A RACE AND ITS ENDING
Dorothy's search for the missing old man and, to her, the more important
missing purses brought her to the lower deck and Molly. The latter was
still leaning upon the rail, gazing a little sadly into the water, for
the brief glimpse she had had of her cousin Tom had recalled their happy
days in their old southern home. There were even a few tears in her
bright blue eyes as she raised them toward her friend; but she checked
them at once, frightened by the expression of Dorothy's own.
"Why, honey, what's the matter?"
"Our pocket-books are lost!"
"Lost? Lost! They can't be. You mustn't say so. We can't, we daren't
lose them. Weren't they on that bench beside the old man?" demanded
Molly.
"No, they were not. They were not anywhere--any single where. He wasn't
either."
"Pooh! He must be. He probably wanted to change his seat and was afraid
to leave them lying on the bench, lest somebody might be tempted to pick
them up. Somebody to whom they didn't belong, I mean."
"Molly, what shall we do? What will Miss Greatorex say?"
"Humph. She'll probably scream out her disgust as if we were deaf too
like herself. That's the way she always does: when there's something to
be said you don't want anybody else to hear she just talks her loudest;
and when there's something you're longing to know she merely whispers.
That's the way all deaf people do, Miss Penelope says. And--you're the
one that lost them, so you'll be the one to tell her, Dorothy girl."
"Why, child, I don't see how I lost them any more than you did! I'm
sorry as I can be. Sorrier about yours than mine even, though I'd
planned so many nice things to do with the money. Five dollars! Think of
it! I never before had five whole dollars at a time, never in my life!"
said Dolly, mournfully.
"Well, what's the use staying down here and just worrying about the
thing? Let's go and look again for the man. When we find the man we
shall find the purses; but--whether he'll give them back to us is
another matter."
"Molly, what a dreadful thing to say! As if you thought he--he stole
them, a nice old gentleman like that!"
"Pooh! Once my Aunt Lucretia had her little handbag snatched out of her
hand, right on Broadway street in New York city. She did so; and all she
could remember about the snatcher was that he was a handsome young man
with an eyeglass in one eye. A regular dandy he was, if the thief was
the fellow who brushed against her so rudely. Anyhow, after he'd
brushed, her bag was gone and all her shopping money in it. Papa told
her it served her right. That to carry a purse, or a bag, that way was a
temptation to any rogue who happened to pass by. He said the snatcher
was smarter than Auntie and he hoped it would teach her a lesson. Aunt
Lu thought Papa was almost as horrid as the thief; and what will either
of them say to us for being so careless?"
"I suppose we'll have to tell them!" reflected Dorothy, in sad
perplexity.
"Course we will. Aren't they both to meet us at the steamer? Aren't they
going with us all the way to Halifax? Why, I should want to tell the
very first thing. How else would I get any more money?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. Lucky you! As for me there's nobody to replace
my five dollars, so far as I know."
"Oh! come on. Don't let's stand moping. I'll tell you. Let's begin right
here at this spot. You go one side this lower place, all along that
passage beside the engine-rooms and things and I'll go the other. Then
if we don't see him anywhere here we'll meet at the foot of the stairs
and search the upper floor just the same way. Out on both ends of the
boat, poke into closets and barber-shop and captain's office--everywhere
there is a chance a man, a passenger man, might be."
It seemed a fine scheme and they promptly separated to put it into
execution. But when they met at the foot of the stairway, leading to the
upper saloon, neither had any success to report. Nor did they meet with
any better fortune when they had made a prolonged examination of the
whole steamer, even climbing to the hurricane deck and questioning the
officer upon the bridge.
As they slowly descended to the place where Miss Greatorex awaited them,
alarmed by their absence and equally afraid to move from the spot lest
somebody else should confiscate their three comfortable camp-chairs and,
possibly, their hand luggage, Dorothy suggested:
"Let's write it. That'll save other people, strangers, from hearing.
Miss G. always carries a pad and pencil with her and I'll do it myself,
since you think I'm most to blame. But I'm afraid even my writing won't
stop her talking when she finds out! Oh! dear! I wish Alfy Babcock had
never come on this boat! Then I shouldn't have gone to watch her and
seen him."
"Huh! I don't think it's quite fair to blame poor Alfy for our own
fault. We'd no business to be so careless, either one of us. I had a
bright notion that maybe that stewardess or some official had picked up
the pocket-books, so I asked every single one of them, big and little,
black and white, and not a soul knew a thing about it. No, Dolly
Doodles, the blame's our own and--the man's," said Molly, with
conviction.
