A FRIEND IN NEED.
"I had a dream of Love.
It seemed that on a sudden, in my heart,
A live and passionate thing leaped into being,
And conquered me. 'Twas fierce and terrible,
And yet more lovely than the dawn, and soft,
With a deep power. It roused a longing
To do I know not what--to give--ah, yes!
More than myself! And--failing that--to _die_!"
"How lovely she is, this brown-eyed little beauty! My heart is really
touched at last, and I would give the world to call her mine!" thought
Clifford Standish, as he led Geraldine on the crowded boat and watched
her sweet face glow with pleasure at the animated scene.
He said to her, in apparent jest, but secret earnest:
"There are some members of the crack company of the New York Fire
Department on board this morning, going to Newburgh, to take part in
the parade and games to-day. They are fine-looking fellows, in their
bright, new uniforms, but I hope you won't lose your heart to any of
them. I think fate has destined you for an actor's bride."
His ardent, meaning glance made the blood flow in a torrent to her
cheeks, but she was saved the necessity of replying, for at that moment
she saw a woman's handkerchief waved to him from the shore, and he
exclaimed, in an embarrassed tone:
"I see a friend beckoning me. Will you excuse me for a moment?"
He ran hastily down the gang-plank, leaving Geraldine alone on the
crowded deck among the good-natured throng of people in the nipping air
of the early morning, for the sunshine had not yet pierced the fog that
lightly overhung the beautiful Hudson.
But Geraldine did not mind the frosty air, for her dark-blue suit was
both warm and becoming, and the merry crowd and the martial music
played by the band inspired her to cheerful thoughts.
She passed the minutes so pleasantly in watching the animated faces
about her that she did not realize how long Mr. Standish was absent,
until suddenly the whistle blew, the gang-plank was drawn up, and the
steamer moved away from shore, thrilling the girl with swift alarm over
her escort's absence.
She looked about her with a keen, searching gaze, then back to the
shore.
A crowd of people were leaving the wharf, but among none of them could
she distinguish the stately form of Mr. Standish.
"What had become of her escort?" she asked herself, in terror,
wondering if he had willfully deserted her like this.
A choking sob rose up in her pretty throat, and her eyes filled with
frightened tears.
She thought, miserably:
"Oh, I wish I hadn't come! I wish I had listened to Cissy's warnings!
Why did Mr. Standish treat me like this? He is a mean wretch, and I'll
never, never speak to him again!"
Poor little Geraldine, so lovely and so impulsive, if she had kept
to that resolution, this story would never have been written. Her
life would have flowed on too quietly and happily to have tempted a
novelist's pen.
But "fate is above us all."
She looked about her despairingly for a friendly face among all those
strangers.
Her tearful eyes encountered the gaze of a fireman who had been
covertly watching her ever since she came on board.
He was a magnificent specimen of athletic young manhood, his fine
straight figure setting off to advantage his resplendent uniform of
dark-blue, with fawn-colored facings and gilt buttons. His face was
bold, handsome, and winning, with a straight nose, laughing dark-blue
eyes, a dark, curling mustache, while beneath his blue cap clustered
beautiful blue-black curls, fine and glossy as a woman's hair.
When Geraldine's appealing eyes met the admiring gaze of this young man
it paused and lingered as if held by some irresistible attraction, and,
advancing to her, he lifted his blue cap courteously from his handsome
head, saying, kindly:
"You seem to be in trouble, miss. Can I help you?"
Thus encouraged by his kind look and tone, the girl faltered out her
distressing plight:
"My escort went back on shore to speak to a friend, and was left
behind. And I--I--don't know anybody--and have no ticket--and no money
with me!"
Poor, troubled baby! How charming she was with those crimson cheeks
and wet eyes, and that tremulous quiver in her low voice! The handsome
fireman's heart went out to her so strongly that he longed to take her
in his arms like a child, and kiss away her pearly tears.
But of course, he didn't obey that strong impulse. He only said,
cordially:
"Don't let that little trifle worry you, miss. You must permit me to
buy you a ticket, and to take care of you to-day, like a brother. Will
you?"
How glad Geraldine was to find such a kind friend. Her heart began to
rebound from its depression, and she exclaimed, gratefully:
"Oh, how can I thank you enough? I felt so frightened, so like a
lost child, till you spoke to me! Yes, I shall be very grateful if
you will buy me a ticket. I'll pay you when we get back to New York.
And--and--till then, please keep this!"
She held out to him her sole ornament, a pretty little ring, and
insisted, against all his entreaties, that he should hold it in pawn
for her debt.
"You oughtn't to trust your engagement-ring to another fellow," he
said, lightly, as he slipped it over his little finger.
Geraldine blushed brightly as she answered to this daring challenge:
"Oh, it's not my engagement-ring at all. I'm not engaged."
