URANIA IN THE TOILS
The Vale City express came whizzing along, and the kind gentleman who
had left the train with the girls was obliged to board this to get to
his destination.
“I am so sorry to leave you,” he told Dorothy, “but, as you say, you
are not far from your aunt’s place, no doubt you will be able to
communicate with her soon. I assure you, if there was another train to
Vale City this afternoon, I would not leave you alone in this plight.”
Dorothy thanked him heartily--he was so kind, and his assurance
gave her courage, if it did not altogether extricate them from the
constable’s clutches.
“I am sure I will be able to telegraph soon,” she told him, “and then
my Aunt Winnie will come out directly in the automobile.”
So he left them, and then they followed the constable sadly to the
lock-up.
Dorothy now fully realized the responsibility she had undertaken. She
must stand by Urania--she fully believed in her innocence, and she must
see that this unfortunate girl was honestly dealt with. It was hard to
go to a country jail--perhaps street boys would run after them, and
perhaps it might even get in the newspapers.
“If Urania was not so stubborn,” Dorothy whispered to the tearful
Miette, “I believe she would get off easier. But I’m afraid she will
not even tell the story, and clear herself. She seems not to be afraid
of going to jail.”
“Oh!” wailed Miette, “I do think we ought to go--I wish I had not
come--”
“Now, Miette,” said Dorothy, “you must not feel that way. You must have
more courage. I am willing to help you, and we should both be willing
to help this poor girl.”
There was a reproof in Dorothy’s voice, but Miette was obdurate, and
continued to bewail the situation.
Urania trudged along--her fine clothes making a queer mockery of her
predicament.
“There’s our quarters,” announced the constable, pointing to a small,
new brick building a few squares away.
Miette shuddered.
“It is only to make a record,” Dorothy assured her.
“Then you have been--arrested yourself?”
Dorothy could not restrain a smile. “No, I have never been arrested at
all. But I know something about court work,” she answered.
As Dorothy feared, the small-boy element did discover them. No sooner
had they caught sight of the officer than they seemed to swarm from
nowhere to a solid group directly about the disgraced girls.
This added to Miette’s alarm, but it only annoyed Dorothy.
“Don’t notice them,” she told Miette, as the urchins asked insulting
questions. “We will soon be indoors.”
Indoors!
In a station house!
A huge man in dismal uniform sat in the doorway. The constable greeted
him familiarly.
“Here we are, Cap,” he said, “I’ve got some pretty girls here. Any room
inside?”
Dorothy frowned and looked up at him sharply.
“I did not know that officers joked at the expense of--innocent girls!”
she spoke up, with a manner that almost surprised herself.
“Hoity-toity!” exclaimed the officer, “but you have some spirit. Related
to Major Dale, all right.”
“Yes, and I think you should have given me a chance to communicate with
him,” she followed up, making good use of the opportunity to assert her
rights.
“No objection whatever,” replied the officer. “Cap, have you got a
’phone to North Birchland?”
Dorothy’s heart jumped! A telephone to the Cedars!
“Yep,” answered the stout man, disturbing himself reluctantly, and
stepping inside to allow the others to enter.
“There you are miss,” said the constable, pointing to the telephone.
“I don’t mind who you talk to or what you say now--I’ve got this girl
safe here,” indicating Urania. “Some times a little girl can make more
trouble than some one twice her size.”
Dorothy flew to the telephone. She was so eager to “get the Cedars” she
could scarcely give the number correctly.
She waited--and waited.
“Trying to get your party,” came the answer to her ear from the central
office.
How strange that they did not answer at once.
“Can’t you get them?” she asked the operator, impatiently.
“I think their wire is down,” came the answer. “I’ll give you
‘information.’”
“Information,” or the young lady in the telephone office who held that
title answered promptly. Dorothy made known her need--to reach the
Cedars, North Birchland.
“Wire’s down from the wind,” replied the telephone girl.
Dorothy almost jerked the receiver off its cord--she dropped it so
suddenly.
“Isn’t that awful?” she exclaimed, with a very white face.
“Can’t get your party?” asked the constable, coolly.
“No,” she answered, “Could I telephone the depot to send a telegram?”
“Nope,” replied the man designated as “Cap.” “They can’t collect
charges over the telephone.”
“But I could send the message collect,” argued Dorothy, feeling her
courage slip away now with each new difficulty.