Miss Greatorex was vastly relieved to see her charges returning to her
side. She had become anxious over their prolonged absence and in her
nervousness had imagined all sorts of accidents which might have
befallen them. Yet the same nervousness had prevented her questioning
any employee of the steamer, who had come near, she shrinking from the
observation this would attract to her deafness.
Therefore, it was with a much brighter smile than ordinary that she
welcomed the truants, and was disappointed to have her greeting so
dejectedly returned.
"I began to worry over you, my dears, I cannot call either of you really
mischievous, yet I hope you won't leave me in suspense so long again.
Anywhere, so that you are in my sight all of the time, you are free to
move about. But--Why, my dears! What has happened to make you so sober?"
It certainly was vexing, when the lady was making such extra effort to
be agreeable and to adapt herself to young people's ideas, to have these
efforts so disregarded; and it was a strange thing that Dorothy should
without permission take the notebook and pencil from her teacher's lap
and begin to write.
Miss Isobel had set forth upon her travels with the firm intention of
making notes about everything along the way and it disturbed her
methodical soul to have anybody else "messing" with this neat little
record. It was only a trifle better that the girl should have turned to
the very back of the book and chosen a fly leaf there to scribble on.
Scribbling it seemed, so rapidly was it done, and after a brief time the
book was returned to its owner and she silently requested to examine
what had been written in it. This is what she read:
"We've lost our pocket-books. Or, maybe, I lost them both. We've lost
the man, too. He was a little, shiny old man, with a fringe of white
hair around his head. When he put his hat on he had two foreheads under
its rim, one before and one behind. His coat was shiny. His hat was
shiny and had a hole in it. He--he seemed to shine all over, especially
in his smile. That was perfectly lovely. Have you seen him? Because if
you know where he is I'd like to ask him for our purses. That is if he
has them as Molly and, maybe, I think. Else how could we buy his paper
for him without any money and how can we give him the paper if
he--_isn't_?"
Poor Dorothy fancied that she had made everything most explicit yet, at
the same time, very gently broken the news of the lost purses. She was
unprepared for the expression of confusion that settled upon Miss
Greatorex's austere features as she read this communication once, then
more carefully a second time.
Leaning forward, eagerly observant of "how she'll take it" Molly
perceived that Dorothy's explanation hadn't been sufficient; or else
that it had not dawned upon Miss Isobel's comprehension that her girls
had really been so careless, that the loss was genuine. As the lady
looked up, after this second reading, with a question but no anger in
her expression, the observer exclaimed:
"Dolly, I don't believe you've told her all. Give me the book, please,
Miss G. and I'll see what it says."
Then after a rapid perusal of the message Molly turned upon her chum
with an amused indignation:
"You've said more about your 'shiny old man' with his adorable smile
than our own trouble. Here, I'll write and I guess there won't be any
mistake this time."
So she also possessed herself of the cherished notebook and made her own
brief entry:--
"We laid our purses down on a bench and a man stole them. The same man
D. described. Now somebody must have stolen _him_ 'cause he isn't on the
boat."
"Laid your purses down on a bench and left them there?" demanded Miss
Greatorex in her most excited tones. Tones so loud that all the
passengers sitting near turned their heads to look and listen; thereby
calling attention to the two blushing girls, in a manner most
unpleasant.
All they could do to avert this audible upbraiding was to point to the
notebook and mutely beg that she would do her scolding by that silent
channel. Not she, however. Never in all the years of her drudgery of
teaching had she felt her responsibility so great as now. To be
entrusted with the charge of Miss Rhinelander's most indulged
pupils--all the school knew that--had, at first seemed a burden, and
next a most delightful honor. But, after all, they were just like other
girls. Just as careless, just as disrespectful and annoying; for the
sensitive old gentlewoman had considered the use of her notebook a
presumption and their long absence from her side a proof that they were
inconsiderate. However, these were mere matters of sentiment, but the
loss of ten good dollars was a calamity.
"Well, young ladies, all I have to say, and you may note that it is my
final word, is: _Those pocket-books must be found._ You cannot leave
this steamer until they are. I have promised especial care over your
expenditures and I shall do my duty. I am now going to read my history
of Hendrik Hudson. While I am reading you can seek your purses. We have
still a long time before reaching New York and the better you employ it
the better for--all of us."
Every syllable was as distinctly uttered as if she were dictating to a
secretary, but she ignored all the curious glances turned her way and
resumed her reading with an air of great dignity.
Molly and Dolly exchanged dismayed glances; then giggled, perceiving
amused expressions upon the faces of many travelers near them. The whole
affair began to seem more absurd than serious, and, finally, unable to
longer restrain their rather hysterical mirth, they rose and walked
away arm in arm.
