THE GIRLS LOSE A FRIEND.
When Marion returned to her room she found Bert and Dollie chatting
merrily.
“Oh, Marion, what do you think? Poor Bert was almost arrested last
night. The dress you loaned him came near being the death of him,”
cried Dollie, gayly.
Marion looked at Bert with a questioning glance.
“A ‘cop’ followed me two blocks,” he said, with a grin, “but I took to
my heels and he was too fat to catch me.”
“Oh, my goodness,” cried Marion, with a burst of laughter. “How you
must have looked, Bert. I wish I could have seen you. I can just
imagine Miss Ray’s long dress getting over the ground at the speed you
would carry it.”
“And with a big, fat policeman in hot pursuit,” cried Dollie; “but he
didn’t catch you, and that’s the best of it. It must, have surprised
him to see a woman such a good runner.”
“He knew I was a man all right,” said Bert, “and I guess he would
recommend me as a first-class ‘sprinter.’ Well, after I had eluded him,
I went into a little ‘junk-shop’ on First avenue, and bought a cap and
jacket; of course they were pretty cheap ones, but I was glad to get
them. I was mighty sick of masquerading.”
“But didn’t they know your voice was not a woman’s where you bought the
things?” broke in Dollie, excitedly.
“Oh, that Jew wouldn’t have cared if I had been a dime museum freak.
All he wanted was my money. He didn’t ask any questions.”
“And what then?” asked Marion, who was very much interested.
“Then I sneaked into an alley and made a ‘lightning change,’” said
Bert, laughing, “and I’ve got your swell clothes, Marion, all carefully
done up in a bundle.”
“And you went to the little boarding-house?” asked Marion, again.
“Sure,” said Bert, “and I’ve got a receipt for a week’s board in
advance in my pocket. Now if I could only get a job I’d be all right,”
he said, cheerfully, “unless the Poor Farm people keep on chasing me
around the city.”
“They are mighty interested in you, Bert,” said Dollie, slowly. “Other
boys have run away and they did not chase them.”
“That’s just it,” said Bert, quickly. “Matt Jenkins is scared to death.
He’s lost so many boys that he’ll lose his job next, that is why he is
trying so hard to find some of his truants.”
Marion had put the bread and milk on the table, making a place for
Bert, and as they all ate their frugal meal she glanced over the
evening paper.
“Here is a mention of our beloved aunt and uncle in the society
columns,” she said, scornfully. “I wonder if they have ever repented of
their hard-heartedness to their poor niece.”
Bert and Dollie stared at her as she hastened to explain.
“Mother’s sister Susan is living at ‘The Norwood,’ a fine
apartment-house here in the city, and when I came to New York in search
of Dollie, I called on them and asked them to help me.”
“And they were mean enough to refuse?” asked Bert, indignantly.
“Were they!” cried Marion, her eyes snapping angrily. “Why, they were
so shocked at my suggestion that they came near dying on the spot of
sheer mortification.”
“A couple of empty-headed pugs,” said Bert, disgustedly, “but anyhow,
you didn’t need ’em. You found Dollie all right, Marion.”
“Here’s a dreadful thing,” exclaimed Marion, after a minute. “A boy of
sixteen run over by a cable car. He was killed almost instantly, and
they have taken him to the morgue. Unless some one claims him he’ll be
buried in Potter’s Field.”
“Poor chap,” said Dollie, with tears in her eyes. “He may have been a
country boy who was not familiar with the city.”
“The cars are awful,” said Marion, with a sigh. “I always hold my
breath when I start over a crossing.”
There was a tap on the door and the maid announced a caller. Marion
looked at the card, and then handed it to Dollie.
“Ralph Moore,” read Dollie, with the blood mantling her pretty face.
“Shall we ask him to come upstairs? There is no other place to see him.”
Marion stopped a moment and glanced at the table, where the remnants of
their frugal supper were still standing.
“Yes, tell him to come up,” she said, very firmly. “He may as well see
us as we are, then there will be no misunderstanding.”
At ten o’clock promptly the two young men left, with Dollie and Mr.
Moore more in love than ever.
“I think he is quite the nicest young man I ever saw,” said Dollie,
candidly. “Don’t you think so, yourself? Now be honest, Marion.”
“He is very nice,” said Marion, quietly, “but I’m almost afraid he is a
little wild, not a bit like Mr. Ray who is so steady and settled.”
“Pooh,” said Dollie, laughing. “I’m glad he is a little gay. I’d
awfully hate to have a pokey man around. I’d rather they’d be wild so
long as they are not wicked.”
“Well, we won’t quarrel about them,” said Marion, smiling. “We have
something else to do besides worrying about lovers.”
“But we will both have lovers some day I hope,” said Dollie, sighing.
“This world would be a dreadfully dull old place if it wasn’t for the
sweetness of love and lovers.”
“You have Silas Johnson,” she said, a little mischievously. “Do you
know I can’t understand Silas yet, little sister. I feel that there is
something else besides the mortgage that is worrying Silas.”
“I was surprised that he should ask me to marry him,” said Dollie,
sadly. “Men like father and Silas are always unforgiving where women
are concerned.”
Marion looked at her tenderly. “Never mind about them, little sister,”
she said very softly. “There is sadness and sorrow enough, Heaven
knows. I only hope that we may some day find some one to love and to
love us.”
As she spoke Marion put her arms around Dollie’s waist and laid her
head a trifle wearily on the plump, white shoulder.
It was a pretty picture of sisterly devotion, which only their guardian
angels witnessed. They were alone in New York, without money or
friends, except one poor girl whose heart was bigger than her purse,
but who divided with them her every penny gladly.
There was a step on the stairs as the girls extinguished their light,
then an agonized voice called to them through the key-hole:
“Girls! Girls! Let me in for just one minute, do!”
Marion opened the door quickly, and admitted Miss Allyn.
“Girls, my mother is dead and I’ve got to go home,” said the little
reporter, brokenly.
The next moment she was sobbing on Marion’s shoulder.