The poor old lady! Being a bell-boy you know just how old ladies
really are. This one at evening, after her face had been massaged for
an hour, and the manicure girl and the hair-dresser had gone, wasn't so
bad. But to-day, with the marks of the morning's tears on her agitated
face, with the blood pounding up to her temples where the hair was thin
and gray--Tom Dorgan, if I'm a vain old fool like that when I'm three
times as old as I am, just tie a stone around my neck and take me down
and drop me into the nearest water, won't you?
"You abominable little wretch!" she sobbed. "I suppose you've told
everybody in the office."
"How could I, ma'am?"
"How could you?" She looked up, the tears on her flabby, flushed cheek.
"I didn't know myself. I can't read writing--"
It was thin, but she wanted to believe it.
She could have taken me in her arms, she was so happy.
"There! there!" she patted my shoulder and gave me a dollar bill. "I
was a bit hasty, Nat. It's only a--a little business matter that Mr.
Moriway's attending to for me. We--we'll finish it up this afternoon.
I shouldn't like Miss Kingdon to know of it, because--because I--never
like to worry her about business, you know. So don't mention it when
she comes to-morrow."
"No'm. Shall I fasten your dress?" I simply had to stay in that room
till I could get rid of those diamonds.
With a faded old blush--the nicest thing about her I'd ever seen--she
turned her back.
"It's dark to-day, ma'am," I coaxed. "Would you mind coming nearer the
window?"
No, she wouldn't mind. She backed up to the corner like a gentle
little lamb. While I hooked with one hand, I dropped the little bag
where the carpet was still turned up, and with the toe of my shoe
spread it flat again.
"You're real handy for a boy," she said, pleased.
"Thank you, ma'am," I answered, pleased myself.
Moriway was still watching me, of course, when I came out, but I ran
downstairs, he following close, and when the Major got hold of me, I
pulled my pockets inside out like a little man.
Moriway was there at the time. I knew he wasn't convinced. But he
couldn't watch a bell-boy all day long, and the moment I was sure his
eyes were off me I was ready to get those diamonds back again.
But not a call came all that afternoon from the west side of the house,
except the call of those pretty, precious things snug under the carpet
calling, calling to me to come and get them and drop bell-boying for
good.
At last I couldn't stand it any longer. There's only one thing to do
when your chance won't come to you; that is, to go to it. At about
four o'clock I lit out, climbed to the second story and there--Mag, I
always was the luckiest girl at the Cruelty, wasn't I? Well, there was
suite 231 all torn up, plumbers and painters in there, and nothing in
the world to prevent a boy's skinning through when no one was watching,
out of the window and up the fire-escape.
Just outside of Mrs. Kingdon's window I lay still a minute. I had seen
her and Moriway go out together--she all gay with finery, he carrying
her bag. The lace curtains in 331 were blowing in the breeze.
Cautiously I parted them and looked in. Everything was lovely. From
where I lay I reached down and turned back the flap of the carpet. It
was too easy. Those darling diamonds seemed just to leap up into my
hand. In a moment I had them tucked away in my pants pocket. Then
down the fire-escape and out through 231, where I told the painter I'd
been to get a toy the boy in 441 had dropped out of the window.
But he paid no attention to me. No one did, though I felt those
diamonds shining like an X-ray through my very body. I got downstairs
and was actually outside the door, almost in the street and off to you,
when a girl called me.
"Here, boy, carry this case," she said.
Do you know who it was? Oh, yes, you do, a dear old friend of mine
from Philadelphia, a young lady whose taste--well, all right, I'll tell
you: it was the girl with the red coat, and the hat with the chinchilla
fur.
How did they look? Oh, fairly well on a blonde! But to my taste the
last girl I'd seen in the coat and hat was handsomer.
Well, I carried her suit-case and followed her back into the hotel. I
didn't want to a bit, though that coat still--wonder how she got it
back!
She sailed up the hall and into the elevator, and I had to follow. We
got of at the third story, and she brought me right to the door of 331.
And then I knew this must be Evelyn.
"Mrs. Kingdon's out, Miss. She didn't expect you till to-morrow."
"Did she tell you that? Too bad she isn't at home! She said she'd be
kept busy all day to-day with a business matter, and that I'd better
not get here till to-morrow. But I--"
"Wanted to get here in time for the wedding?" I suggested softly.
You should have seen her jump.
"Wedding! Not--"
"Mrs. Kingdon and Mr. Moriway."
She turned white.
"Has that man followed her here? Quick, tell me. Has she actually
married him?"
"No--not yet. It's for five o'clock at the church on the corner."
"How do you know?" She turned on me, suddenly suspicious.
"Well--I do know. And I'm the only person in the house that does."
"I don't believe you."
She took out her key and opened the door, and I followed her in with
the suit-case. But before I could get it set down on the floor, she
had swooped on a letter that was lying in the middle of the table, had
torn it open, and then with a cry had come whirling toward me.
"Where is this church? Come, help me to get to it before five and
I'll--oh, you shall have anything in the world you want!"
