rattle ok by harry warner, jr. illustrated by finlay [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction december 1956. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] what better way to use a time machine than to handle department store complaints? but pleasing a customer should have its limits! the christmas party at the boston branch of hartshorne-logan was threatening to become more legendary than usual this christmas. the farm machinery manager had already collapsed. when he slid under the table containing the drinks, miss pringle, who sold millinery, had screamed: "he'll drown!" one out of every three dirty stories started by party attendees had remained unfinished, because each had reminded someone else of another story. the recently developed liquors which affected the bloodstream three times faster had driven away twinges of conscience about untrimmed trees and midnight church services. the star salesman for mankies and the gentleman who was in charge of the janitors were putting on a display of burmese foot-wrestling in one corner of the general office. the janitor foreman weighed fifty pounds less than the burma gentleman, who was the salesman's customary opponent. so the climax of one tactic did not simply overturn the foreman. he glided through the air, crashing with a very loud thump against the wall. he wasn't hurt. but the impact knocked the hallowed portrait of h. h. hartshorne, co-founder, from its nail. it tinkled imposingly as its glass splintered against the floor. * * * * * the noise caused a temporary lull in the gaiety. several employes even felt a passing suspicion that things might be getting out of hand. "it's all in the spirit of good, clean fun!" cried mr. hawkins, the assistant general manager. since he was the highest executive present, worries vanished. everyone felt fine. there was a scurry to shove the broken glass out of sight and to turn more attention to another type of glasses. mr. hawkins himself, acting by reflex, attempted to return the portrait to its place until new glass could be obtained. but the fall had sprung the frame at one corner and it wouldn't hang straight. "we'd better put old h. h. away for safekeeping until after the holiday," he told a small, blonde salesclerk who was beneath his attention on any working day. with the proper mixture of respect and bonhommie, he lifted the heavy picture out of its frame. a yellowed envelope slipped to the floor as the picture came free. hawkins rolled the picture like a scroll and put it into a desk drawer, for later attention. then he looked around for a drink that would make him feel even better. a sorting clerk in the mail order department wasn't used to liquor. she picked up the envelope and looked around vaguely for the mail-opening machine. "hell, milly, you aren't working!" someone shouted at her. "have another!" milly snapped out of it. she giggled, suppressed a ladylike belch and returned to reality. looking at the envelope, she said: "oh, i see. they must have stuck it in to tighten the frame. gee, it's old." mr. hawkins had refreshed himself. he decided that he liked milly's voice. to hear more of it, he said to her: "i'll bet that's been in there ever since the picture was framed. there's a company legend that that picture was put up the day this branch opened, eighty years ago." "i didn't know the company ever used buff envelopes like this." milly turned it over in her hands. the ancient glue crackled as she did so. the flap popped open and an old-fashioned order blank fell out. mr. hawkins' eyes widened. he bent, reached painfully over his potbelly and picked up the order form. "this thing has never been processed!" raising his voice, he shouted jovially, "hey, people! you're all fired! here's an order that hartshorne-logan never filled! we can't have such carelessness. this poor woman has waited eighty years for her merchandise!" * * * * * milly was reading aloud the scrawled words on the order form: "best electric doorbell. junior detective kit. disposable sacks for vacuum cleaner. dress for three-year-old girl." she turned to the assistant general manager, struck with an idea for the first time in her young life. "let's fill this order right now!" "the poor woman must be dead by now," he objected, secretly angry that he hadn't thought of such a fine party stunt himself. then he brightened. "unless--" he said it loud enough for the employes to scent a great proposal and the room grew quiet--"unless we broke the rules just once and used the time warp on a big mission!" there was a silence. finally, from an anonymous voice in one corner: "would the warp work over eighty years? we were always told that it must be used only for complaints within three days." "then let's find out!" mr. hawkins downed the rest of his drink and pulled a batch of keys from his pocket. "someone scoot down to the warehouse. tell the watchman that it's on my authority. hunt up the stuff that's on the order. get the best of everything. ignore the catalogue numbers--they've changed a hundred times in all these years." milly was still deciphering the form. now she let out a little squeal of excitement. "look, mr. hawkins! the name on this order--it's my great-grandmother! isn't that wonderful? i was just a little girl when she died. i can barely remember her as a real old woman. but i remember that my grandmother never bought anything from hartshorne-logan because of some trouble her mother had once with the firm. my mother didn't want me to come to work here because of that." mr. hawkins put his arm around milly in a way that he intended to look fatherly. it didn't. "well, now. since it's your relative, let's thrill the old girl. we wouldn't have vacuum sacks any more. so we'll substitute a manky!" * * * * * ann hartley was returning from mailing the letter when she found the large parcel on her doorstep. she put her hands on her hips and stared pugnaciously at the bundle. "the minute i write a letter to complain about you, you turn up!" she told the parcel. she nudged her toe peevishly against the brown paper wrappings that were tied with a half-transparent twine she had never seen before. the label was addressed in a wandering scrawl, a sharp contrast to the impersonal typing on the customary hartshorne-logan bundles. but the familiar rattle ok sticker was pasted onto the box, indicating to the delivery man that the contents would make a rattling sound and therefore hadn't been broken in shipment. ann sighed and picked up her bundle. with a last look at the lovely spring afternoon and the quiet suburban landscape, she went into the house. two-year-old sally heard the box rattling. she waddled up on chubby legs and grabbed her mother's skirt. "want!" she said decisively. "your dress ought to be here," ann said. she found scissors in her sewing box, tossed a cushion onto the floor, sat on it, and began to open the parcel. "now i'll have to write another letter to explain that they should throw away my letter of complaint," she told her daughter. "and by the time they get my second letter, they'll have answered my first letter. then they'll write again." out of consideration for sally, she omitted the expletives that she wanted to add. the translucent cord was too tough for the scissors. ann was about to hunt for a razor blade when sally clutched at an intersection of the cord and yanked. the twine sprang away from the carton as if it were alive. the paper wrappings flapped open. "there!" sally said. ann repressed an irrational urge to slap her daughter. instead, she tossed the wrappings aside and removed the lid from the carton. a slightly crushed thin cardboard box lay on top. ann pulled out the dress and shook it into a freely hanging position. then she groaned. it was green and she had ordered blue. it didn't remotely resemble the dress she had admired from the hartshorne-logan catalogue illustration. moreover, the shoulders were lumpier than any small girl's dress should be. but sally was delighted. "mine!" she shrilled, grabbing for the dress. "it's probably the wrong size, too," ann said, pulling off sally's dress to try it on. "let's find as many things to complain about as we can." * * * * * the dress fitted precisely, except for the absurd shoulder bumps. sally was radiant for a moment. then her small face sobered and she started to look vacantly at the distant wall. "we'll have to send it back," ann said, "and get the one we ordered." she tried to take it off, but the child squawked violently. ann grabbed her daughter's arms, held them above her head and pulled at the dress. it seemed to be stuck somewhere. when ann released the child's arms to loosen the dress, sally squirmed away. she took one step forward, then began to float three inches above the ground. she landed just before she collided with the far wall. sally looked scared until she saw her mother's face. then she squealed in delight. ann's legs were rubber. she was shaking her head and wobbling uncertainly toward her daughter when the door opened behind her. "it's me," her husband said. "slow day at the office, so i came home early." "les! i'm going crazy or something. sally just--" sally crouched to jump at her father. before she could leap, he grabbed her up bodily and hugged her. then he saw the box. "your order's here? good. what's this thing?" he was looking at a small box he had pulled from the carton. its lid contained a single word: manky. the box rattled when he shook it. les pulled off the lid and found inside a circular, shiny metal object. a triangular trio of jacks stuck out from one end. "is this the doorbell? i've never seen a plug like this. and there's no wire." "i don't know," ann said. "les, listen. a minute ago, sally--" he peered into the box for an instruction sheet, uselessly. "they must have made a mistake. it looks like some kind of farm equipment." he tossed the manky onto the hassock and delved into the carton again. sally was still in his arms. "that's the doorbell, i think," he said, looking at the next object. it had a lovely, tubular shape, a half-dozen connecting rods and a plug for a wall socket. "that's funny," ann mused, her mind distracted from sally for a moment. "it looks terribly expensive. maybe they sent door chimes instead of the doorbell." the bottom of the carton contained the detective outfit that they had ordered for their son. ann glanced at its glaringly lithographed cover and said: "les, about sally. put her down a minute and watch what she does." * * * * * les stared at his wife and put the child onto the rug. sally began to walk, then rose and again floated, this time toward the hassock on which the manky lay. his jaw dropped. "my god! ann, what--" ann was staring, too, but not at her daughter. "les! the hassock! it used to be brown!" the hassock was a livid shade of green. a neon, demanding, screaming green that clashed horribly with the soft browns and reds in which ann had furnished the room. "that round thing must be leaking," les said. "but did you see sally when she--" ann's frazzled nerves carried a frantic order to her muscles. she jumped up, strode to the hassock and picked up the manky with two fingers. she tossed it to les. immediately, she regretted her action. "drop it!" she yelled. "maybe it'll turn you green, too!" les kicked the hassock into the hall closet, tossed the manky in after it and shut the door firmly. as the door closed, he saw the entire interior of the dark closet brighten into a wet-lettuce green. when he turned back to ann, she was staring at her left hand. the wedding band that les had put there a dozen years ago was a brilliant green, shedding its soft glow over the finger up to the first knuckle. ann felt the scream building up inside her. she opened her mouth to let it out, then put her hand in front of her mouth to keep it in, finally jerked the hand away to prevent the glowing ring from turning her front teeth green. she collapsed into les's arms, babbling incomprehensibly. he said: "it's all right. there must be balloons or something in the shoulders of that dress. i'll tie a paperweight to sally's dress and that'll hold her down until we undress her. don't worry. and that green dye or whatever it is will wash off." ann immediately felt better. she put her hands behind her back, pulled off her ring and slipped it into her apron pocket. les was sentimental about her removing it. "i'll get dinner," she said, trying to keep her voice on an even keel. "maybe you'd better start a letter to hartshorne-logan. let's go into the kitchen, sally." ann strode resolutely toward the rear of the house. she kept her eyes determinedly off the tinge of green that was showing through the apron pocket and didn't dare look back at her daughter's unsettling means of propulsion. * * * * * a half-hour later, when the meal was almost ready, two things happened: bob came home from school through the back door and a strange voice said from the front of the house, "don't answer the front door." ann stared at her son. he stared back at her, the detective outfit under his arm. she went into the front room. her husband was standing with fists on hips, looking at the front door, chuckling. "neatest trick i've seen in a long time. that voice you heard was the new doorbell. i put it up while you were in the kitchen. did you hear what happened when old lady burnett out there pushed the button?" "oh. something like those name cards with something funny printed on them, like 'another hour shot.' well, if there's a little tape in there repeating that message, you'd better shut that part off. it might get boring after a while. and it might insult someone." ann went to the door and turned the knob. the door didn't open. the figure of mrs. burnett, half-visible through the heavy curtain, shifted impatiently on the porch. les yanked at the doorknob. it didn't yield for him, either. he looked up at the doorbell, which he had installed just above the upper part of the door frame. "queer," he said. "that isn't in contact with the door itself. i don't see how it can keep the door from opening." ann put her mouth close to the glass, shouting: "won't you come to the back door, mrs. burnett? this one is stuck." "i just wanted to borrow some sugar," the woman cried from the porch. "i realize that i'm a terrible bother." but she walked down the front steps and disappeared around the side of the house. "don't open the back door." the well-modulated voice from the small doorbell box threatened to penetrate every corner of the house. ann looked doubtfully at her husband's lips. they weren't moving. "if this is ventriloquism--" she began icily. "i'll have to order another doorbell just like this one, for the office," les said. "but you'd better let the old girl in. no use letting her get peeved." the back door was already open, because it was a warm day. the screen door had no latch, held closed by a simple spring. ann pushed it open when mrs. burnett waddled up the three back steps, and smiled at her neighbor. "i'm so sorry you had to walk around the house. it's been a rather hectic day in an awful lot of ways." * * * * * something seemed to impede mrs. burnett as she came to the threshold. she frowned and shoved her portly frame against something invisible. it apparently yielded abruptly, because she staggered forward into the kitchen, nearly falling. she stared grimly at ann and looked suspiciously behind her. "the children have some new toys," ann improvised hastily. "sally is so excited over a new dress that she's positively feverish. let's see now--it was sugar that you want, wasn't it?" "i already have it," bob said, handing a filled cup to his mother. the boy turned back to the detective set which he had spread over the kitchen table. "excitement isn't good for me," mrs. burnett said testily. "i've had a lot of troubles in my life. i like peace and quiet." "your husband is better?" "worse. i'm sure i don't know why everything happens to me." mrs. burnett edged toward the hall, trying to peer into the front of the house. ann stood squarely in front of the door leading to the hall. defeated, mrs. burnett left. a muffled volley of handclapping, mixed with a few faint cheers, came from the doorbell-box when she crossed the threshold. ann went into the hall to order les to disconnect the doorbell. she nearly collided with him, coming in the other direction. "where did this come from?" les held a small object in the palm of his hand, keeping it away from his body. a few drops of something unpleasant were dripping from his fingers. the object looked remarkably like a human eyeball. it was human-size, complete with pupil, iris and rather bloodshot veins. "hey, that's mine," bob said. "you know, this is a funny detective kit. that was in it. but there aren't instructions on how it works." "well, put it away," ann told bob sharply. "it's slimy." les laid the eyeball on the table and walked away. the eyeball rolled from the smooth, level table, bounced twice when it hit the floor, then rolled along, six inches behind him. he turned and kicked at it. the eyeball rolled nimbly out of the path of the kick. "les, i think we've made poor mrs. burnett angry," ann said. "she's so upset over her poor husband's health and she thinks we're insulting her." les didn't hear her. he strode to the detective set, followed at a safe distance by the eyeball, and picked up the box. "hey, watch out!" bob cried. a small flashlight fell from the box, landed on its side and its bulb flashed on, throwing a pencil of light across les's hands. * * * * * bob retrieved the flashlight and turned it off while les glanced through an instruction booklet, frowning. "this toy is too complicated for a ten-year-old boy," les told his wife. "i don't know why you ordered such a thing." he tossed the booklet into the empty box. "i'm going to return it, if you don't smudge it up," she replied. "look at the marks you made on the instructions." the black finger-marks stood out clearly against the shiny, coated paper. les looked at his hands. "i didn't do it," he said, pressing his clean fingertips against the kitchen table. black fingerprints, a full set of them, stood out against the sparkling polished table's surface. "i think the detectolite did it," bob said. "the instructions say you've got to be very careful with it, because its effects last for a long time." les began scrubbing his hands vigorously at the sink. ann watched him silently, until she saw his fingerprints appear on the faucet, the soap and the towel. she began to yell at him for making such a mess, when sally floated into the kitchen. the girl was wearing a nightgown. "my god!" ann forgot her tongue before the children. "she got out of that dress herself. where did she get that nightgown?" ann fingered the garment. she didn't recognize it as a nightgown. but in cut and fold, it was suspiciously like the dress that had arrived in the parcel. her heart sank. she picked up the child, felt the hot forehead, and said: "les, i think it's the same dress. it must change color or something when it's time for a nap. it seems impossible, but--" she shrugged mutely. "and i think sally's running a temperature. i'm going to put her to bed." she looked worriedly into the reddened eyes of the small girl, who whimpered on the way to the bedroom. ann carried her up the stairs, keeping her balance with difficulty, as sally threatened to pop upward out of her arms. the whole family decided that bed might be a good idea, soon after dinner. when the lights went out, the house seemed to be nearly normal. les put on a pair of gloves and threw a pillowcase over the eyeball. bob rigged up trestles to warn visitors from the front porch. ann put small wads of cotton into her ears, because she didn't like the rhythmic rattle, soft but persistent, that emerged from the hall closet where the manky sat. sally was whining occasionally in