to fill it with chocolate dainties.
"Oh, if Bobbie were only here!" thought Mary in despair. "This man is
a villain. It is he who has been filling Lorna's mind with stage talk.
I don't believe he is a theatrical man, either. They would not insult
me so!"
The manager bustled about.
"Closing time, girls. Get everything orderly now, and hurry up. You
know, the boss has been kicking about the waste light bills which you
girls run up in getting things straight at the end of the day."
Mary turned to her own particular counter, and she saw the big man
leave the store, as the manager obsequiously bowed him out.
In the wardrobe room where they kept their wraps, Mary took Lorna
aside. Her eyes were flaming orbs, as she laid a trembling hand upon
the girl's arm.
"Lorna, you are not going to that man's office?"
"Oh, not right away," responded her sister airily. "We are going to
Martin's first for a little dinner, and maybe a tango or two. What's
that to you, Mary? Stick to your policeman."
Mary dropped her hand weakly. She put on her hat and street-coat,
hardly knowing what she was doing.
"Oh, Lorna, child, you are so mistaken, so weak," she began.
"I'm not weak, nor foolish. A girl can't live decently on the money
they pay in this place. I'm going to show how strong I am by earning a
real salary. I can get a hundred a week on the stage with my looks,
and my voice, and my ... figure...."
In spite of her bravado she hesitated at the last word. It was a
little daring, even to her, and she was forcing a bold front to
maintain her own determination, for the girl had hesitated at the man's
pleadings until her sister's interference had piqued her into obstinacy.
"It won't hurt to find out how much I can get, even if I don't take the
offer at all," Lorna thought. "I simply will not submit to Mary's
dictation all the time."
Lorna hurried to the street, closely followed by her sister.
"Don't go, dear," pleaded Mary.
But there by the curb panted a big limousine, such as Lorna had always
pictured waiting for her at a stage door; the big man smiled as he held
open the door. Lorna hesitated an instant. Then she espied, coming
around the corner toward them, Bobbie Burke, on his way to meet Mary.
That settled it. She ran with a laugh toward the door of the
automobile and flounced inside, while the big man followed her,
slamming the portal as the car moved on.
"Oh, Bob," sobbed Mary, as the young officer reached her side. "Follow
them."
"What's the matter?"
"Look, that black automobile!"
"Yes, yes!"
"Lorna has gone into it with a theatrical manager. She is going on the
stage!" and Mary caught his hand tensely as she dashed after the car.
It was a hopeless pursuit, for another machine had already come between
them. It was impossible for Burke to see the number of the car, and
then it turned around the next corner and was lost in the heavy traffic.
"Oh, what are we to do?" exclaimed Mary in despair.
"Well, we can go to all the theatrical offices, and make inquiries. I
have my badge under my coat, and they will answer, all right."
They went to every big office in the whole theatrical district. But
there, too, the search was vain. Mary was too nervous and wretched to
enjoy the possibility of a dinner, and so Burke took her home. Her
father asked for Lorna, to which Mary made some weak excuse which
temporarily quieted the old gentleman.
Promising to keep up his search in restaurants and offices, Burke
hurried on downtown again. It was useless. Throughout the night he
sought, but no trace of the girl had been found. When he finally went
up to the Barton home to learn if the young girl had returned, he found
the old man frantic with fear and worriment.
"Burke, some ill has befallen the child," he exclaimed. "Mary has
finally told me the truth, and my heart is breaking."
"There, sir, you must be patient. We will try our best. I can start
an investigation through police channels that will help along."
"But father became so worried that we called up your station. The
officer at the other end of the telephone took the name, and said he
would send out a notice to all the stations to start a search."
"Great Scott! That means publicity, Miss Mary. The papers will have
the story sure, now. There have been so many cases of girls
disappearing lately that they are just eager for another to write up."
Mary wrung her hands, and the old man chattered on excitedly.
"Then if it is publicity I don't care. I want my daughter, and I will
do everything in the world to get her."
Burke calmed them as much as he could, but if ever two people were
frantic with grief it was that unhappy pair.
[Illustration: Father and daughter were frantic with grief.]
