A NEW FRIEND FOR THE OLD
"Lost! I'm lost! Right here in this great city full of folks. It
seemed so easy to find Mr. Hale and it was so hard. There are so many
streets--which one is right? There are so many people--oh! if they'd
stop going by for just one minute, till I could think."
The passing crowd that had so interested now terrified her. Among all
the changing faces not one she knew, not one that more than glanced her
way, and was gone on, indifferent. The memory of a time in her early
childhood when she had strayed into the canyon and became bewildered
flashed through her mind. Was she to suffer again the misery of that
dreadful day? But the day had ended in a father's rescuing arms, and
now----
"I remember he told me then that if ever I were lost again I was to
keep perfectly still for a time and think over all the things I'd seen
by the way. After awhile I might feel sure enough to go slowly back and
guide myself by them. But I can't think here. It's so noisy and thick
with men and women. And I'm getting so hungry. Ephraim said we would
have the best dinner his friend could give us. If he'd told me that
friend's name or where he lived. Well, I'll mind my father in one
thing; I'll keep still. Then if Ephraim should happen to come this
way he'd find me sooner. But--he won't. Something has happened, or
he'd never let me out of sight. If I didn't know the bigness of a
city he did and would have taken care."
So she dismounted and led Scruff back beside the telegraph post, against
which the weary animal calmly leaned his shoulder and went to sleep.
Jessica threw her arm over the burro's neck and, standing so, scanned
every passing pedestrian and peered into every whirling vehicle.
Something of her first terror left her. She was foolish to think anything
harmful could have happened to "Forty-niner" so quickly after she
had run away from him. She wished she had called and explained to him,
but she had had no time if she would catch up to that gray-coated
gentleman. After all they were still in the same city and all she
needed was patience.
"That's what I have so little of, too. Maybe this is a lesson to me.
Mother says impatient people always find life harder than the quiet
kind. I wonder what she's doing now! and oh! I'm glad she can't see
me. She'd suffer more than I do. It's queer how that man, in a fancy
coat, with so many brass buttons, keeps looking at me. He's walked
by this place on one side the street or the other ever so many times. I
wonder if he owns this post. Maybe it's his and he doesn't like us to
stand here, yet is too polite to say so. Come, Scruff, let's walk a
little further along. Then he can see we don't mean to hurt his post."
Scruff reluctantly roused and moved a pace or two, then went to sleep
again. The shadow of a building that had sheltered them from the hot
sunshine passed gradually and left them exposed to the full glare from
the sky. Both Jessica and the burro were used to heat, however, and did
not greatly suffer from it. But this motionless waiting became almost
intolerable to active Lady Jess, and the sharpness of her hunger changed
into faintness. The sidewalks seemed to be rising up to strike her and
her head felt queer; so she pulled the hot Tam from her curls, leaned
her cheek against Scruff's neck, and, to clear her dizzy vision, closed
her eyes. Then for a long time knew no more.
A young man sat down to smoke his after-dinner cigar before the window
of a clubhouse across the way. Idly observant of the comparatively few
persons passing at that hour, his artist eye was caught by the scarlet
gleam of Jessica's cap, fallen against the curbstone.
"Hello! That child has been in that spot for two hours, I think. She
was there before I went to dinner and must be dead tired. But she and
the burro are picturesque--I'll sketch them."
He whipped out notebook and pencil and by a few skillful lines reproduced
the pair opposite. But as he glanced toward them, now and then, during
this operation, he became convinced that something was amiss with his
subject.
"Poor little thing! If she's waiting for anybody she keeps the baby
too long. I'm going over and speak to her. If she's hungry I'll send
her a sandwich."
At his touch on her shoulder Jessica roused. Her sleep had refreshed her,
though she was still somewhat confused.
"Oh! Ephraim! How long you've been! Why--it isn't Ephraim!"
"No, little girl, I'm not Ephraim, but I'm a friend. I'm afraid
you will be ill standing so long in the hot sun. Are you waiting for
anybody?"
The voice was kind and Jessica was glad to speak to any one. She told
her story at once in a few words. The young man's face grew grave as
he listened, still he spoke encouragingly.
"It's quite easy for strangers in a big place to get separated.
Suppose, since you haven't had your dinner, as I guess, that you go with
me and have some. Wait, I'll just speak to that policeman, yonder,
and ask him to have a lookout for your Ephraim, while we're in the
restaurant. There's a good place halfway down the block, and from its
window you can watch the burro for yourself. I'll tie him, shan't I?"
"He's very tired. I don't think he'll need any tying. He's never
tied at Sobrante."