“They only send them that way when they happen to know who you are,”
replied the man in an insolent tone, “and it ain’t likely they know a
parcel of boarding-school girls.”
Dorothy sank into the carpet-seated chair at her side. She was
discouraged now.
Miette waited as close to the door as she could “squeeze” without
actually being on the outside of the sill.
Urania did not appear frightened now--she seemed ready to fight!
All the gypsy blood within her resented this “outrage,” and when she
“resented” anything it was revenge that filled her heart. She would get
even!
But what was one poor unfortunate girl to do when big burly officers of
the law opposed her?
“I suppose I will have to go back to the station,” stammered Dorothy.
“Have you no matron here?” she asked, suddenly realizing that “girl
prisoners,” must be entitled to some consideration.
“Matron?” laughed the captain.
“Oh, I don’t know,” and the constable winked at his brother officer,
“there might be a woman--Cap, couldn’t you--get some one?”
At this the two men held a whispered conversation, and presently the
constable remarked:
“I’ve got to go back to North Birchland now, and if you two young
ladies want to go I’ll take you along.”
“No, thank you,” replied Dorothy promptly. “We are not ready to leave
yet.”
“Don’t stay on my account,” spoke up Urania suddenly, breaking her
sullen silence. “I’ll be all right here,” and she glanced at the open
window.
“But I shall not leave you--that is, unless I have to,” insisted
Dorothy, “I brought you away from Glenwood, and I am going to get you
home if I can to-night. There must be some way.”
The constable was waiting.
“Now I’ll tell you miss, since you seem so set,” and he smiled broadly
at Dorothy, “I’m going back to see about--well to fix things up--”
(Dorothy felt sure he meant he was going back to claim the reward,)
“then if everything is all right perhaps we can take bail for her--you
could get bail?”
“Indeed I could,” Dorothy assured him. “All our folks know and like
this girl.”
“Well, it’s a good thing to have friends. And now I’m off--I may see
you later in the afternoon, Miss Dale, and in the meantime let me
compliment you--you’re game all right.”
Dorothy felt too grieved to thank the man for his rough compliment,
and she only glanced at him as he left the place.
The police captain settled down near the door again. Evidently he did
not care just what his prisoner did so long as she did not attempt to
run away. He paid not the slightest attention to any of the girls, but
sat down in that lazy, heavy way, characteristic of officers who have
nothing else to do. He refilled his pipe and started in to smoke again
as if he were just as much alone as he had been before the noon train
came in with the interesting trio of much-perplexed girls.
“I think I had better go back to the station now,” said Dorothy
to Urania. Miette simply stared about her and seemed incapable of
conversing. “Do you wish to come, Miette?” she asked of the girl over
at the door.
“Oh, yes, certainly! I should be so glad to go!” replied Miette,
showing too plainly her eagerness to get away from the place.
“Can you call the woman you spoke of?” Dorothy said to the officer. “I
must go to the station, and do not think I should leave my friend here
all alone.”
“All alone? Don’t I count,” and he grinned in a silly fashion. “Oh, I
see--of course. Young ladies like you must have a--what do you call
it? A ‘chapperton?’”
Dorothy was too annoyed to laugh at the man’s queer attempt to use a
big word.
“I have always heard that there should be a matron in every public
place where young girls or women are detained,” she said with a brave
and satisfactory effort.
This quite awed the officer. “I’ll call Mary,” he said getting up from
the seat by the door. “She’ll kick about leavin’ off her housework, but
I suppose when we’ve got swells to deal with--why we must be swell,
too.”
He dragged himself to the stone steps outside and called into a
basement next door. But “Mary” evidently did not hear him. Urania had
her eyes fixed on that door like an eagle watching a chance to spring.
The man stepped off the stoop, but kept his hand on the rail.
“Mary!” he called again, and as he did so Urania shot out of the door,
past the officer, and down the street before he, or any one else, had
time to realize what she was doing.
Dorothy stood like one transfixed!
The officer first attempted to run--then he yelled and shouted--but of
course Urania was putting plenty of ground between herself and the
officer’s voice. Dorothy and Miette had hurried out to the side walk.
“Here!” he shouted, grabbing both girls roughly by the arm, “this
is all your doing. You’ll pay for it too. Do you know what it means
to help a prisoner to escape? Get in there,” and he shoved the two
terrified girls back into the little room, “I’ll see to it that you
don’t follow her,” and at this he took a key from his pocket, unlocked
the door of a cell, and thrust Dorothy and Miette within.