But they did no more searching. Had they not already looked everywhere?
Besides, as Molly declared:
"We're more apt to see that man somewhere if we sit right still in one
place. Papa told me that was the way to do, if I were ever lost
anywhere. I was once, in a big store in New York, but I remembered, I
sat right down by the door and just waited and prayed all the time that
Auntie Lu would come and find me there. I was a little tacker then, not
bigger'n anything. And she came. I don't know how much the praying did
'cause all I knew then was 'Now I lay me;' or how much the waiting.
Anyhow she found me. So, maybe, if we keep still as still, the 'shiny
man' will get around past us sometime. _He's_ the lost one in the case,
isn't he? And did you ever see how restless the people all do seem? I
guess they're tired of the long sail and anxious to be off the boat."
"I guess so, too. Let's do something to pass the time. Count how many
girls and women we can see in white shirt-waists--seems if it had rained
them, seems if! Or how many people go trapesing up and down the deck.
Make up stories about them, too, if you like, and fit names to them. I
always do give a name to anybody I see and don't know. Let's call that
nice looking man yonder 'Graysie.' He's all in gray clothes, hat,
gloves, tie, and everything. There's another might be what Monty'd say
was a 'hayseed.' I think that's not a nice name, though, but just call
him 'Green Fields.' He's surely come from some farm up the river and
looks as if he were enjoying every minute of this sail. I'm beginning to
enjoy it too, now; only I'm getting dreadfully hungry. If I had my purse
I think I'd go down to that stand in the corner and buy us some
sandwiches;" said Dorothy, in response.
Cried Molly, indignantly:
"Don't talk about sandwiches to a poor, starving girl! Sailing does make
a body ravenous, just ravenous, even though we did have a
'vacation-breakfast' with something besides cereals and milk. When Miss
Rhinelander does 'treat' us she does it thoroughly. But, what shall you
order when we get to New York and meet Papa and Auntie Lu? You know
we're all to dine at a big hotel, for the Nova Scotia boat doesn't sail
till two o'clock. Two o'clock sharp! Not a minute before nor a minute
after, Papa says; and he goes out to that country every year. Sometimes
in the hunting season and now just to camp out and fish and get--get
fat, I tell him. It's dreadful wearing to be a Judge. Judge of the
Supreme Court. That's what my father is. He's a bank president, too, and
has lots to do with other people's money. But he's something to do with
a railway besides, and all these things and his taking care of Aunt
Lucretia's 'property' wears him out. She hasn't any property, really,
except the little tumble-down house where she and Papa were born. Papa
says it isn't worth the cost of powder to blow it up; but Auntie loves
it and makes more fuss over it than Papa does over all his own things."
"A Judge is a man that can send a person to jail or not, isn't he?"
"Worse than that! He can send one to the gallows or the electric
chair--if he has to. That's the wearing part; having to be 'just' when
he just longs to be 'generous.' If it wasn't that he has the same power
to set a person free, too, I guess he'd give up Judging. If he could. I
don't know about such things. What I do know is that he and some other
Judges and some more bankers and such men have the greatest fun ever,
summer times. They hunt up old clothes and wear them right in the woods.
Auntie says she doesn't know where they find such duds 'cause they
certainly never owned them at any other time. Then they sleep on the
ground, and cook over a fire they make themselves, and fish and tell
stories. 'Just loaf' Papa says, and to hear him tell makes me sorrier
than ever I'm not a boy. If I were I could go too. But a girl--Pshaw!
Girls can't do a single thing that's worth while, seems to me!"
"I'm afraid I shall be afraid of a real Judge, Molly. I'm afraid I--"
"The idea! You'll forget all those 'afraids' the minute you see my
darling father! But you didn't say what you'd order for your dinner."
"How can I order anything if I haven't the money to pay for it? Or does
that all go in with the expenses of the whole trip, that Miss Greatorex
has to take care of?" asked Dorothy, who was in real ignorance of some
most practical matters, having merely been told that she was to take
this journey under Miss Greatorex's charge.
"I don't know what goes in or out; but I do know that my father wouldn't
let ladies pay for their dinners when he was along. A pretty kind of a
gentleman that would be! And Judge Schuyler Breckenridge is a Perfect
Gentleman, I want you to understand," answered Molly, proudly.
"So is my Father John," said Dorothy with equal decision; and for a few
minutes there was silence while each loyal daughter reflected upon the
astonishing merits of their respective fathers.
Afterward they interested themselves in watching the people near them;
so that it was with some surprise they heard "Diamond," the steward,
announcing:
"New Yawk! Twenty-third street landin'! Fo'wa'd gangway fo'
Twen-ty--thir-d-st-r-e-et!!"