her sleep. * * * * * when daylight entered her room, sally's nightgown had turned back into the new dress. but the little girl was too sick to get out of bed. she wasn't hungry, her nose was running, and she had a dry cough. les called the doctor before going to work. the only good thing about the morning for ann was the fact that the manky had quieted down some time in the night. after she got bob to school, she gingerly opened the closet door. the manky was now glowing a bright pink and seemed slightly larger. deep violet lettering stood out on its side: "_today is wednesday. for obvious reasons, the manky will not operate today._" the mailman brought a letter from hartshorne-logan. ann stared stupidly at the envelope, until she realized that this wasn't an impossibly quick answer to the letter she had written yesterday. it must have crossed in the mail her complaint about the non-arrival of the order. she tore open the envelope and read: "we regret to inform you that your order cannot be filled until the balance you owe us has been reduced. from the attached form, you will readily ascertain that the payment of $87.56 will enable you to resume the purchasing of merchandise on credit. we shall fill your recent order as soon...." ann crumpled the letter and threw it into the imitation fireplace, knowing perfectly well that it would need to be retrieved for les after work tonight. she had just decided to call hartshorne-logan's complaint department when the phone rang. "i'm afraid i must ask you to come down to the school, mrs. morris," a voice said. "your son is in trouble. he claims that it's connected with something that his parents gave him." "my son?" ann asked incredulously. "bob?" "yes. it's a little gadget that looks like a water pistol. your son insists that he didn't know it would make clothing transparent. he claims it was just accident that he tried it out when he was walking by the gym during calisthenics. we've had to call upon every family in the neighborhood for blankets. bob has always been a good boy and we believe that we can expel him quietly without newspaper publicity involving his name, if you'll--" "i'll be right down," ann said. "i mean i won't be right down. i've got a sick baby here. don't do anything till i telephone my husband. and i'm sorry for bob. i mean i'm sorry for the girls, and for the boys, too. i'm sorry for--for everything. good-by." * * * * * just as she hung up the telephone, the doorbell rang. it rang with a normal buzz, then began to play soft music. ann opened the door without difficulty, to admit dr. schwartz. "you aren't going to believe me, doctor," ann said while he took the child's temperature, "but we can't get that dress off sally." "kids are stubborn sometimes." dr. schwartz whistled softly when he looked at the thermometer. "she's pretty sick. i want a blood count before i try to move her. let me undress her." sally had been mumbling half-deliriously. she made no effort to resist as the doctor picked her up. but when he raised a fold of the dress and began to pull it back, she screamed. the doctor dropped the dress and looked in perplexity at the point where it touched sally's skin. "it's apparently an allergy to some new kind of material. but i don't understand why the dress won't come off. it's not stuck tight." "don't bother trying," ann said miserably. "just cut it off." dr. schwartz pulled scissors from his bag and clipped at a sleeve. when he had cut it to the shoulder, he gently began to peel back the edges of the cloth. sally writhed and kicked, then collapsed in a faint. the physician smoothed the folds hastily back into place. he looked helpless as he said to ann: "i don't know quite what to do. the flesh starts to hemorrhage when i pull at the cloth. she'd bleed to death if i yanked it off. but it's such an extreme allergy that it may kill her, if we leave it in contact with the skin." the manky's rattle suddenly began rhythmically from the lower part of the house. ann clutched the side of the chair, trying to keep herself under control. a siren wailed somewhere down the street, grew louder rapidly, suddenly going silent at the peak of its crescendo. dr. schwartz glanced outside the window. "an ambulance. looks as if they're stopping here." "oh, no," ann breathed. "something's happened to les." "it sure will," les said grimly, walking into the bedroom. "i won't have a job if i can't get this stuff off my fingers. big black fingerprints on everything i touch. i can't handle correspondence or shake hands with customers. how's the kid? what's the ambulance doing out front?" "they're going to the next house down the street," the physician said. "has there been sickness there?" les held up his hands, palms toward the doctor. "what's wrong with me? my fingers look all right. but they leave black marks on everything i touch." the doctor looked closely at the fingertips. "every human has natural oil on the skin. that's how detectives get results with their fingerprint powder. but i've never heard of nigrification, in this sense. better not try to commit any crimes until you've seen a skin specialist." * * * * * ann was peering through the window, curious about the ambulance despite her own troubles. she saw two attendants carry mr. burnett, motionless and white, on a stretcher from the house next door into the ambulance. a third member of the crew was struggling with a disheveled mrs. burnett at the door. shrieks that sounded like "murder!" came sharply through the window. "i know those bearers," dr. schwartz said. he yanked the window open. "hey, pete! what's wrong?" the front man with the stretcher looked up. "i don't know. this guy's awful sick. i think his wife is nuts." mrs. burnett had broken free. she dashed halfway down the sidewalk, gesticulating wildly to nobody in particular. "it's murder!" she screamed. "murder again! he's been poisoned! he's going to die! it means the electric chair!" the orderly grabbed her again. this time he stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth to quiet her. "come back to this house as soon as you deliver him," dr. schwartz shouted to the men. "we've got a very sick child up here." "i was afraid this would happen," les said. "the poor woman already has lost three husbands. if this one is sick, it's no wonder she thinks that somebody is poisoning him." bob stuck his head around the bedroom door. his mother stared unbelievingly for a moment, then advanced on him threateningly. something in his face restrained her, just as she was about to start shaking him. "i got something important to tell you," bob said rapidly, ready to duck. "i snuck out of the principal's office and came home. i got to tell you what i did." "i heard all about what you did," ann said, advancing again. "and you're not going to slip away from me." "give me a chance to explain something. downstairs. so he won't hear," bob ended in a whisper, nodding toward the doctor. * * * * * ann looked doubtfully at les, then followed bob down the stairs. the doorbell was monotonously saying in a monotone: "don't answer me, don't answer me, don't go to the door." "why did you do it?" ann asked bob, her anger suddenly slumping into weary sadness. "people will suspect you of being a sex maniac for the rest of your life. you can't possibly explain--" "don't bother about the girls' clothing," bob said, "because it was only an accident. the really important thing is something else i did before i left the house." les, cursing softly, hurried past them on the way to answer the knocking. he ignored the doorbell's pleas. "i forgot about it," bob continued, "when that ray gun accidentally went off. then when they put me in the principal's office, i had time to think, and i remembered. i put some white stuff from the detective kit into that sugar we lent mrs. burnett last night. i just wanted to see what would happen. i don't know exactly what effect--" "he put stuff in the sugar?" a deep, booming voice came from the front of the house. mother and son looked through the hall. a policeman stood on the threshold of the front door. "i heard that! the woman next door claims that her husband is poisoned. young man, i'm going to put you under arrest." the policeman stepped over the threshold. a blue flash darted from the doorbell box, striking him squarely on the chest. the policeman staggered back, sitting down abruptly on the porch. a scent of ozone drifted through the house. "close the door, close the door," the doorbell was chanting urgently. "where's that ambulance?" dr. schwartz yelled from the top of the steps. "the child's getting worse." something splintered in the hall closet door. the manky zoomed through the hole it had broken and began ricocheting wildly through the house like a crazed living creature, smashing ornaments, cracking the plaster. les rushed through the front door to try to pick up the policeman. the officer drew his gun. an unearthly scream of "help!" shrieked out of the doorbell. ann put her hands over her eyes, as if that would make the unbelievable scene vanish. * * * * * three days after the christmas party, in the middle of inventory, when her headache had completely vanished, milly began to worry. she talked the situation over for one whole afternoon with her best friend at hartshorne-logan, a girl in the complaint department. that same evening, after work, milly went to the public library for the first time in her life. she borrowed a thick tome on the theory of time travel. but only three sentences in the first ten pages were comprehensible to her. she turned to her manky for comfort before going to bed. the next morning, she braved the protective screen of secretaries, receptionists and sub-officials who ordinarily protected mr. hawkins from minor annoyances, and penetrated to his office. mr. hawkins didn't recognize her when she walked in. his attitude became much more formal when she reminded him of their actions on christmas eve. "so