His heart stood still, and then went thudding on in dull, horrid blows.
Vainly he tried to read further. He followed every visible word of that
paper to discover its date and origin, but those miserable bill-heads
frustrated his effort. He felt like dashing his hand through the glass,
but reflected that the act might result in his being locked up in some
miserable country jail. He tried the window and gave the door another
vicious shake, but all to no purpose. Finally he turned on his heel and
walked up and down for an hour, tramping the length of the shaky platform,
back and forth, till the train rumbled up. As he took his seat in the car
he saw the belated agent come running up the platform with a lighted
lantern on his arm, and a package of letters, which he handed to the
brakeman, but there was not time to beg the newspaper from him. Dunham's
indignant mind continued to dwell upon the headlines, to the annoying
accompaniment of screech-owl and frog and cricket. He resented the
adjective "pretty." Why should any reporter dare to apply that word to a
sweet and lovely woman? It seemed so superficial, so belittling, and--but
then, of course, this headline did not apply to his new friend. It was
some other poor creature, some one to whom perhaps the word "pretty"
really applied; some one who was not really beautiful, only pretty.
At the first stop a man in front got out, leaving a newspaper in the seat.
With eager hands, Dunham leaned forward and grasped it, searching its
columns in vain for the tantalizing headlines. But there were others
equally arrestive. This paper announced the mysterious disappearance of a
young actress who was suspected of poisoning her husband. When seen last,
she was boarding a train en route to Washington. She had not arrived
there, however, so far as could be discovered. It was supposed that she
was lingering in the vicinity of Philadelphia or Baltimore. There were
added a few incriminating details concerning her relationship with her
dead husband, and a brief sketch of her sensational life. The paragraph
closed with the statement that she was an accomplished musician.
The young man frowned and, opening his window, flung the scandalous sheet
to the breeze. He determined to forget what he had read, yet the lines
kept coming before his eyes.
When he reached the city he went to the news-stand in the station, where
was an agent who knew him, and procured a copy of every paper on sale.
Then, instead of hurrying home, he found a seat in a secluded corner and
proceeded to examine his purchases.
In large letters on the front page of a New York paper blazed:
HOUSE ROBBED OF JEWELS WORTH TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS BY BEAUTIFUL
YOUNG ADVENTURESS MASQUERADING AS A PARLOR MAID
He ran his eye down the column and gathered that she was still at large,
though the entire police force of New York was on her track. He shivered
at the thought, and began to feel sympathy for all wrong-doers and truants
from the law. It was horrible to have detectives out everywhere watching
for beautiful young women, just when this one in whom his interest
centred was trying to escape from something.
He turned to another paper, only to be met by the words: