ADRIFT IN THE GREAT CITY
"My darling! My darling!" cried Judge Breckenridge, clasping his
daughter close to his breast, then holding her off at arm's length, the
better to scan her beloved face and to observe the changes a few months
of absence had wrought. "My darling Molly! More like the other Molly
than ever! Now my vacation has indeed begun!"
"Papa, Papa! You sweetest, dearest, beautifullest Papa ever lived! How
good it is to see you! And, yes Auntie Lu, you're dear too; but a body's
father--Why, he's her father and nobody like him, nobody!"
In her enthusiastic greeting of and by her relatives Molly forgot
everything and everybody else. She had crossed the gang-plank as swiftly
as the people crowding behind and before her would permit, her feet
restlessly dancing up and down in the limited space; and now that she
was upon the solid wharf to which the steamer was moored she bore them
along with her by an arm linked to each, eager to be free of that throng
and in some quiet spot where she could perch upon her father's knee and
talk, talk, talk!
Had any of the trio thought about it for a moment they would have
observed Miss Greatorex lingering close to the plank and staring at
everyone who crossed it, searching for Dorothy.
"Strange! She certainly was right here a minute ago! I thought she had
gone off the boat ahead of me, but she couldn't have done so, for she's
nowhere in sight;" she murmured to herself.
When all had crossed and still Dorothy did not appear, the anxious
teacher returned to the boat and renewed her search there: asking of all
the employees she met if they had seen her missing charge. But one of
them had noticed the girl at all; that was a workman who had helped to
drag the gang-plank into place upon the wharf and against whom Dorothy
had rudely dashed in her pursuit of the "shiny man."
He remembered her excited manner, her swift apology to himself for the
accident, and her frantic rush across the wharf. He had looked after her
with curiosity and had remarked to a bystander:
"That little passenger is afraid she'll get left! Maybe she doesn't know
we lie alongside this dock till mid-afternoon."
Then he had gone about his own affairs and dismissed her from his mind
till, thus recalled by Miss Greatorex's question, he wished he had
watched her more closely. He was afraid she might have been hurt among
the heavy wagons moving about, and that was the poor comfort which he
expressed to the now thoroughly frightened lady.
Meanwhile the Breckenridge party had crossed the street, under
conveyance of a waiting policeman, and had paused upon the further curb
while Molly explained:
"Miss Greatorex is dreadful slow, Papa dear. But she'll be here in a
minute. She's sure to be and Dolly with her. Oh! she is the very
sweetest, dearest, bravest girl I ever knew! If I had a sister I should
want her to be exactly like Dorothy. I wonder what does keep them! And
I'm so hungry, so terribly hungry and we lost our purses--couldn't be
she'd linger to search for them again when we've already ransacked the
whole boat! Why, Papa, look! Miss Greatorex is on the boat again,
herself. Running, fairly running around the deck and acting as if she,
too, had lost something. How queer that is!"
Both the gentleman and lady now fixed their attention upon the teacher,
until that moment unknown to them. She certainly was conducting herself
in a strange, half-bewildered manner and the Judge realized that there
was something wrong. Bidding his sister and child:
"Stay right here on this corner. Don't leave it. I'll step back to the
steamer and see what's amiss;" and to the hackman he had summoned, he
added: "Keep your rig right on the spot and an eye upon these fares!
I'll be back in a minute."
[Illustration: "ARE YOU A POLICEMAN?"
_Dorothy's Travels._]
But he wasn't. When he did come, after Mrs. Hungerford and Molly had
had ample time to grow anxious themselves, it was with a woe-begone Miss
Greatorex upon his arm and a very disturbed expression on his own face.
"Why, Papa, where's Dolly? Why didn't she come, too?" cried Molly,
darting to meet him.
"That, my dear, is exactly what this lady and I would like to know. I
was in hopes she might have seen you standing here and crossed to join
you. Well, she's been in too great haste, likely, and started by herself
to go--I wonder where! Anyway, the best thing to be done is for you
three to get into this carriage and drive to the Astor House and order
dinner for all of us. It's an old-time hotel where my father and I used
to go when I was a boy myself, and I patronized it for old association's
sake. You, small daughter, had fixed your mind on nothing less than the
Waldorf-Astoria, I expect! Never mind; you'll get as good food in one
place as the other."
"But, Papa, aren't you coming with us?"
"Not just yet. I'll stop behind a bit and set a few policemen or small
boys in search for Miss Dorothy. Tell me something by which we can
recognize her when found. New York is pretty full of little girls, you
know, and I might miss her among so many."
The Judge tried to make his tone a careless one but there was real
anxiety in it as his sister promptly understood; but she also felt it
best to treat the matter lightly, for already poor Miss Isobel was on
the point of collapse. So she answered readily enough:
"Very well, brother, so we'll do. I reckon I know your tastes so that I
can cater for you and--is there any limit to what we may order? I'm a
bit hungry myself and always do crave the most expensive dishes on the
menu. Good-by, for a little while."
The Judge bade the driver: "To the Astor House;" lifted his hat to those
within the carriage, and it moved away.
Then he summoned a policeman and asked that scouts be sent out all
through that neighborhood, to search for a "thirteen-year-old girl, in a
brown linen dress, dark curly hair, brown eyes, and--'Oh! just too
stylish for words!'" which was the description his daughter had given
him. Indeed, he felt that this very "stylishness" might be a clue to the
right person; since denizens of that locality, girls or women, are not
apt to have that characteristic about them.
He was a weary man. He had been up late the night before, and previous
to his journey hither had been extremely busy leaving matters right in
his southern home for a prolonged absence. He had counted upon the hour
or two before sailing in which to procure some additions to his
sportsman's outfit, and sorely begrudged this unexpected demand upon his
time. Yet he could do no less than try to find the runaway, and to make
the search as thorough as if it had been his own child's case.
It was more than an hour later that he appeared in the dining-room of
the hotel where his family awaited him. They had still delayed their own
dinner, though Molly's hunger had almost compelled her to enjoy hers.
Only the thought of "eating with Papa," had restrained her, because she
had little fear that Dorothy would not be promptly found, or that she
had done more than go a few blocks out of the way. She had often been in
that city before, though only in its better parts, and it all seemed
simple enough to her. It had been explained that the upper part was laid
out in squares, with the avenues running north and south, the
cross-streets easily told by their numbers. How then could anybody who
could count be lost?
"No news, Schuyler?" asked Aunt Lucretia.
"Not yet. Not quite yet. But there will be, of course there will be.
I've set a lot of people hunting that extremely 'stylish' young maiden,
so I thought I'd best come down and get my dinner and let you know that
all's being done that can be. Don't worry, Miss Greatorex. A capable
girl like Dorothy isn't easy to lose in a city full of policemen, if
she'll only use her tongue and ask for guidance. Probably she has gone
back to the 'Powell' already, hoping to find us all there. Before I eat
I'll telephone again and inquire, although I did so just a little while
ago, as I came in."
The more he talked the less he convinced his listeners that it would be
that "all right" he had so valiantly asserted. Even Molly's hunger
suddenly deserted her and she pushed away a plate of especially
enticing dessert with a shake of her head and an exclamation:
"Papa's talking--just talking! Like he always does when he takes me to
the dentist's! His voice doesn't ring true, Auntie Lu, and you know it.
You needn't smile and try to look happy, for you can't. Dorothy is lost!
My precious Dolly Doodles is lost--is LOST!"
For a moment nobody answered. Miss Greatorex echoed the exclamation in
her own sinking heart, realizing at last how fully she had depended upon
the Judge's ability to find the girl, until he had once more appeared
without her. He had promptly sent a messenger to telephone again and
awaiting the reply made a feint of taking his soup. Mrs. Hungerford kept
her eyes fixed upon her plate, not daring just then to lift them to Miss
Greatorex's white face; and altogether it was a very anxious party which
sat at table then instead of the merry one which all had anticipated.