you see, mr. hawkins," milly concluded earnestly, "i'm worried. we had so much fun at that party that we didn't think about what we might do to those folks in the past." "you should understand," mr. hawkins firmly replied, "that i was not enjoying myself at the party. definitely not. i must engage in the painful duty of assuming a pose of gaiety on special occasions, such as the annual office party." milly shot him a withering look, but didn't argue that particular point. she continued: "so i've been thinking. we might have done a terrible thing. sending that dress to a kid without the right underclothing could be real dangerous. maybe even fatal." "we cannot harm people in the long ago, any more than the past could conceivably harm us." "but don't you see?" milly fought to restrain tears of fright and frustration. "i'm not _sure_! and it's the most important thing in the world to me. that little girl who got the dress is my grandmother. if she died while she was a little girl, there wouldn't be any me. i can't be born, if my grandmother died before she was three years old." "the paradoxes of time travel have been greatly exaggerated," mr. hawkins said. "perhaps a genealogist would be able to clear up the question." * * * * * milly rose to her full five-foot height, suddenly furious. "you don't care if i just vanish all of a sudden! all that you care about is keeping yourself out of a lot of bother!" she turned on her heel, walked to the door, and added: "after i've helped to fill forty orders every working day for the past three years!" milly stalked out and slammed the door behind her. then she stopped, just outside the door, waiting for a chain reaction to occur. it did, about five seconds later. mr. hawkins popped through the door with a shout: "where's that girl?" he was through the reception room and halfway down the hall when milly called him back. "here i am," she said sweetly. he grabbed her arm and yanked her into his office. "you know," he said, "i've been thinking about those poor, unfortunate people in the past, too. now that you mention it, i believe we should do something for them." he wiped his forehead. "you've been thinking about a poor, unfortunate manager right here in the present," milly retorted, sure of her position now. "all of a sudden, you've figured out what it will mean if i vanish because my grandmother never had any children. you realize that if i've never existed, all of a sudden hartshorne-logan will have thousands of complaint letters, lawsuits about orders over the past three years. you're thinking about what's going to happen to your position, if you're to blame for all those customers not getting their merchandise." mr. hawkins turned away until he got his face under control. "we'll talk about that later," he said mildly at last. "let's agree that everyone will be happier if we straighten up matters. and don't you think that _just we two_ should do the straightening up ourselves? it'll be simpler if--uh--other officials don't hear about this." * * * * * when ann took her hands away from her eyes the mess was still more complicated. the new factor was a short young girl who was walking up to the house. she was looking about, like a country girl suddenly whisked to times square. the policeman whirled when he heard footsteps behind him. "what do you want?" "i'm afraid that i'm to blame for the whole thing," milly told the officer. "i represent hartshorne-logan. we've just discovered that we made several mistakes when we filled an order for this family. i've come to pick up the wrong merchandise." the doorbell made ominous clucking sounds, as milly reached the threshold. she looked up at the box and told ann: "i'm afraid that i can't get in while that defective doorbell is working. will you cut off the house current for a minute, while i disconnect it?" les blinked at her, then began to curse, loudly and bitterly. "why didn't i think of that?" les dodged the manky's careening and headed for the fuse box. milly called after him: "maybe there are bananas in the refrigerator. take them out right away, if there are. the manky will quiet down then." ann rushed to the kitchen, yanked out the three bananas and threw them through the open window. she heard the dull thud from the front room as the manky fell to the carpet and lay motionless. "i've pulled the switch!" les yelled. the policeman warily stepped through the door, looking at les. dr. schwartz intercepted the policeman. "officer," dr. schwartz said, "there's a very sick little girl upstairs. i think you'll do your duty best by trying to hurry up an ambulance." "but there's a murder charge floating around and i practically heard a confession," the policeman protested, slightly dazed. milly had pulled down the doorbell assembly. she put it beside the manky, then scooped up the remaining sections of bob's detective kit and put them on the pile. she headed for the stairs, calling over her shoulder: "don't worry about your detective set troubles. those things wear off in twenty-four hours." * * * * * staggering slightly under the load of merchandise, milly tiptoed into her grandmother's room. when she heard dr. schwartz trailing her curiously, she turned to him, whispering: "i'll watch over the little girl. you go down and explain to that policeman that there wasn't anything harmful in the chemicals in the detective set, and there was a short circuit in the doorbell, and that the child must be allergic to the dress. it was all hartshorne-logan's fault, not this family's." "but what about that thing?" dr. schwartz said, pointing to the manky. milly tried frantically to think of a believable explanation and changed the subject: "the policeman said something about a murder confession. there was genuine truthtalk in the detective set. if someone swallowed any of it, it might be a genuine confession." "my goodness!" dr. schwartz raced downstairs. milly bent over the child who would become her grandmother. sally lay flushed and feverish on the big bed, sunk into a deep coma. milly bent and kissed her grandmother, then quickly deactivated the anti-grav pads in the shoulders. after that, it took only a moment to decamouflage the zippers which held the crosh force. the dress then slipped right off. sally sighed the instant the dress fell free. her skin was already returning to its normal hue by the time milly had taken another dress from a bureau drawer. milly slipped it onto sally and covered her up to prevent a chill. milly kissed the child again and looked at the ancestor whom she had known only as a tiny old lady. then she gathered up her pile of merchandise, tossing on top the dress, with its shoulder pads again activated. the commotion downstairs was still loud, but it no longer sounded hysterical. milly ticked off the order list on her fingers, to make sure she had collected everything. then she opened the bedroom window. buoyed by the anti-grav force, she floated to the ground, landing with only a slight jar. she darted through the back-yard, away from the house, attracting no attention. everyone in the block had convened at the front of the house, where mrs. burnett was screaming out a full confession and the policeman was sweatingly scribbling it down. mrs. burnett was explaining in trying detail the exact manner in which she had poisoned her four husbands in the past seven years, to collect their insurance. * * * * * when milly returned to hartshorne-logan of the future, she sank wearily into a chair. she held her hand out and watched it quiver. "golly, i didn't realize how scared i was, until i got back," she told mr. hawkins. "but i think i did only one thing wrong. i forgot to figure out some alibi for my great-uncle to use for his accident with the clothes penetration ray." "your ancestors will forget all about that in their excitement over the insurance company rewards," mr. hawkins assured her. "i checked way back on the old records. i see that your great-grandmother paid her bill, right after the date when all this trouble came up. but she never bought another thing from hartshorne-logan." "well, it's a good thing that time travel can't cause trouble both ways," milly reflected. "i don't think i'll even go to next year's christmas party." "no danger of time travel bothering us. nothing could come from the past into the present that could possibly hurt us." "gee, i'm glad," milly said, and sneezed. it frightened her because sneezes were unknown in this world from which the cold virus had been eradicated. then she sneezed again. a little later, mr. hawkins began to sneeze. three billion sniffling, coughing, nose-blowing persons throughout the world were soon proof that mr. hawkins had blundered again. how department stores are carried on by w. b. phillips [illustration] new york dodd, mead & company 1901 contents. introduction, 5 general principles, 7 the management, 10 the system, 12 advertising, 15 the buying organization, 25 receiving goods, 32 taking care of stock, 34 serving customers, 35 exchanging goods, 38 floor managers and ushers, 40 making out checks, 43 inspecting, checking and parcelling goods, 46 collecting goods for delivery, 48 delivering goods, 51 stables, 54 cash office, 57 check office, or auditing department, 58 c. o. d. business, 60 the mail-order business, 62 catalogues, 73 receiving and opening mail, 95 book-keeping, buying, checking, etc., 100 assembling and packing mail-order goods, 106 goods sent by mail, correspondence, paying for goods, etc., 110 filing correspondence, 117 special orders, 119 returned goods, exchanges and complaints, 121 samples, 123 keeping employees' time, 125 employing help, 128 paying wages, 130 watchmen, 131 general rules for employees, 133 mechanical section, 139 introduction. no other branch of business can bear comparison with the wonderful results achieved by department stores, such a success as has made them the wonder of modern merchandising. these stores, that have grown