"Sobrante? Are you from Sobrante? Why, I've heard of that ranch,
myself."
"Have you? That makes it seem as if I knew you."
The stranger smiled and beckoned to the policeman, who proved to be the
brass-buttoned individual that had taken so much apparent interest in
Jessica, but had not spoken to her of his own accord. He came forward
promptly now and the young man related to him what Lady Jess had said.
Then asked:
"What would I better do about it? I thought of taking her to the
restaurant over there and getting her some dinner."
"No. She'd better go to the station-house with me. The matron'll look
after her and I'll have the donkey put in stable. I'll tell the officer
who's coming on this beat now to keep an eye out for a countryman with
a stiff-legged horse; is it, girl?"
"Yes. A bay horse, with a blazed face. The horse's name is Stiffleg
and the master's, Ephraim Marsh."
The officer made the entry in his book, then took hold of Scruff's
bridle and led the way stationward. Jessica looked appealingly into
the young man's face and he smiled, then grasped her hand.
"Don't fear, child, that I'll desert you till I find your old
guardian. There's nothing frightful about a station-house, except to
criminals," he said, kindly.
However, Jessica knew nothing of such institutions and therefore had
no fear of them. With the exception of Antonio's "crossness" she had
met with nothing but love and kindness all her life, and she looked for
nothing else. She was already happy again at finding two persons ready
to talk with her and help her; and her pretty face grew more and more
charming to the artist's view as she skipped along beside him toward
the police headquarters, as this station chanced to be.
"You see, little girl, that when a child is lost in a city the first
thing the friends think of is--the station-house. All stray persons are
taken and messages are sent to it from every part of the town all the
time. That Ephraim will remember that, if he's ever been here before,
and he'll be finding you long before night. Till then you'll be safe
and cared for."
Jessica did feel a moment's hesitation when she had to part with Scruff,
but soon laughed at her own dismay.
"I felt as I must take him inside this building with me, for fear he'd
be lonesome, too. But, of course, I know better. Why, what a nice, big
place this is!"
By far the largest building she had ever entered, but her new
acquaintances smiled at her delight over it.
"Not all who come here think it so fine," said the young man. "Eh,
officer?"
"No, no. No, indeed, sir. Now, this way, please. I'll just enter the
case at the desk and call up the matron. She'll tend to the girl all
right. You needn't bother any more."
"Oh! are you going?" asked Jessica, her face drooping.
"Not yet. No law against my having a meal with this young lady, is
there, officer?"
"If it isn't at the public charge, sir," answered the policeman.
"Oh! I've money to pay for my own dinner. See?" cried Lady Jess,
producing the fat wallet Ephraim had given her and which she pulled from
within her blouse, where she had worn it, suspended by a string.
"Whew! child! All that? Put it up, quick. Put it up, I say."
Instinctively she obeyed and hid the purse again, but her face expressed
her surprise, and the young man answered its unspoken question.
"Very few little girls of your age ever have so much money as that about
them. None ever should have. It's too great a temptation to evil-minded
persons, and a good many of that sort come here. Ah! the matron! I'll
ask her to show us into some less public place and I'll order a dinner
from that restaurant nearby."
In response to his request the motherly woman in charge of the women's
quarters offered him her own little sitting-room; "if they'll say yes
to it in the office," she added, as a condition.
This was soon arranged, the dinner followed and a very hungry Jessica sat
down to enjoy it. Her companion also pretended to eat, but encouraged her
to talk and found himself interested in her every moment. He, also,
promptly told her who he was; a reporter and occasional artist, on
one of the leading daily papers. A man always on the lookout for
"material," and as such he meant to use the sketch, he had made. He
showed her the sketch, and explained that he would put an item in
the next issue of his paper which might meet the eye of the missing
sharpshooter and notify that person where to find her, if he had not
done so before.
Jessica did not know that it was an unwise thing to make a confidant of
a stranger, but in this instance she was safe enough; and it pleased her
to tell, as him to listen to, the whole history of Sobrante; its fortunes
and misfortunes, and the object of her present visit to this far-off town.
His business instinct was aroused. He realized that here might be
"material," indeed. He was young and sincere enough to be enthusiastic.
Times were a little dull. There was quite a lull in murders and
robberies; this story suggested either a robbery or swindle of some
sort, and on a big scale. His paper would appreciate his getting a
"scoop" on its contemporaries, and, in a word, he resolved to make
Jessica Trent's cause his own, for the time being.