When their pretence of a meal was over and they rose, the Judge looked
at his watch. Then he said:
"We have only time left to reach the 'Prince' in comfort. It is a long
way up and across town to the dock on East river. You three must start
for it at once. I'll step into a store near by for a few things I need
and follow you. Of course, Dorothy knew all about her trip, the steamer
she would sail by, and its landing place. Even if she didn't know that
most of the officers would know and direct her.
"I now think that having missed us at the 'Powell' she has gone straight
to the other boat and you will find her there. I'll follow you in time
for sailing and till then, good-by. A hack is ready for you at the
door."
Then he went hastily out, and Mrs. Hungerford said:
"Brother is wise. We certainly shan't find Dolly here, and we may at the
'Prince.' Have you all your parcels, both of you? Then come."
They followed her meekly enough but at the street entrance Miss
Greatorex rebelled. Her anxiety gave a more than ordinary irritation to
her temper and harshness to her voice, and her habitually ungracious
manner became more repellent than ever as she announced:
"That's all very well, Mrs. Hungerford, and Molly. But I shan't go one
step toward Nova Scotia till I've found my little girl. You three are
all right, _you've got yourselves_ and of course other people don't
matter. But Dorothy saved my life and I'll not desert her to nobody
knows what dreadful fate! No, I will not, and you needn't say another
single word!"
As nobody had interrupted her excited speech this last admonition seemed
rather uncalled for, but Molly waxed indignant thereat, though her Aunt
Lucretia merely smiled compassionately. Then as they still stood upon
the sidewalk, hesitating to enter their carriage, Miss Isobel waved her
umbrella wildly toward another hack, and when it had obeyed her summons
sprang into it and was whirled away.
Where was Dorothy all this time? Little she knew of the commotion she
had caused. Indeed, for a long time, her only thought was for herself
and her unfortunate predicament. She had never been so frightened in her
life. Nothing had ever looked so big, so dismal, and so altogether
hopeless as this wretched side street where her fugitive had
disappeared. There was not a policeman in sight. She didn't know which
way to go, but promptly realized that she should not stay just there in
that degraded neighborhood. Even the wider street from which she had
diverged, with its endless lines of wagons and people, was better.
But--she must go somewhere!
She set out forward, resolutely, and as it proved eastward toward that
famous Broadway which threads the city from its north to south, but that
was yet many blocks removed. Indeed, it seemed an endless way that
stretched beyond her; and it was not until she had run for some distance
that her common sense awoke with the thought:
"Why, how silly I am! I must go back to the boat. That's where I'll be
missed and looked for. Of course, Miss Greatorex wouldn't go on and
leave me, and oh! dear! I reckon I've made her wait till she'll be
angry. I'll ask the first nice looking gentleman I see, if no policeman
comes, the way to the 'Mary Powell.' Here comes one now--"
A busy man came speeding toward her, whose coat skirt she tried to
clutch; but he didn't even hear the question she put. He merely waved
her aside, as he would any other street beggar with the passing remark:
"Nothing. Get away!"
The second person to whom she applied was German and shook his head with
a forcible negative. So he, too, moved on and she stopped to think and
recover some portion of that courage which had almost deserted her.
"Of course. I couldn't be really lost, not really truly so, right in the
broad daylight and a city full of people. But I am ashamed to have
stayed so long. Oh! good! There comes a man in uniform--a policeman, a
policeman!"
Quite at rest now she darted forward and caught at the hand of the
uniformed person who stared at her in surprise but not unkindly.
"Well, little maid, what's wanted?"
"O, sir! Are you a policeman? Will you take me to where I belong?"
"Sorry to say 'no' to both your questions, but I'm only a railway
conductor, in a hurry to catch my outgoing train. Wait a minute, child,
and a real police officer will come and will look out for you."