to greatness from small beginnings, have a force and power behind them that commands general interest. their store-keeping rests upon certain well-defined principles, and not upon chance, sensations or experiments. it is not the intention in this volume to prejudice public opinion against department stores. no attempt has been made to enumerate any reasons why they exist and flourish, nor any effort made to prove that they are a necessity, or otherwise. whether they promote and build up the best interests of the people and country at large, or are detrimental to them, is a question on which intelligent opinion is largely divided. the fact remains--a plain indisputable fact--that they do exist; that they have had a tremendous growth in recent years, both in europe and america; that organizations of this character beginning a few years ago have developed into the largest and most successful mercantile institutions in the world. the author, from several years' practical experience, having been closely identified with the policy adopted, and with all the detail of system employed, in running one of the largest department stores on this continent, having visited at different times the trade centers of america, and examined carefully into the systems employed in other stores of a similar character, and made careful comparisons, is satisfied that the enquiring public will appreciate the endeavor to give them an intelligent idea of "how department stores are carried on." general principles. one of the great underlying principles of modern department stores is cash. buying and selling for cash. cash and one price. some deviations are made from this rule, according to existing conditions in different business centers; but this is exceptional, the larger percentage of trade being strictly cash, and this fact has contributed largely to the general success. a few years ago nobody sold for cash. nobody in those days marked the price on goods in plain figures and stuck to it. to-day this is done, and is acknowledged to be highly satisfactory. the first aim is to get the best and choicest goods direct from the makers; and, second, to have the lowest prices, thus enlarging the purchasing power of every dollar. a department store is different from the ordinary store, by being big enough to deal in almost everything that people need; handling merchandise of every class that goes well together for all sorts of people; providing the means of doing everything quickly, easily, cheaply. a store large enough to accommodate thousands of shoppers arranged to serve a purpose. floor upon floor filled with merchandise, broad aisles, easy stairways, elevators to do the stair climbing, cash system for quick and easy change-making, with all the newest ideas in store mechanism; places to sit, wait, meet, lunch, talk and rest; in short, an ideal place to shop in. everything done that can be done to study the convenience of customers and look after their interests. this constitutes one of the greatest factors in the success of modern retailing. looking after the customer. looking after them in such a manner that the service is an attraction in itself, that shopping is made easy and comfortable. service is what these stores are for. complete service in every detail, beginning with the purchase of the goods, and ending with delivery to customers, guaranteeing every article sold to be exactly as represented, or cheerfully refunding the money. the development of these great businesses is largely the product of better service, and this service has been effective in winning the favor of shoppers. the strength of these organizations, while centered in well-known principles strictly adhered to, is backed up by a well-defined system of government, including all departments, and the development of this system has had a great deal to do with the success of present-day business. the principles referred to build up and support the business, but it is the careful management and perfect system which controls. the management. the central point around which the whole organization of department stores gather is the man, or men, who put up the capital; who own, control and manage the business; and who insist that the profits shall be consistent with their expectations. they not only put up the cash, but define the policy of the business, and organize and develop the system under which it operates. the organizing and executive ability, as well as the faculty of knowing men, must be largely displayed; knowing men, and how to combine them; knowing how to use their capabilities and energies, how to bring out all their qualifications and all their ambitions. the management must be of large perspective and broad experience, make a close study of store-keeping ways and methods, be quick to take advantage of every new idea in service and appointments, and enterprising in everything that goes to make a business strong and successful. associated with the head of the business, usually selected from active workers who live with the business every day, are a few who are taken into intimate relations with the business policy, and who very materially assist in its development, and in the working out and building up of the system by which the business is carried on. capable, intelligent, energetic, lieutenants, who are intensely interested, and who exhibit no lack of earnestness or energy; who are imbued with implicit faith and confidence in whatever may be advocated and decided upon, and who direct their best efforts to its accomplishment. the system. the system that dresses the windows with attractive goods, that provides the special bargains, that furnishes such a variety of goods comprising nearly everything that people wear or use, that gives a courteous and agreeable service under all conditions, that provides a place to rest when fatigued, that enables shopping to be done under such favorable circumstances, that delivers all purchases promptly, and if a mistake has been made in the selection, or for any reason goods bought are not satisfactory, presents no difficulty in their being exchanged or the money refunded; the system which does all this and more is not the result of accident or chance, but there is a vast machinery behind it all which directs and controls. but the system must do much more than this. it must provide for getting at results, and it is in this respect that the perfection of the system is reached. while the store space is divided up into little stores or departments, under different heads, who are given every possible leeway in the buying of goods and management of stocks, yet each head is made directly responsible for everything in connection with this part of the business. each department is charged with the goods bought and with the expense of selling, and credited with the sales made. each section pays its proper share of all general expenses, such as delivering goods, lighting, heating, elevator service, fixtures, rent, etc. the system employed enables the head of the business to always know the true condition of each section. it enables him to know, if desired, what each individual salesperson does; how much the total business is of any department on any day; what the expenses are for any given time; and these facts are not obtained spasmodically, but are regularly recorded and made use of. lack of knowledge of the condition of any department does not exist. success, or the lack of it, is apparent at once. the truth of eternal vigilance being the price of success is here acknowledged, and in no other business organization is more special care and attention paid to knowing constantly just what the actual results are. advertising. someone has said, "the time to advertise is all the time," and among modern business organizations none more thoroughly recognize and strictly adhere to this statement than department stores. nowhere else is the science, the art, of advertising more intelligently understood, appreciated and applied. advertising is recognized as the pulse of the business, the great vitalizing force. the importance of the relation of advertising to business cannot possibly be exaggerated, and for this reason it is considered most seriously. a recognized authority has said, "advertising taken seriously in the retail business makes the policy of the business. it is the fundamental thing, the corner stone. therefore, it demands the attention of the head of the business. i cannot think of any concern so large in its affairs, so extended in its ramifications, with so many responsibilities resting upon the head of the business, as to make the advertising subservient to the general management of the business, to make the head of the business ignore the advertising. the manager of a department, and the salespeople who are to sell the goods, should be told the policy of the head of the business so far as advertising is concerned, and the way the matter is to be presented to the public, so as to arouse the interest of all. it is important that the man at the head should vitalize the business by making everybody feel and know that the advertising, the address to the public, is made in conformity with his wishes, under his supervision, and is absolutely part of his plans for disposing of his merchandise. this being so, the proposition that the advertising of a well-ordered establishment makes the policy of the business is really correct." many methods are made use of to present and keep the business before the public, but preëminently the best and most satisfactory is the newspaper. its columns are recognized as the very best medium for business notices, going as it does into the homes of the people regularly, filled with the world's news, with information for everybody, about everything from everywhere. the newspaper column is the merchant's platform, his pulpit from which he speaks to the public. it gives his words thousands of tongues. it is in this way