DOROTHY HOPES AGAIN
Dorothy tried vainly to hold in check the wild hope that leaped within
her.
“What news?” she repeated as steadily as she could. Then she turned
pleadingly to the strange man who stood behind the news stand. “Oh, if
you have anything to tell me about my brother, please, please, do!” she
cried.
The man looked puzzled till the young Italian explained in his own
tongue. Then his face brightened.
“’Bout the boy you want to know, eh?” he asked in broken English. “I
tell you all I know—but it is not very much.”
“Yes?” pleaded Dorothy in an agony of impatience. She had yet to learn
that the Italian could not be hurried in his broken speech and that
interruption only impeded his naturally slow progress.
“He seem strange to me, dat boy,” he continued, squinting his eyes in a
dreamy fashion. “He did not act like a boy his age should act——”
“What was he like—this boy?” interrupted Dorothy again.
Her informant regarded her in pained surprise and, after some difficulty
and more interpretation by his young countryman, he made out the meaning
of her question.
Then, in his maddeningly deliberate way, he described the lad who had
caught his interest—described him down to the very suit of clothes he
had been wearing. Dorothy’s excitement and impatience increased almost
past bearing as she realized that this lad could have been none other
than her beloved runaway brother.
“Don’t hurry him, Doro,” whispered Tavia in her ear, as excited as
Dorothy herself. “Can’t you see it only confuses him? Let him tell it
his own way.”
Dorothy nodded and leaned eagerly across the counter toward her
informant.
“Did he—did you—speak to this boy?”
The face of the man lit up and he nodded eagerly.
“I feel sorry for him,” he explained. “He look so scared and—lonesome.”
A little sob broke from Dorothy but she immediately checked it.
“Oh, go on, please go on!” she begged. “What did you say to him?”
“I ask him if he is all alone,” the Italian responded, more readily than
he had yet done. “He say, yes, all alone an’ he want to go to Desert
City.”
The two girls started and stared at each other.
“What did I tell you?” cried Dorothy radiantly, then immediately turned
back to the man. “What did he do then? Please tell me quickly,” she
begged.
“I tol’ him nearest station to Desert City, Dugonne,” he paused and
regarded the girls beamingly as though proud of his knowledge, and in
spite of Tavia’s warning pressure on her arm Dorothy could not stand the
delay.
“Of course we know that,” she said. “Please go on!”
“He say he no have money to buy ticket——”
Tavia gave a little exclamation of pity and this time it was Dorothy who
held up her hand for silence.
“I say I lend him ten cents——”
“Ten cents!” repeated Tavia hysterically. “But ten cents wouldn’t take
him ten miles——”
“But he have all the rest himself,” explained the Italian, with the air
of one who has told the answer to a clever riddle. “All he need more
than he got, ten cents. I give him.”
“It was more than kind of you,” cried Dorothy gratefully. “I can give
you the ten cents, but I can never repay your kindness.”
With the words she got out her purse and from it took some money which
she extended toward Joe’s benefactor. He seemed reluctant at first to
take it, but, upon Dorothy’s insistence, overcame his scruples.
They had turned away after repeated expressions of thanks when suddenly
Dorothy broke away from Tavia and ran back again.
“There is just one more thing I should like to ask you,” she said
breathlessly. “Do you know whether my brother actually bought a ticket
to Dugonne as he intended to?”
The Italian shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in that
exaggerated gesture of regret.
“I cannot tell, Miss. He went off in the crowd. I never see him again.”
So Dorothy had to be content with the information she had. As a matter
of fact, she was more than satisfied. She was jubilant.
Not only had her suspicions concerning Joe’s intention proved correct,
but now she had some definite clue to work on. No more suspense, no more
delay. They would take the very next train to Dugonne.
Dorothy’s heart bounded with relief—and another feeling. For at Desert
City she would see Garry again. And it would be good to see Garry!
“Well, you have gone and done it this time,” Tavia greeted her
jubilantly. “I am here to tell the world you are some sleuth, Dorothy
Dale. You certainly have brought home the bacon.”
“Tavia, such slang!” cried Dorothy, but she almost sang the words. “I
wish you could sing my praises in more ladylike terms.”
“You should worry as long as they get sung!” retorted the light-hearted
Tavia. “I suppose Dugonne is our next stop,” she added, looking at
Dorothy with dancing eyes.
“The Blenheim,” corrected Dorothy, with a shake of her head. “We must at
least take time to get our grips and pay the hotel bill.”
“Thus is adventure always spoiled by such sordid things,” sighed Tavia.
“But if we must we must.”
Upon reaching the hotel they checked out immediately and, by consulting
a time-table, found that they could get a train for Dugonne in half an
hour.
“Here’s luck,” said Tavia. “No painful waiting around while you wonder
what to do.”
“We do seem to be running in luck to-day,” replied Dorothy. “I have an
absurd desire to knock wood every few minutes for fear it will desert
us,” she admitted.
“The wood?” giggled Tavia.
“The luck, you silly,” retorted Dorothy, adding with a significant
glance at Tavia’s head under the saucy small hat: “And I wouldn’t have
to look very far for the wood at that!”
“You can be cruel when you wish, Doro. Though no one would guess it to
look at you.”
The train started on time and they found to their further joy that it
was possible even at this last moment to engage berths in the Pullman.
They found themselves comfortably settled, their baggage stowed away,
and the train on its way in a miraculously short time.
“Thank goodness we managed to avoid saying a fond farewell to your
friend Stanley Blake and his companion.”
“My friend, indeed!” Dorothy retorted indignantly. “I’d like to know how
you get that way, Tavia Travers!”
“Such terrible slang,” murmured Tavia incorrigibly.
“Who was it, I would like to know, who encouraged those two, anyway—I
mean at first?”
“Well, you ought to be grateful to me,” returned Tavia, opening her big
eyes. “If I hadn’t encouraged them, as you call it, we might never have
found out their deep dark secret. Then where would your precious Garry
be, I’d like to know?”
Dorothy threw up her hands and gave in.
“No use. You are absolutely hopeless,” she cried, and Tavia grinned
wickedly.
“Have some candy?” she asked, extending the box she had been thoughtful
enough to buy at the station, hoping thus to change the subject. And she
was successful, for who can find fault with a person when benefiting by
her generosity?
“I feel as though I should have sent a telegram to Garry, warning him of
Joe’s descent upon him,” Dorothy said, after awhile. “It would be rather
a shock if Joe walked in on him unannounced.”
“But then if Joe doesn’t appear per schedule Garry would be worried and
so would you,” Tavia pointed out. “No, Doro dear, I think you have done
wisely to let well enough alone. It seems to me we have done all we can
do for the present.”
Almost before they knew it came the second call for lunch, and the girls
rose to go to the dining car.
They had to pass through several cars to reach the diner, and at the
next to the last Tavia stopped short, almost upsetting Dorothy, who
followed close behind her.
“Dorothy!” she said in a queer voice. “Do you see what I see?”