"Look here, child, don't you worry. You stay right quiet in this
place with Matron Wood. I'll get out and hustle. Here's my card, Ninian
Sharp, of _The Lancet_. That's a paper has cut a good many knots and
shall cut yours. I've heard of Cassius Trent. Everybody has, in
California. I'll find that Lawyer Hale. I'll find old 'Forty-niner'
and I'll be back in this room before bedtime. Now, go play with the
rest of the lost children--you're by no means the only one in Los
Angeles to-day. Or take a nap would be wiser. Look out for her, Matron
Wood. Any good turn done this little maid is done _The Lancet_. Good-by,
for a time."
Smiling, alert, he departed and Jessica felt as if he had taken all her
anxieties with him. She followed the matron into the big room where the
other estrays, whom Mr. Sharp had told her she would find, waiting to
be claimed by their friends, but none was as large as she. Some were so
little she wondered how they ever could have wandered anywhere away from
home; but she loved all children and these reminded her of Ned and Luis.
Promptly she had them all about her, and for the rest of that day, at
least, Matron Wood's cares were lightened. Yet one after another, some
person called to claim this or that wanderer, with cries of rapture
or harsh words of reproof, as the case might be. Jessica kissed each
little one good-by, but with each departure felt herself growing more
homesick and depressed. By sunset she was the only child left in the
matron's care, and her loneliness so overcame her that she had trouble
to keep back her tears.
"But I'll not cry. I will not be so babyish. Besides crying wouldn't
help bad matters and I've come away from Sobrante on a big mission.
Even that jolly Mr. Sharp said, 'That's a considerable of a job,' when
I told him. He was funny. Always laughing and so quick, I wish he'd
come soon. It seems to take as long for him to find Ephraim as it would
me. I should think anybody could have walked the whole city over by this
time," she thought, in her ignorance of distances. Then she asked:
"When do you think they'll come, Matron Wood?"
The good woman waked from a "cat-nap" and was tired enough to be
impatient.
"Oh! don't bother. If they're not here by nine o'clock you'll have
to go to bed. You should be thankful that there is such a place as this
for just such folks as you. Like as not he'll never come. You can't
tell anything about them newspaper men. But you listen to that bell, will
you? I don't see what makes me so sleepy. If it rings, wake me up."
The minutes sped on. In the now silent room the portly matron slumbered
peacefully and Jessica tried, though vainly, to keep a faithful watch.
She did not know that her weary companion was breaking rules and laying
herself open to disgrace; but she was herself very tired, so, presently,
her head dropped on the table and she was also asleep.
Ninian Sharp found the pair thus, and jested with the matron when he
waked her in a way that sounded very much like earnest. "He would have
her removed," and so on; thereby frightening Jessica, who had been
roused by their voices, and looked from one to the other in keen distress.
"I did--I did try to listen for the bell, but it was so still and I
couldn't help it. I'm sorry----"
"Pooh! child. No more could I. It'll be all right if this gentleman
knows enough to hold his tongue," said the woman, anxiously.
"I shouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't--where a lady is concerned.
And I judge from appearances it's about time Miss Jessica went to bed."
The girl's heart sank. This meant disappointment. She understood that
without further words, and turned away her face to hide the tears which
would come now, in spite of all her will.
Then the reporter's hand was on her curls.
"Keep up your courage, child. I've been hustling, as I said I would.
I've found out a lot. I've had boys searching the hotel records all
over town and I know in which one your Mr. Hale is staying. He'll
keep--till we need him."
"But Ephraim? Have you heard nothing of him?"
"I heard a funny yarn about a horse with a stiff leg; that the moment
the sound of a drum was in his ears cooly tossed his aged rider into
the gutter and marched off with the brass band, head up, eyes flashing,
tail switching, a soldier with the best of them. See--it's here in this
evening's _Gossip._"
He held the sheet toward her and Jessica read the humorous account of
Stiffleg's desertion. But there was no account of what had further
befallen Ephraim, and it seemed but a poor excuse for his non-appearance.
She tossed the paper aside, impatiently:
"But he had his own two good feet left. He could have followed me on
them? I--I--he was always so faithful before."
Mr. Sharp's face sobered.
"He is faithful still, but his feet will serve him poorly for the next
few weeks. Maybe months. Old bones are slow to heal, and the surgeon
says it is a compound fracture. When he fell into the gutter, as my
co-laborer so gayly puts it, he 'broke himself all to smash.' He's in
hospital. As a great favor from the authorities in charge I've seen him.
I've told him about you. I've promised to befriend you and I'll
take you to see him in the morning. I'm sorry that your first night
in our angelic city must be passed in a station-house, but I reckon
it's the safest till I can think of some fitter shelter. Good-night.
My mother used to say that the Lord never shut one door but He opened
another. Ephraim laid up--here am I. Count on me. Good-night."