IS THE GIRL HONEST?
In a small oyster-house near the Park they found something to eat, and
Dick also found that he had saved the life of a remarkably pretty girl.
At any other time Dick Treadwell would have scorned to eat dinner--and
such a dinner--at such a place. This night he not only ate, but enjoyed
it. He never noticed the uninviting appearance of the big, fat German
waiter who had, when they first came in, leaned with both hands on the
table and said briefly, and with a rising accent, “Beer?”
He slapped his dirty towel over the sticky circular spots on the table
as Richard ordered dinner from a card that looked as if it had never
served any other purpose than that of fly-paper.
The waiter went out, after receiving the order, carefully closing the
door after him. The room was evidently meant for small parties, for the
only thing in it was the table and four chairs.
“Don’t you think the room is too warm?” Dick asked, and hardly waiting
for his guest’s reply, he got up and opened wide the door.
The waiter spread a cotton napkin over the table before Dick and Dido
Morgan, and set some pickles and crackers, and pepper and salt, and
two little bits of butter, the size and shape of a half dollar, on the
table; then he brought the clams.
This done he went out again, very carefully closing the door after
him. Richard called to him, but he did not answer, so Dick got up and
opened the door himself. Dido Morgan looked at him with an innocent,
questioning smile. She had no idea that Dick could possibly have any
other reason for opening the door, than that it made the room cooler.
When the waiter came in the next time he closed the door. Richard’s
face flushed angrily as he said sternly:
“I wish that door open. You will please leave it so.”
The waiter gave an impudent, almost familiar grin, but the door was
open during the rest of the dinner.
As Dido Morgan sat opposite Dick eating daintily but appreciatively,
the color came into her dark, creamy cheeks, and her brown eyes
sparkled like the reflection of the sun in a still, dark pool. Her
loose, damp hair, hanging in little rings about her broad brow and
white throat, was very appealing to the artistic sense.
And her look--it was so frank, so sincere, so trusting, and her eyes
had such a way of looking startled, that Dick felt a warmer thrill of
interest invade his soul than he ever thought possible for any other
girl than Penelope.
Before dinner was finished Richard had called her “Miss Dido,” and
“Dido,” and she had not even thought of resenting it.
There are a great many false ideas that are forgotten in such moments
as these.
The one had seen the other face death, and a human feeling had for the
time swept all false pretenses and hollow etiquette away.
They drove down to Mulberry Street in a coupé, and if such a thing was
unusual to the young girl whom Richard rescued, it was well hidden
under a manner of ease that suggested familiarity.
“There is where Maggie Williams lived,” she said, as they turned down
Mulberry Street. Richard leaned forward, but in the semi-light got
little idea of the appearance of the place.
“She may have gone from there by this time,” Dido continued, showing
a slight hesitation that threatened to shake Dick’s not over-strong
confidence in her. “She lived there when I went away, but so many
things happen in such short time among the poor.”
“Don’t stop the driver,” she said, quickly, as Dick pounded on the
glass with the head of his walking-stick. “Drive on to the corner. It
is such an unusual sight to see a carriage stop before these houses,
that it would likely attract a crowd, and you don’t want to do that.”
“Why?” asked Dick, curiously. When he could not see her face he liked
her less.
“Well, you look so unlike the people who live in this neighborhood, and
if you attract notice, you might find it a very uncomfortable place for
an elegant young man to be in at almost midnight,” Dido Morgan said,
with a light laugh; then, taking matters into her own hands, she opened
the door of the coupé, and called the driver to stop.
Richard had no sooner dismissed the driver than he regretted it. He
again felt the old mistrust of the strange girl, and recollections of
tales he had read of female trappers and the original snares they lay
for their victims returned forcibly to his mind.
He felt he was a fool to come here at night, but he was ashamed to
go back now. The night was warm and the heat had driven many of the
people out of the tenements in search of a breath of air, and the dark
groups of silent men and women who filled the door-steps and basement
entrances and curbstones, and the ill-favored people who passed them
offered Dick little hope for succor, if indeed he was the victim of a
plot.
There were no policemen to be seen anywhere, although Dick knew the
police headquarters were not far distant.
Quietly he walked beside the girl, who, too, had grown silent. He
scorned to confess his fears, and he felt a determination to meet what
there might be waiting for him, even if it be death, before he would
weaken and retreat.
The girl entered the doorway of a dark, dilapidated house, the only
doorway which had no lounger, a fact in itself suspicious to Dick. He,
with many misgivings and a decided palpitation of the heart, stumbled
on the step as he started to follow.
Had he done right and was he safe in trusting and following this clever
girl?
Before he had time to decide she caught his hand and led him into the
dark hall.
A little weak thought, that doubtless holding his hand was part of the
plan to give him less chance for self-defense, flashed through his
mind.
Gropingly he put forth his other hand, and a thrill of horror shot
through him like an electric shock as it came in contact with a man’s
coat and a warm, yielding body.