he reaches his audience and tells them about his goods and business. he must talk straight, and his address must be interesting and readable, and, above everything else, true. it must always have the true ring of honesty, and advertisements are becoming more truthful every day, as business men realize that it must be true or it will fail. people judge and form their estimate of a business by the honesty with which their advertisements are lived up to, soon find the truth-telling places, and trade gravitates that way with absolute certainty. lying advertisements never built a permanent and successful business. advertising of to-day is honest, or meant to be, and, every day, people are gaining more confidence in it, and are understanding more and more that it is a necessary and legitimate part of this business; in other words, a "store bulletin," to which they can refer as an honest statement of what the store has to offer them. advertising properly means attractive news, news of daily importance, news which is appreciated and taken advantage of by the most wide-awake, economical and thrifty. news that must not get old by repetition. there is nothing more important about the business than advertising. of what use to have tons of merchandise to sell if the people are not told about it, told about it regularly? keeping everlastingly at it. hammering away day after day. continuous effort in the right direction, systematic, persistent. the advertising must be clear, logical and convincing; containing exact and definite information, telling the store news plainly and honestly, telling the people what the store can do for them, telling it often and in the right way. some departments may be systematized so fine that they don't require such undivided attention; but the advertising can't run along like this, but must have constant and careful thought. every advertisement must have careful consideration. carelessness or neglect will lead to serious results. spasmodic advertising won't do. one might as well expect to close the store one day and open it the next. it must be regular, just as regular as the day comes. attractive advertising becomes a department of the paper, and people expect it--look for it with the same interest as other features. it is keeping the business prominently before the people and asking persistently for their trade that brings the business. advertising is the greatest force, the most powerful lever, for facilitating business. there is a generally-accepted theory that advertising pays, but department stores prove by facts that the theory is true. there has been considerable talk about the uncertainty of advertising; but thoroughly understood and skillfully used in the interest of department stores, it has become a most powerful factor in contributing to their general success. back of department store success, are earnestness, persistence, concentration, energy; but between these and achievement stands advertising. "as the business grows and is prosperous, it is due to the controlling factors of system, merchandise and advertising, but advertising is the dynamic force which vitalizes all the rest." with this understanding of the important relation of advertising to business, a decision is arrived at as to the amount of advertising appropriation the business demands, not a fixed amount--no more or no less--but about the amount expected to be spent, which depends upon the amount of business necessary to be done, and is determined by the percentage of profits. a selection is made of the best daily papers, space secured, and "the advertising department" is ready for business. this department is under the direct management of the advertising manager, or "ad. writer." he has a distinct recognition as one having a separate profession, and must, if the best results are obtained, be confidentially taken into the inner workings of the firm. he must be familiar with the history of the business, its progress and development. while he may not require to know the exact amount of money made, yet he must know which departments are weak and which are strong. the strength of the best departments must be maintained and increased, and the weaker ones built up. he should know what the goods cost, where made, how bought, etc., and receive the hearty coöperation of the buyers, to obtain the necessary information to write up his appeal so as to secure a hearty response from the buying public. he must give an individuality to the store advertising, and see that every advertisement is backed up honestly, every promise fulfilled, and that the information he gives the public is absolutely true. he must keep on file a complete record of all advertising, and should keep in constant touch with each department's daily sales, with a view to continual comparison with previous records. he must know what other stores are advertising and see that his prices do not run higher than competing figures. all window dressing, wagon cards, display cards and interior decorations should come under his supervision. he must decide the amount of newspaper space for each department; and though heads of departments may take issue with his decisions, yet, as head of the advertising, he does what he thinks is best, usually giving space according to the money-making abilities of the departments. he must understand the goods he is advertising, know all about their uses and superior qualities, go in amongst the salespeople and customers, and talk with them, in order to write convincing money-bringing, trade-building advertisements. copy should be submitted by departments at least two days before advertisement appears, in order that he may give it proper attention, prepare the cuts used in illustrating, have his copy to the papers early, proof carefully read, and any corrections made. he must study the character of his illustrations, the display part of the advertisement, and having secured a distinctive cut or style of the firm name must stick to it, as it adds an individuality to the advertising. the type used must also be selected, usually good, clear and legible, easily read, but characteristic, so that it distinguishes his ads. from all others, and advertisements should always appear in the same position on the same page, so that the public know just where to find them. he must not only look after all the detail connected with the advertising, but must be able to analyze the conditions which confront him, grasp every possibility of the field, be wide awake to every change, sensitive to every trade throb, and have such a command of the english language as will express his ideas in a captivating and original manner. he is the artist who, having the ability and talent, either inherent or acquired, paints the picture that attracts; and who, when backed up by good merchandise, right prices, perfect system and careful management, becomes a great business force and an indispensable adjunct to present-day business. the buying organization. a large force of experienced buyers are constantly employed, who visit the world's markets at regular intervals in search of new goods. the aim is to save all intermediate profit, by buying direct from the makers, making direct connection between the manufacturer and consumer, and thus getting as near as possible to the actual cost of production. hundreds of thousands of dollars are represented in the several stocks purchased. assortments must be complete at all times, and there must be a constant income of new goods. as fast as one thing sells, another must take its place, and no interest must be overlooked in the buying. buying in great quantities, they are enabled to send buyers regularly to the great manufacturing centers and leading sources of supply. prices are low in proportion as orders are large, and ready cash secures the best trade discounts. to collect such a wealth of goods and have styles and qualities just right, means a good deal. it means that the whole range of merchandise must be known. to get the best in the world for the money, and keep assortments complete the season through, calls for careful calculation. the varied human needs of civilization are to be satisfied, and each buyer in his own particular lines must be a man of large experience, of most excellent judgment, and high mercantile ability. they must know the merchandise they buy, that such a factory has the best reputation for one line, that this mill excels in another class, never buying anything simply because it is cheap, but picking out the best manufactures in each department, always maintaining a strict standard of reliability; and that the goods are well bought is demonstrated by the persistent growth of the business. they buy to unusual advantage by reason of ready money and the great outlet for all classes of merchandise. several of the largest stores render valuable assistance to their buyers by establishing permanent foreign buying offices, thus enabling them to keep in close touch with the newest styles and novelties; and from these offices the shipment of a considerable amount of foreign goods is managed, the service being so facilitated and systematized that a prompt and rapid delivery of goods is effected. but the buyers' duties do not end with the purchase of goods. he is also manager of the department which is made up of the various lines he buys, and is responsible for the proper management of the same. in his absence while buying, he must provide a capable assistant to represent him and the department, one whose services are esteemed as second only to his own, and who, if need be, in many instances is quite capable of acting as buyer and manager in his stead. he is given almost complete control of everything pertaining to his department, must sell the goods he buys, and his permanent position depends entirely upon the success with which his department is handled. as "head of a department," he is expected to comply with the rules