Bobbie hurried on downtown again, promising to keep them advised about
the situation.
After he left Mary went to her own room, and by the side of the bed
which she and the absent one had shared so long, she knelt to ask for
stronger aid than any human being could give.
If ever prayer came from the depths of a broken heart, it was that
forlorn plea for the lost sister!
All through the night they waited in vain.
* * * * *
The first page of every New York paper carried the sensational story of
the disappearance of Lorna Barton. Not that such a happening was
unusual, but in view of the white slavery arrests and the gang fight in
which Bobbie Burke had figured so prominently; his partial connection
with the case, and those details which the fertile-minded reporters
could fill in, it was full of human interest, and "yellow" as the heart
of any editor could desire.
Pale and heart-sick Mary went down to Monnarde's next morning. The
girls crowded about her in the wardrobe room, some to express real
sympathy, others to show their condescension to one whom they inwardly
felt was far superior in manners, appearance and ability.
Mary thanked them, and dry-eyed went to her place behind the counter.
For reasons best known to himself, the manager was late in arriving
that morning. The minutes seemed century-long to Mary as she hoped
against hope.
A surprisingly early customer was Mrs. Trubus, who came hurrying in
from her big automobile. She went to Mary's counter and observed the
girl's demeanor.
"Dear, was it your sister that I read about in the paper this morning?"
she inquired.
"Yes," very meekly. Mary tried to hold back the tears which seemed so
near the surface.
"I am so sorry. I remembered that you once spoke of your sister when
you were waiting on me. The paper said that she worked here at
Monnarde's, and I remembered my promise of yesterday that I would do
anything for you that I could. Mr. Trubus is greatly interested in
philanthropic work, and of course what I could do would be very small
in comparison to his influence. But if there is a single thing...."
"There's not, I'm afraid. Oh, I'm so miserable--and my poor dear old
daddy!"
Even as she spoke the manager came bustling into the store. He had
evidently passed an uncomfortable night himself, although from an
entirely different cause. In his hand he bore the morning paper, which
he just bought outside the door from one of several newsboys who stood
there shouting about the "candy store mystery," as one paper had
headlined it.
"See, here!" cried he, turning to Mary at once. "What do you mean by
bringing this disgrace down upon the most fashionable candy shop in New
York. You will ruin our business."
"Oh, Mr. Fleming," began Mary brokenly, "I don't understand what you
mean. I have done nothing, sir!"
"Nothing! _Nothing_! You and this miserable sister of yours!
Complaining to the police, are you, about men flirting with the girls
in my store? Do you think society women want to come to a shop where
the girls flirt with customers? No! I'm done right now. Get your hat
and get out of here!"
"Why, what do you mean?" gasped the girl, her fingers contracting and
twitching nervously.
"You're fired--bounced--ousted!" he cried. "That's what I mean." He
turned toward the other girls and in a strident voice, unmindful of the
two or three customers in the place, continued. "Let this be a lesson.
I will discharge every girl in the place if I see her flirting. The
idea!"
And he pompously walked back to his office as important as a toad in a
lonely puddle.
Mary turned to the counter, which she caught for support. One of the
girls ran to her, but Mrs. Trubus, standing close by, placed a motherly
arm about her waist.
"There, you poor dear. Don't you despair. This is a large world, and
there are more places for an honest, clever girl to work in than a
candy store run by a popinjay! You get your hat and get right into my
car, and I will take you down to my husband's office, and see what we
can do there. Come right along, now, with me."
"Oh, I must go home!" murmured Mary brokenly.
But at the elderly woman's insistence she walked back, unsteadily, to
the wardrobe room for her hat and coat.
"How dare you walk out the front way," raved the manager, as she was
leaving with Mrs. Trubus.
Mary did not hear him. The tears, a blessed relief, were coursing down
her flower-white cheeks as the kindly woman steadied her arm.
"Well! That suits me well enough," muttered Mr. Fleming
philosophically, as he retired to his private office. "I lost a lot at
poker last night--and here are two salaries for almost a full week that
won't go into anyone's pockets but my own. First, last and always, a
business man, say I."