DRIVEN FROM HOME
Deb looked at Mr. Benton in horror. It was only after several seconds
that she fully realized the terrible accusation which he had brought
against her.
"A plot!" she faltered. "What do you mean?"
"Only this," continued Mr. Benton, "your brother has run away to escape
trial, and he has taken the model with him. You have helped him to do
this. But it won't work. I pay my way, and a bargain's a bargain. If
I have to pay the thousand dollars, I'll have the model or I'll know the
reason why."
"But how do you know Jack has run away?"
"If he hasn't, where is he?"
"He went to a job in the country yesterday morning and hasn't returned
yet."
"And you expect me to believe that story?" sneered the speculator.
"It's the truth," replied Deb, bursting into tears. "I'm sure Jack will
come back. The model was stolen by a man who said my brother had sent
him for it."
"And are you positive that your brother did not send him for it?"
"Almost, sir, because the man ran away with it when I promised to send
it by some one else."
"Humph! Well, we'll see; I'll let the matter rest until to-morrow, and
then we'll have a settlement."
With these words Mr. Benton pulled his hat more tightly than usual over
his small, round head, and tripped down the stairs and out of the
building.
Deb's heart sank like a clod. Her last hope was gone. She had counted
on getting help from the speculator, and the result had been directly
the opposite.
"Rec'on you won't get anything out of him," was the constable's grim
comment. He had listened in silence to the brief interview, and now
arose to continue his disagreeable but necessary duty.
"Isn't there any way at all of having this thing stopped?" asked the
girl, bitterly.
"No; unless you get the money," was the man's reply, and pulling off his
coat, he took up a couple of chairs, and marched down stairs.
Deb jumped up and followed him. Her heart beat wildly, and something in
her throat nearly choked her. What could she do? Her thoughts ran to
Mrs. Snitzer. She knew the kind German woman needed money as much as
any of the tool works people did, but perhaps she could give some help,
or offer some advice.
She flew to the door of her neighbor's apartments, and knocked eagerly.
No answer came, and then she knocked more loudly than ever.
Suddenly she remembered that Mrs. Snitzer had signified her intention of
taking her whole family to her brother's farm for a few days, and
possibly until the end of the shut-down.
"It's no use, they're all gone!" she sighed. "There is no help to be
had!"
Meanwhile the constable worked rapidly. In his time he had been in
situations where the neighbors had interfered with him, and he wished to
get away as soon as possible.
Soon there was quite a respectable stock of furniture and other
household effects piled upon the sidewalk. Deb packed up the smaller
stuff as fast as she could--the china and crockery in baskets, and the
clothing and linen in the two old family trunks. Truth to admit, the
constable did not hurry her a bit more than he could help.
Presently Deb went below to see that no one should walk away with some
of their belongings. Her eyes were red and swollen, and a more wretched
girl could not have been found in all Corney.
As she sat down on one of the upturned wash tubs she wondered what she
was to do. She had no neighbors, and with the exception of the Snitzers
they were all strangers to her--they on their part deeming her "stuck
up," and perhaps rejoicing to see her placed in her present humiliating
position.
The wild hope of Jack's return came constantly to her mind, and twice
she ran down to the corner vainly straining her eyes to catch sight of
his well-known form.
"If I had only accepted Mont's aid," she thought, "I wonder where I
could find him?"
Presently the constable brought down the very last of the goods, and
locking up the rooms, went away.
"Why, Deb, I declare, I didn't know you were going to move. You didn't
say anything of it last Sunday. How lucky I came before you were gone!
or, perhaps, how unlucky to come when you are all upside down. Never
mind, go right ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. It's an awful
job, isn't it? I haven't experienced moving in ten years, but I
remember well that I didn't get straightened out for two months, and
then it took twice that long to get accustomed to the new place. Where
did you say you were moving to?"
And having thus delivered herself in one breath, the speaker, a
middle-aged lady, who wore blue glasses, and was slightly deaf, took
Deb's hand in a quick, nervous grasp, and peered into the care-worn
face.
"Oh, Miss Parks, we are not moving at all!" cried out the girl, laying
her head on her Sunday-school teacher's shoulder.
"Glad I called?" queried Miss Parks, misunderstanding her. "Well, now,
seeing things as they are, I didn't expect it. But, maybe I can help
you. I'm not overdressed, so just tell me what to do, and I'll go right
to work. Hasn't the truck-man come yet?"
"We--are--not--moving," repeated Deb, putting her mouth close to Miss
Parks's ear.
"No? Why--why--then something dreadful has happened, all your furniture
out here on the sidewalk, with the dust a-blowing on 'em. What is
it--fire? That's a dreadful thing. Even if things are not burned up,
the smoke gets in 'em, and you can't get it out."
"It isn't fire," returned the unhappy girl, "it's because we can't pay
the rent."
"Oh, dear!" Miss Parks was all sympathy at once. "I thought your
brother was doing pretty well now," she added.
"So he was. But the tool works have shut down, and we can't get a cent
from the bank."
The elderly maiden caught at the words.
"The bank! Isn't it awful. They wouldn't give me mine, yesterday, and
I wanted it the worst way, too. But tell me about your trouble."
In a few words, spoken as plainly as possible, Deb poured her tale into
the lady's ear.
"I heard about your brother being arrested for the fire," remarked Miss
Parks. "But I didn't believe it. Mr. Long says Jack is such a good
fellow, and such an excellent scholar."
"I'm glad you think so," burst out the girl. "Oh, Miss Parks, if people
only knew Jack as well as I do, they wouldn't say such horrid things
about him."
"Well, dear, we all have our trials, and must ask Him to help us bear
them," replied the elderly maiden, with sincere piety. "But about the
rent. How much is it?"
"Six dollars."
"Not much, truly. But it's more than I have, or I'd pay it in a minute.
Have you any money at all?"
"Not over three dollars."
Miss Parks drew out her pocketbook, and examined the contents.
"Just a dollar," she exclaimed. "I declare we are both poor, with money
in the bank, too." She paused a moment in deep thought. "I'll tell you
what you might do."
"What?" asked Deb, eagerly.
"Move your things down to my house. I'll let you have the back bedroom
and attic, and when you're settled we'll see what is to be done. Jack
will be back before a great while, I'm certain."
Miss Parks was entirely alone in the world. The house that she occupied
was her own, left her by an invalid uncle, whom she had nursed
constantly during the last four years of his life. She was a
dress-maker, and a lady's companion, and earned a fair living--a goodly
portion of which found its way to charity and the church--for she was a
devout Christian, and an earnest worker in the cause.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Deb, a heavy weight taken from her mind. "But
won't it be inconvenient for you?"
"Not a bit. In fact I think I'll enjoy company."
"Then I'll accept your offer," continued the girl, "And I think it is
real good of you to let me come."
Miss Parks bent down and kissed the tired cheeks.
"You're a good girl, Deb," she said. "You don't deserve such a trial as
this."
A little later a truckman was engaged who speedily transferred the
household goods to Deb's new home.