of the house and set an example to all those under him. he should be first in the department in the morning and last to leave in the evening. he should be thoroughly acquainted with all rules pertaining to employees, and any new instructions which may be issued from time to time, and see that they are carried out. he is expected to use his best efforts to aid salespeople in making sales, instruct inexperienced help how to handle and display goods, how to wait on customers, make out checks, and, in fact, see that all duties are intelligently understood. it is not sufficient that new, inexperienced help be given a number and salesbook and told to go ahead, but thorough instructions must be given as to the methods of doing business. in order that enquiries of customers may be intelligently answered, he should know the location of all the stocks of the house. if travelers' samples are to be examined, it should be done in the sample room provided for that purpose, and in forenoons only. only in special cases is it permissible to examine samples in the afternoon, as he is expected to be in his department during the busy hours of every day, to watch the trade and see that customers are properly waited upon. certain expenses are almost wholly within the control of heads of departments, and must be watched by them with the greatest care. this is especially true as applied to the amount of help employed. by using care and judgment, it is often possible to do with less help, and thus reduce the cost of selling. this is largely supplemented by watching the sales of each salesperson, and enquiring carefully into any cases where there is a falling below the average percentage of cost. he should see that all advertised goods are properly displayed at the counters, and that all the people in that section are promptly notified of all particulars, such as quantities to be sold, price, etc. he should see that all slow-moving goods are reported promptly, and goods must not be allowed to get old, but be moved out quickly. any goods that do not move readily _must_ be got rid of--cleared out--whatever cash value they have must be secured, and at once, and no matter at what sacrifice; it being considered best to get what you can for them immediately, and replace the stock with something that will sell readily. he should furnish a complete statement of stock to be purchased and hand the same to the office a reasonable time before going on a purchasing trip, and must have the sanction of the office to the same. buyers are expected to respect the limits placed and not to exceed the figures sanctioned; but if the market is showing any special lots of goods which in his judgment should be bought, or he is confident that a saving will be effected on goods which are likely to rise in value by buying heavier, considerable latitude is permitted. all business correspondence for the house should be handled through the regular correspondence office, be submitted for approval, and signed only by those authorized. the buyer's work bears such important relations to the business, both in the selection of goods and in the direct management of his department, that his qualifications must be the best, in order to render such a service as is desired and demanded. receiving goods. a general receiving room for all case goods and packages is provided. space is allotted to each department, and all goods bought must pass through this room before going into stock. porters prepare all goods for examination, by removing lids of cases, opening packages, putting aside all paper, canvas, etc., which is held for reference until goods are checked, and goods are then placed in proper department space ready for the department managers. heads of departments are usually notified each day of all goods to be marked off the following day, and furnished with invoices of the same. the receiving room is usually open for checking purposes from 8 a. m. to 10 a. m. only, and goods must not be checked off nor removed from this room during any other hour of the day, except by special permission. goods are called off by assistants, checker compares with invoice, selling price and stock number are entered on goods, and selling price marked on invoice. until properly marked off, no goods are allowed to be sent out of the receiving room. if goods do not come up to sample, and are to be returned, it must be done at once, and shipper advised. in case of errors or shortages, they must be certified to by two or three competent persons. all invoices should be returned to the office as soon as goods are marked off. receiving room should be closed at 10 o'clock sharp, at which time all department managers and assistants should be back in the selling departments. heavy goods, such as furniture, wall paper, etc., are received in their respective stock rooms and checked off in the same manner. goods should never be received without an invoice. taking care of stock. salespersons must keep in good order all stock under their charge. customers of the house, as well as those in authority, readily recognize who takes an interest in the business, by the display and arrangement of the stock. no excuse can be taken for merchandise that does not present a clean, attractive and presentable appearance. every article should be properly marked or tagged, and each piece of goods ticketed in plain, neat figures, so that a glance will tell price, size, etc. no matter what the stock is, it should be attractively displayed, and the display changed regularly, having a suitable card on all goods so exhibited. when a sale is completed and clerks are through showing goods, they should be replaced as soon as possible, thus avoiding confusion and keeping the selling space clear and in good shape for new business. serving customers. all customers should be waited upon with equal promptness and politeness, no matter whether the purchase is large or small, whether it is simply an enquiry or an exchange of goods. there should be no favorites among customers. first come, first served. a customer who is being served should never be left because a liberal buyer, who is well known, approaches the counter. goods must not be misrepresented. customers buy upon the understanding that they can get their money back without argument, therefore only true representation must be made. exaggerated statements, or trickery in selling goods, is not permitted. in all matters relating to the business of the house the greatest courtesy is required. clerks are expected to accommodate themselves, as far as possible, to the peculiarities of those they are serving, being civil and polite in their attentions. should articles asked for be in another department, customers should be informed where they may be obtained; and if clerks don't know, they should refer to the floor manager. if clerks don't happen to have just the article the customer asks for, they should show the nearest they have in stock, and if that won't answer the purpose, consult the head of the department, and possibly it could be procured. they should try and understand what the customer wishes and get it as near as possible, never showing too many goods at a time, as it is confusing and often results in the loss of a sale. if a second customer is waiting, a disengaged clerk should be called. if all are busy, customer should be asked to be seated until one is disengaged. the undue urging of merchandise upon customers is not countenanced, nor yet is indifference in the slightest degree permitted. while large sales are important factors with all salespeople, and largely form the basis for salary paid, yet genuine interest in their duties, the exercise of patience, showing goods pleasantly and cheerfully, polite attention and care in waiting upon customers, are also very important factors in the recognition of value of services. clerks should always leave a good impression and never let customers go away feeling that they have been treated in an overbearing or uncivil manner, as it hurts the clerks personally and also the house. the interests of employer and employee being identical, better opportunity for advancement and greater compensation is assured the more the store prospers. upon all matters, under all conditions, the greatest courtesy is insisted upon. exchanging goods. the general understanding existing with department stores concerning merchandise sold is, that if for any reason it is not satisfactory it may be returned and exchanged or money refunded, on customer's request. this understanding, however, has some qualifications,--such as articles that have been worn, when such a time has elapsed between the purchase and return as to render articles unsalable, goods made to order according to measurements, toilet goods, etc.; but, with few exceptions, the almost unalterable rule is to exchange cheerfully, to avoid unnecessary questions or remarks, rather preferring to be occasionally the subject of imposition than to leave an unpleasant impression. where an exchange is desired in the same department as purchase was originally made, an exchange bill is issued. should the customer select other goods of less value than the exchange bill, the cash office, when new check and exchange bill are received, will return the difference in change. the exchange bill, when signed by the head of a department, or one authorized, is good for its value in any department; and should the customer not be able to make a suitable selection, this bill, when properly stamped or signed, is good for cash on presentation. these exchanges, as collected and audited, are usually deducted from each department's daily sales. floor managers and ushers. floor managers must be thoroughly familiar with and see to the enforcement of the rules of the house, as applied to their sections. they must see that each department in their division is promptly prepared for business, covers off, and everything in order, and must