"I'm very glad to hear it," he replied, meaningly, then proffered her
his card, on which she read, in a clear, bold chirography, the name:
"HARRY HAWTHORNE."
Geraldine bowed, and said:
"I haven't a card, but my name is Miss Harding--Geraldine Harding.
I would like your address, please, so that I may return your money
to-morrow."
"I am usually at the engine-house on Ludlow street--Engine Company No.
17. Driver, you see; and our splendid horses--oh, but you ought to see
how they love me," enthusiastically; then pulling himself up with a
jerk; "but, pray don't trouble to return the money. It will be better
for me to call, will it not, and return your ring?"
She assented, and gave him her address; then he found her a seat, and
as their boat plowed swiftly through the frothing waves, they fell
into a pleasant chat, during which he said, courteously:
"I saw you come on board with Standish, the actor. Are you a member of
his company?"
"Not yet; but I hope to be one soon. I'm only a salesgirl at O'Neill's
now, but Mr. Standish has promised to help me to become an actress."
She read distinct disapproval in his dark-blue eyes as he said:
"But you will have to study a long while before you can make your
debut."
"No, for I've already studied a great deal, and acted several parts in
the amateur dramatic company to which I belong. Mr. Standish says I can
go right on as soon as I secure a position."
"Perhaps you will regret it if you go on the stage," he observed,
abruptly.
"Oh, no; for it is the dream of my life!" smiled Geraldine.
"Will your friends permit it?"
"I'm only an orphan girl, earning her own living, so I don't need to
ask any one's leave. And I'm glad of that, for I'm ambitious, and
want to rise in life. I'm tired of being the slave of the public at a
dry-goods counter," cried Geraldine, with sparkling eyes.
He gazed at her admiringly, but he did not hesitate to say:
"It is only an exchange of slavery from the counter to the stage. You
will be the slave of the public still. If you would listen to me, I
would persuade you to remain where you are--until some good man marries
you, and makes you the queen of his heart and home."
Geraldine tossed her shining head, and gave him a saucy smile, and
retorted:
"That sounds like my chum's preaching, but I shall not listen to either
of you. My heart is set on a stage career."
Harry Hawthorne gave her a grave look, but made no reply in words,
and for a few moments they kept silence, while the gay, lilting music
of the band filled up the pauses, and the sun pierced through the fog
and smiled on the majestic steamer plowing her way through the blue,
sparkling waves.
Geraldine felt intuitively that he disapproved of her plans, and
maintained a pouting silence until he remarked, genially:
"I have an idea!"
She looked at him, questioningly, and he continued:
"The wife of our captain is on board to-day, going to Newburgh. Now,
wouldn't it be pleasant to introduce you, so that she could look after
you while I'm taking part in the firemen's games?"
Geraldine felt as if he were tired of her already, and eager to put her
in charge of some one else, and her heart sank with a strange pain,
but she did not permit him to see her mortification, she only gave an
eager, smiling assent.
"I should like it very much, if the lady will be so kind."
"Then I will go and bring Mrs. Stansbury, if you'll wait here for us,"
and smiling at her, a friendly smile that warmed her chilled heart like
a burst of sudden sunshine, he bowed himself away, and left the little
beauty sitting alone by the rail.
She leaned her elbows on the rail, her dimpled chin in her hands, and
watched the foamy waves with tender eyes as she thought how bonny he
was, her handsome new acquaintance. Almost nicer, indeed, than Clifford
Standish, or at least he would be, but for his absurd prejudice against
her going on the stage.
"Won't Cissy be surprised when I have another handsome caller? I
suppose she'll be cross, and wonder where I got another string to my
bow," thought the budding coquette, with artless vanity.
She decided not to tell Cissy of the actor's strange conduct, for she
would only say that he did it on purpose, and that it served her right.
"And I shall not give her the chance to crow over me, and say, 'I told
you so!'" murmured Geraldine.
In the preoccupation of her mind, she did not notice that the rail she
leaned on was old and weak, and had been mended at that very place. In
the sudden indignation at the thought of Cissy's contumacy, she leaned
yet more heavily upon it, and, with a sudden snap, the frail support
gave way, precipitating its lovely burden into the water.
"Heaven have mercy!" shrieked poor Geraldine, as she went downward over
the side of the boat--down, down down, into the churning, frothy waves.
In a moment all was terror, bustle, and confusion, the passengers
all crowding to the side to look over, almost precipitating another
accident in the excitement.
"Give way!" cried a stern, ringing voice, as the tall form of the
fireman pushed through the crowd, and he demanded, hoarsely:
"What has happened?"
And a dozen voices answered that there had been an accident to the
young lady he had been with just now. The rail on which she leaned had
broken, throwing her into the water.
"My God!" he cried, supplicatingly, and sprang over the side to the
rescue of the drowning girl!