The blue-coated, much brass-buttoned man snatched his hand from her
clinging grasp and strode westward in desperate haste. He had calculated
his time to the last second and even this trifling delay annoyed him.
But he had prophesied aright. A policeman was coming into view,
leisurely sauntering over his beat, and on the lookout for anything
amiss. Dorothy hurried forward, planted herself firmly in this man's
path and demanded again:
"Are you a policeman?"
"Sure an' 'tis that same that I be! Thanks for all mercies! Me first day
alone at the job, an' what can I do for ye, me pretty colleen?"
"Tell me, or take me, back to the 'Mary Powell,' please. I--I've lost my
way."
"Arrah musha! An' if I was after doin' that same I'd be losin' mine! The
'Mary Powell' is it? Tell me where does she be livin' at. I'm not long
in this counthry and but new app'inted to the foruss. Faith it's a
biggish sort of town to be huntin' one lone woman in."
To anybody older or wiser than Dorothy Chester the very fact of his
loquacity would have betrayed his newness to the "foruss." There wasn't
a prouder nor happier man in the whole great city, that day, than Larry
McCarthy, as he proceeded to explain:
"First cousin on me mother's side to Alderman Bryan McCarthy, as has
helped me over from Connemara, this late whiles, and has made me a
free-born Amerikin citizen, glory be."
"That must be very nice. I suppose an alderman is some sort of a very
high-up man, isn't he? But--"
"High is it, says she. Higher 'an I was when I was carryin' me hod up
wan thim 'sky-scrapers' they do build in this forsaken--I mane
blessed--counthry, says he. Sure it's a higher-up Bryan is, the foine
lad."
"Please, please, will you take me to the 'Mary Powell'?"
"How can I since ye've not told me yet wherever she lives?"
"Why she isn't a--she! She's a boat!"
"Hear til the lass! She isn't a she isn't she? Then she must be a he,
and that'd beat a priest to explain;" and at his own joke the
newly-fledged officer indulged in a most unofficial burst of laughter.
So long and so loud was this that Dorothy stamped her foot impatiently
and another uniformed member of "the force," passing by on the other
side of the street, crossed over to investigate.
At whose arrival officer Larry straightened himself like a ramrod,
squared his shoulders, and affected to be intensely angry with the small
person who had delayed him upon his beat. But he could not deceive the
keen eyes of the more experienced policeman and his superior in rank.
With a swift recognition of the newcomer's greater intelligence, Dorothy
put her inquiry to him, breathlessly stating her whole case, including
the loss of her purse and her regret over it.
"'Cause now, you see, sir, I haven't any money to pay for being taken
back. Else I would have called a carriage, like people do sometimes, and
got the carriage man to take me. That is, _if_ there was any carriage,
and any man, and I--I had any money. Oh! dear! That isn't what I wanted
to say, but I'm so tired running and--and--it's dreadful to be lost in
a New York city!"
Her explanation ended in a miserable breakdown of sobs and tears. Now
that help had come--she was sure of it after one glance into this second
officer's honest face--her courage collapsed entirely. The sergeant
allowed her a moment to compose herself and then said, as he took out a
notebook and prepared to write in it:
"Now, once more. Tell me exactly, or listen if I have the facts right.
You are a pupil at the Rhinelander Academy in Newburgh. You are starting
upon a trip for your summer vacation. You are under the care of Miss
Greatorex, a teacher. You ran away from the steamer 'Mary Powell' in
pursuit of a man whom you think carried off your own and a friend's
purse. Very well. I will send you to the boat and if your story is true
you will be restored to your friends and nothing more will come of it.
If it isn't true, you will be sent to a station-house to await
developments. McCarthy, proceed upon your beat."
Larry shrugged his shoulders more snugly into his new uniform, assumed
the bearing of a drum major and duly proceeded. The superior officer put
a whistle to his lips, and like the genii in Arabian Nights, his servant
instantly appeared.
