"A MOVING SCENE"
Nan did not refuse to go shopping every time her school friends went.
The big Chicago stores appealed to her just as much as to any country
girl who ever fell under their charm. In the Windy City the
department stores--that mammoth of modern commerce--is developed to
the highest degree.
It was like wandering through an Alladin's Palace for Nan to walk about
Wilson-Meadows, Galsig-Wheelwrights, or any of the other big stores. And
it was because she was so much interested in what she saw, that she
wandered one day away from her friends and found herself in the jewelry
department, where the French novelties loaded the trays and were
displayed in the cases.
Nan forgot her friends--and the flight of time. It was not alone the
pretty things displayed that interested her, but the wonderfully dressed
women who paraded through the aisles of the store.
She found herself beside a beautifully dressed woman, in a loose,
full-flowing fur garment, with fur hat to match, who, it seemed to Nan,
was quite the most fashionable person she had ever beheld. The woman had
a touch of rouge upon her otherwise pale cheeks; her eyebrows were
suspiciously penciled; her lips were slightly ruddy. Nevertheless, she
was very demure and very much the lady in appearance.
She was idly turning over lavalliéres on a tray--holding them up for
inspection, and letting the pretty chains run through her fingers to drop
into the tray again, like sparkling water.
"I don't think I care for any of these, don't you know?" she drawled, but
very pleasantly. "I'm sorry--really."
She turned away from the counter. Nan was close by and had been secretly
watching the pretty woman more than she had the lavalliéres. The
clerk--rather an attractive girl with curly, black hair and very pink
cheeks; quite an excitable young thing--suddenly leaned over the counter
and whispered:
"Oh, madam! Pray! The special lavalliére I showed you is not here."
"What do you say, child?" demanded the woman, haughtily. "Do you miss
anything?"
"The special lavalliére I showed you, madam," gasped the girl. "Forgive
me--_do_! But I am responsible for all I take out of the case!"
"It is a mistake," said the woman, coldly. "I haven't the thing--surely."
"It is not here!" wailed the clerk, still in a low key, but fingering
madly among the chains upon the tray. "Oh, ma'am! it will cost me
twenty dollars!"
The woman turned slowly and her eyes--placid blue before--now shone with
an angry light. Her gaze sought the counter--then the excited
clerk--lastly, Nan!
"I haven't your lavalliére," she said, and although her voice was stern,
it was low. "I haven't your lavalliére. How about this girl, here?" and
she indicated Nan, with an air of superb indifference.
"Oh, madam!" gasped the clerk.
"Don't! don't!" begged Nan. "Oh! you _know_ I haven't it!"
At that moment Nan felt a severe grasp upon her arm. She could not have
run had she so desired. Her heart grew cold; her face flushed to fiery
red. All neighboring eyes were turned on her.
In department stores like this the management finds it very unwise to
make any disturbance over a case of loss or robbery. The store detective
held on to Nan's arm; but he waited for developments.
"What is this all about, Miss Merwin?" he demanded of the clerk.
"I am charged with stealing a twenty-dollar lavalliére!" exclaimed
the customer.
"Oh, impossible, madam!" said the detective, evidently recognizing her.
"Then this girl, who was nearest, may have it," said madam, sharply.
Nan was very much frightened; yet her sense of honesty came to her
rescue. She cried:
"Why should I be accused? I am innocent--I assure you, I would not do
such a thing. Why! I have more than twenty dollars in my purse right now.
I will show you. Why should I steal what I can buy?"
To Nan Sherwood this question seemed unanswerable. But the store
detective scarcely noticed. He looked at the lovely woman and asked:
"Madam is _sure_ this girl took the lavalliére?"
"Oh, mercy, no! I would not accuse anybody of such a thing," responded
the woman, in her low voice.
"But we know who you are, madam, we do not know this girl," said the
detective, doubtfully. "You are a customer whom the store is glad to
serve. This girl is quite unknown to us. I have no doubt but she is
guilty--as you say."
He shook the troubled Nan by the arm. The girl was trying to control
herself--to keep from breaking down and crying. Somehow, she felt that
_that_ would not help her in the least.
Without warning, a low voice spoke at Nan's side: "I know this girl. Of
what is she accused?"
Only a few beside the detective and Nan heard the words.
"Of stealing something from the counter," said the man.
"I should not be surprised." The girl who had spoken, still whispered to
the detective. "I know who she is. Her father is already in trouble on a
similar charge. This girl tried to take a hand-bag of mine once. I never
_did_ think she was any better than she should be."
It was Linda Riggs. She stood with flushed face, looking at Nan, and
although but few customers heard what she said, the latter felt as though
she should sink through the floor.
"Ah-ha!" exclaimed the pompous detective, holding Nan's arm with a
tighter grip. "You'll come with me to the superintendent's office to be
searched."
Nothing but the vindictive expression of Linda's face kept Nan Sherwood
from bursting into tears. She was both hurt and frightened by this
situation. And to have her father's name mentioned in such an
affair--perhaps printed in the papers! This thought terrified her as much
as the possibility that she, herself, might be put in jail.
Rather unsophisticated about police proceedings was Nan, and she saw jail
yawning for her just beyond the superintendent's office, whether the lost
lavalliére was found in her possession or not.
But instantly, before the detective could remove the trembling girl from
the spot, or many curious people gather to stare and comment upon the
incident, the wonderfully dressed woman said to the detective in her
careless drawl:
"Wait! Quite dramatic, I must say. So this other girl steps in and
accuses our young heroine--without being asked even? I would doubt such
testimony seriously, were I _you_, sir."
"But, madam!" exclaimed the man.
"_What_ a situation--for the film!" pursued the woman, raising her
lorgnette to look first at Nan and then at Linda Riggs. The latter was
flushing and paling by turns--fearful at what she had done to her
schoolmate, yet glad she had done it, too!
As the customer wheeled slowly in her stately way to view the railroad
magnate's daughter, the clerk uttered a stifled cry, and on the heels of
it the detective dropped Nan's arm to hop around the woman in great
excitement.
"Wait, madam! wait, madam! wait!" he reiterated. "It is here--it is
here!"
"What is the matter with you, pray?" asked the woman, curiously. "Have
you taken leave of your senses? Why don't you stand still?"
"The lavalliére!" gasped the man and, reaching suddenly, he plucked the
dangling chain from an entangling frog on her fur garment. "Here it is,
madam!" he cried, with immense satisfaction.
"Now, fancy!" drawled the woman.
Linda slipped out of sight behind some other people. Nan felt faint--just
as though she would drop. The clerk and the detective were lavish in
their apologies to Nan. As for the woman whose garment had been the cause
of all the trouble, she merely laughed.
"Fancy!" she said, in her low, pleasant drawl. "Just fancy! had I not
chanced to be known to you, and a customer of the store, I might have
been marched up to the superintendent's office myself. It really _is_ a
wonderfully good situation for a film--a real moving picture scene made
to order."