Then followed a little scurry as they sought Miss Greatorex to inquire
if this were where they would leave the boat. However she said not; that
they were to remain on board until the steamer landed at Desbrosses
street, lower down the city. There she had been informed that Judge
Breckenridge and Mrs. Hungerford would meet them. After dining together
they would cross the city to the other East River and take the steamer
for Yarmouth. It was all very simple and yet very exciting.
Both Miss Isobel and her pupils had "read up" on Nova Scotia and felt
as if the short ocean trip would land them in a foreign country. Whether
the entire vacation should be passed in that Province or they to travel
further afield had not yet been decided.
However, New York was sufficiently exciting, even to Molly who had been
there many times, and far more so to Dorothy, who had passed through it
but once. They could scarcely keep their feet from dancing as they
gathered with the rest of the downtown passengers to await the landing
of the "Powell" and their going ashore.
"See! See! Papa! Darling Auntie Lu! There they are, there they are!"
almost shrieked Molly, frantically waving her handkerchief to somebody
on the wharf.
There were many answering wavings of handkerchiefs from expectant
friends to those still on board, and Dorothy peered eagerly among them
trying to decide which was the pair to whom her chum belonged. Turning
her head to beg information on this point she suddenly perceived her
"shiny old man." He was on the edge of the crowding passengers, holding
back and yet apparently in haste to get forward, by watching for little
breaks in the ranks and dodging swiftly through them. His crutch was
under his arm, he was not using it. His hat-brim had been lowered over
his face, his coat collar pulled high about his ears and securely
buttoned. There was none of that benign appearance about him now which
had so won Dorothy's sympathetic heart and if he were lame he admirably
disguised the fact.
It was her chance! In another moment he would have left the boat and she
would miss him. She would run up to him and ask him if he remembered
about the purses--Quick, quick! He must have forgotten--
He was going. Everybody was going. She kept her eyes fixed upon him,
unmindful of the fact that somebody else was crowding her apart from
Molly and Miss Greatorex, or that, as the throng pressed outward, they
were getting further and further away.
The "shiny man" wasn't three feet ahead of her when they at last gained
the gang-plank and surged forward to the wharf. She could almost touch
his shoulder--she would in a minute--she was gaining--
No she wasn't! He had slipped aside and was hurrying away with the
agility of youth! It couldn't be the cripple and yet--there was the
point of his crutch sticking out behind! Well, she reckoned she could
run as fast as he did and she promptly set out to try!
It was a strange race in a strange place. West street in New York is a
very crowded, dirty thoroughfare. An endless, unbroken line of drays,
beer-wagons, vehicles of every sort, moves up one side and down the
other of the hurrying street cars which claim the centre roadway. The
pavement is always slippery with slime, the air always full of hoarse
shouts, cries and distracting whistles. Car bells jangle, policemen
yell their warnings to unwary foot passengers, hackmen screech their
demands for patronage, and hurrying crowds move to and fro between the
ferries and the city. A place that speedily set Dorothy's nerves
a-tingle with fear, yet never once diverted her from her purpose.
As she had once followed poor Peter Piper in a mad race over the fields,
"just for fun," so now she followed her "shiny man," to regain her lost
property. She had become convinced that he had it. He looked, at last,
exactly like a person who would rob little girls of their last five
dollars! Their own whole monthly allowance and a most liberal one.
"But he shall not keep it! He--shall--not!" cried Dorothy aloud, and
redoubling her speed, if that were possible.
He darted between wagons where the horses' noses of the hinder one
touched the tail-boards of the forward; so did she. He bobbed under
drays; so did she. He seemed bent upon nothing but escape; she upon
nothing but pursuit and capture. She believed that he must have seen her
though she had not caught him turning once around to look her way.
They had cleared the street; they were upon the further sidewalk; a
policeman was screaming a "halt" to her but she paid no attention. In
that medley of sounds one harsh cry more or less was of small account.
What was of account, the only thing that now remained clear in her eager
brain was the fact that the fugitive had--turned a corner! A corner
leading into a street at right angles with this broad one, a street
somewhat narrower, a fraction quieter, and even dirtier. She followed;
she also flashed around that dingy, saloon-infested corner, bounded
forward, breathless and exultant, because surely she could come up to
him here. Then she paused for just one breath, dashed her hand across
her straining eyes, and peered ahead.
The "shiny man" had disappeared as completely as if the earth had opened
and swallowed him up; and there Dorothy stood alone in the most unsavory
of alleys, with a sudden, dreadful realization of the fact that--she was
lost.