"Call a cab. Take this young person to the 'Mary Powell,' foot of
Desbrosses street. If her guardian is not there, drive to the other
landing at Twenty-third street and inquire if the girl has been sought
for there. If this is a false story, report to me at the station and, of
course, bring the girl with you."
The words "station house" sounded ominous in Dorothy's ears. During her
Baltimore life she had learned all that was necessary about such places
to infect her with fear, having with other children sometimes watched
the "police patrol wagons" make their dreary rounds. She had peered at
the unhappy prisoners sitting within the van and had pitied them
unspeakably, despite the fact that they must have been wicked. A picture
of herself thus seated and despairing flashed before her mind, but she
put it resolutely aside and with great humility stepped into the cab
which her new protector had summoned.
This was one of those then new electric cabs and instantly riveted her
attention. To move through the streets so swiftly without visible means
of locomotion was as delightful as novel; and the skill with which the
driver perched up behind twisted around corners and among crowding
vehicles seemed fairly wonderful.
It was a most charming ride, despite the fact that she was a lost person
seeking her friends, and it came all too soon to an end at the dock she
had named. She recognized the place at once and was out of the cab,
hurrying along the wharf, calling back to her guide:
"Here she is! This is the 'Mary Powell!' See?"
He was promptly at her side again, his duty being not to lose sight of
her until that "report" had been duly made when and where ordered. Also,
the recognition of her by "Fanny" and the other boat hands proved that
thus much of her tale was true. She had come down the river on that
steamer's last trip and people had been back upon it, frantically
seeking news of her.
"You oughtn't to have run away like that, little girl, and scare them
people into forty fits. That nice Judge--somebody, he said his name
was--he hired no end of people to go searching for you and now you've
come and he hasn't. Like enough they've gone to the other landing,
up-town, to seek you. Better drive there, policeman, and see."
"All right. But, stewardess, if anybody comes again to inquire, say that
she'll be taken to the 'Prince' steamship, East river, and be held there
till the boat sails. Afterward at station number --."
There is no need to follow all of Dorothy's seeking of her friends.
Already, as has been told, they had made a fruitless search for her; and
when at length fully convinced that she was telling a "straight case"
the official who had her in charge, failing to find Miss Greatorex at
that "up-town landing"--though a dock-hand said that she had been there
and again hurried away "as if she was a crazy piece"--the cab was turned
toward that east-side dock whence the voyage to Nova Scotia was to be
made.
Here everything was verified. Dorothy's luggage marked with her name
was in the baggage-room, having been sent down the day before in order
to prevent mischance. With it was the luggage of Molly Breckenridge and
Miss Greatorex. Also upon the steamer's sailing list was her name and
the stateroom to which she had been assigned. To this point then must
all the rest of the party come if they were to sail by that vessel.
Obviously, it was the safest place for her to await her friends, and she
was promptly permitted to go aboard and watch for them.
She had expected to see a much larger craft than the "Prince." Why, it
wasn't half as large, it seemed to her, as some of the boats which
passed up and down the Hudson. It had but one deck, high up, so that to
reach it she had to climb a ladder, or gang-plank almost as steep as a
roof. But she climbed it with a feeling of infinite relief and security.
Sitting close to the rail upon one of the many steamer chairs she found
there, herself almost the only passenger who had yet come aboard, she
leaned her weary head against the rail, and, despite the hunger which
tormented her, fell fast asleep. She knew nothing more; heard none of
the busy sounds of loading the luggage, now constantly arriving, and was
peacefully dreaming, when a girlish voice from the dock pierced through
the babel and the dream:
"Why, Papa Breckenridge! There she sits--asleep! _That runaway!_
Dorothy--Dorothy! how came you here? How dared you scare us so?"
She sprang to her feet and looked down, answering with a rapturous cry.
There they were, Molly, Auntie Lu and the Judge! But--and now she rubbed
her eyes the better to see if they deceived her--where was Isobel
Greatorex.
Alas! That was the question the others were all asking:
"Where is Miss Greatorex? Only two minutes to sailing--but where is Miss
Greatorex?"