She flew out into the hall, I after her. And first thing you know we
were down in the street, around the corner, and there in front of the
church was a carriage with Moriway just helping Mrs. Kingdon out.
"Mother!"
At that cry the old lady's knees seemed to crumble under her. Her poor
old painted face looked out ghastly and ashamed from her wedding
finery. But Evelyn in her red coat flew to her and took her in her
arms as though she was a child. And like a child, Mrs. Kingdon sobbed
and made excuses and begged to be forgiven.
I looked at Moriway. It was all the pay I wanted--particularly as I
had those little diamonds.
"You're just in time, Miss Kingdon," he said uneasily, "to make your
mother happy by your presence at her wedding."
"I'm just in time, Mr. Moriway, to see that my mother's not made
unhappy by your presence."
"Evelyn!" Mrs. Kingdon remonstrated.
"Come, Sarah." Moriway offered his arm.
The bride shook her head.
"To-morrow," she said feebly.
Moriway breathed a swear.
Miss Kingdon laughed.
"I've come to take care of you, you silly little mother, dear.... It
won't be to-morrow, Mr. Moriway."
"No--not to-morrow--next week," sighed Mrs. Kingdon.
"In fact, mother's changed her mind, Mr. Moriway. She thinks it
ungenerous to accept such a sacrifice from a man who might be her
son--don't you, mother?"
"Well, perhaps, George--" She looked up from her daughter's
shoulder--she was crying all over that precious red coat of mine--and
her eyes lit on me. "Oh--you wicked boy, you told a lie!" she gasped.
"You did read my letter."
I laughed; laughed out loud, it was such a bully thing to watch
Moriway's face.
But that was an unlucky laugh of mine; it turned his wrath on me. He
made a dive toward me. I ducked and ran. Oh, how I ran! But if he
hadn't slipped on the curb he'd have had me. As he fell, though, he
let out a yell.
"Stop thief! stop thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!"
May you never hear it, Mag, behind you when you've somebody else's
diamonds in your pocket. It sounds--it sounds the way the bay of the
hounds must sound to the hare. It seems to fly along with the air; at
the same time to be behind you, at your side, even in front of you.
I heard it bellowed in a dozen different voices, and every now and then
I could hear Moriway as I pelted on--that brassy, cruel bellow of his
that made my heart sick.
And then all at once I heard a policeman's whistle.
That whistle was like a signal--I saw the gates of the Correction open
before me. I saw your Nance, Tom, in a neat striped dress, and she was
behind bars--bars--bars! There were bars everywhere before me. In
fact, I felt them against my very hands, for in my mad race I had shot
up a blind alley--a street that ended in a garden behind an iron fence.
I grabbed the diamonds to throw them from me, but I couldn't--I just
couldn't! I jumped the fence where the gate was low, and with that
whistle flying shrill and shriller after me I ran to the house.
I might have jumped from the frying-pan? Of course, I might. But it
was all fire to me. To be caught at the end is at least no worse than
to be caught at the beginning. Anyhow, it was my one chance, and I
took it as unhesitatingly as a rat takes a leap into a trap to escape a
terrier. Only--only, it was my luck that the trap wasn't set! The
room was empty. I pushed open a glass door, and fell over an open
trunk that stood beside it.
It bruised my knee and tore my hand, but oh!--it was nuts to me. For it
was a woman's trunk filled with women's things.
A skirt! A blessed skirt! And not a striped one. I threw off the
bell-boy's jacket and I got into that dear dress so quick it made my
head swim.
The jacket was a bit tight but I didn't button it, and I'd just got a
stiff little hat perched on my head when I heard the tramp of men on
the sidewalk, and in the dusk saw the cop's buttons at the gate.
Caught? Not much. Not yet. I threw open the glass doors and walked
out into the garden.
"Miss--Omar--I wonder if it would be Miss Omar?"
You bet I didn't take time to see who it was talking before I answered.
Of course I was Miss Omar. I was Miss Anybody that had a right to wear
skirts and be inside those blessed gates.
"Ah--h! I fancied you might be. I've been expecting you."
It was a lazy, low voice with a laugh in it, and it came from a wheeled
chair, where a young man lay. Sallow he was and slim and long, and
helpless--you could see that by his white hanging hands. But his
voice--it was what a woman's voice would be if she were a man. It made
you perk up and pretend to be somewhere near its level. It fitted his
soft, black clothes and his fine, clean face. It meant silks and
velvets and--
Oh, all right, Tommy Dorgan, if you're going to get jealous of a voice!
"Excuse me, Mr. Latimer." The cop came in as he spoke, Moriway
following; the rest of the hounds hung about. "There's a thieving
bell-boy from the hotel that's somewhere in your grounds. Can I come
in and get him?"
"In here, Sergeant? Aren't you mistaken?"
"No; Mr. Moriway here saw him jump the gate not five minutes since."
"Strange, and I here all the time! I may have dozed of, though.
Certainly--certainly. Look for the little rascal. What's he stolen?
Diamonds! Tut! tut! Enterprising, isn't he? ... Miss Omar, won't
you kindly reach the bell yonder--no, on the table; that's it--and ring
for some one to take the officer about?"