have a general supervision over their division. aisle space, circles and fixtures must be kept scrupulously clean. all cardboard, paper, twine, boxes, etc., removed from goods sold during the day, must be sent from the departments at regular intervals, and not allowed to accumulate and present an untidy appearance, being first thoroughly examined, to see that no goods are contained. sweeping should be avoided as much as possible during the day, but the departments at all times must be neat and clean in appearance. they should not allow cash boys or parcel boys to loiter in their division, and should see that all customers are properly served, and the greatest courtesy and politeness shown them, whether buying or simply looking at goods. strangers from out of town visiting the store should be made to feel at home, and particular attention paid them. should they desire to be shown through the store, it should be arranged. they should be impressed with the manner of doing business, and this effect is best secured where consideration is shown them. it is better to answer the inquiries of customers by accompanying them to the department asked for and requesting a salesperson to wait on them, rather than pointing to that department, and much better to name the salesperson than to use the word "forward." they should see that goods do not collect at any time at the parcel desks, but that they are removed by carriers promptly. they should attend, in case of sickness or accident, to any customer, see that they are taken at once to the place provided, and report the same. any claims or complaints of customers should be referred to them, and their best efforts used to adjust any errors made, and, where necessary, refer them to the complaint department. they should see that customers returning goods for exchange, or desiring money returned, are promptly and properly served. they should bring to the notice of the house the existence of inefficient or inattentive help, and report anything which in their judgment should have attention. making out checks, etc. this is not as simple as it may appear, and to master it thoroughly requires time, care and attention. whether it is filling out a purchasing ticket, a c. o. d. check, or a regular sales check, special care must be exercised, as one cannot afford to exhaust the patience of customers by exhibiting a lack of knowledge. every check in a check book should be accounted for: a spoiled check should be marked "nil" or "void," be signed by one in authority and sent to the cashier. quantity, goods and prices should always be written plainly, all blanks properly filled out, plain, neat writing, and particularly good figures. salespeople are usually held responsible for all errors made in checks or on purchasing tickets, and should always use their own book. they should always mention to customer the amount of money received, and enter the amount on their check at once. many people strictly honest might forget what money they handed in, and when change is returned might claim that the bill given was of a larger denomination. repeating the amount received will avoid argument afterwards. duplicates should be closely examined, to see that the black-leaf impression is good. change should be counted in giving it to customer, and where goods are to be sent, the name and address given should be repeated. the use of purchasing tickets should be encouraged. customers should be asked if they intend making further purchases, and the use of purchasing ticket suggested. the delay in settling for each purchase is thus avoided and customers' time is saved, as they can pay for all purchases at once. salespersons should see that their department letter is on their check book. check books should commence with no. 1 and run consecutively to the end, and should be examined to see that none are missing, and checks should never be altered. all checks should be sent to the cash office immediately upon being made out. inspecting, checking and parcelling goods. parcel desks are usually conveniently located at all counters, for the purpose of examining and wrapping goods sold. all goods sold, whether taken by customers or sent by the delivery, should first pass through the parcel desk. goods sold should be passed to the parcel desk by the salesperson with the bill, and they should always be examined carefully, to see that they correspond. price, quantity, number of yards, etc., should be checked and goods should be examined, to insure their being in perfect condition, not cracked, soiled, or injured in any way. should goods when compared with bill be found short or over, marked wrong, or not satisfactory in any way, they should be returned to the salesperson at once, with refusal to parcel goods until everything is o. k. parcels should not be given to customers, but handed back to the salesperson direct. every taken parcel should have the sales number marked on the outside. when parcels are to be sent, the address should be on the bill and also on the address slip, and they should always compare. care should be exercised in handling goods likely to be soiled, crushed, broken or damaged. where necessary, they should be put in boxes or sent to be specially packed. every parcel should be securely and properly wrapped, using no more paper or twine than is necessary. goods to be sent should not be held at the desk, and if carriers delay unnecessarily in calling, the matter should be reported to the head of the department or floor manager. attention should be paid to the order in which parcels are handed up, so that customers will receive their purchases in the order in which they have been served. all desk supplies, such as paper, bags, twine, purchasing tickets, etc., should be obtained in the morning, at which time the stock-supply room should be open. collecting goods for delivery. goods to be delivered are usually divided into two classes, individual purchases styled "sent parcels," and collective purchases made on purchasing tickets. checks for sent parcels when made out in salesperson's check book in duplicate, with name and address slip and hour of delivery, should be separated, one half going to the cash office with the cash received, and the other half going with the goods. checks made out for purchases on purchasing tickets are usually different in color from ordinary sales checks, and are attached to purchasing tickets. as made out by salespersons in duplicate, one half is detached with address and sent with the goods, and the other half remains attached to the purchasing ticket until the purchase is completed. goods sold are immediately wrapped, carriers called and goods are delivered through slides, elevators, etc., direct to the shipping-room floors. sent parcels are separated from others and address label attached. goods bought on purchasing ticket are placed in compartments whose number corresponds with the number on checks received with goods. as customers finish buying, they visit the pay office, where cards are handed in, totalled, cash paid, instructions as to delivery entered on the card, which is handed to the sorting section. goods are here checked with card, to see that they correspond by number and amount, the address is carefully examined, when parcels are wrapped and passed to the delivery section, where they are assorted as to routes, entered on drivers' sheets by name, address, number of parcels, and checked off when given to drivers. salespeople are always kept informed as to the regular hours of deliveries, and signal bells are usually rung notifying each department before each delivery closes. no parcels should be promised for that delivery after the bell rings, and all goods to be sent by that delivery should be in the delivery room a few minutes after the bell rings. all arrangements for special deliveries should be made at the pay office, and all parcels should go by the delivery marked, if received on time. delivering goods. drivers should know their routes thoroughly, so as to deliver with as much despatch as possible. when delivering, they should wear uniforms (a portion of the expense of which is usually paid by the house). they should be kept neat and clean, and when repairing is needed it should be done promptly. drivers are usually held responsible for damages or breakages, resulting through carelessness or neglect, either to goods or rig, and must account for horse covers, blankets, rugs, etc., with which they may be supplied. drivers should always weight their horses when leaving the wagon. each driver should be given sufficient money for making change, which he must have with him on each delivery for c. o. d. parcels, and excuses, as a rule, are not accepted for the non-delivery of a parcel on account of inability to make change. drivers should not allow c. o. d. parcels to be opened without an order. customers should be told that this rule cannot be broken; but if they pay for goods that are not satisfactory they can be returned and the money will be refunded. drivers are held responsible for all parcels entered on their sheets, and should check off these parcels at the store, placing them in the wagon in the order of delivery as near as possible, thus saving time in sorting up their loads while on the route. amounts due on c. o. d. parcels should be compared with entry on c. o. d. sheets, to avoid mistakes. when the delivery is completed, sheets should be signed and returned, and if, for any reason, any parcels have not been delivered, satisfactory explanations should be given. any repairs needed should be reported upon arrival at the stables. notes should be made of any complaints from customers and the same reported. when instructions are given to call for customer's goods, they should be got at the first opportunity and handed over to the proper person. if not able to obtain them, the reason should be given. under no circumstances should passengers be carried while delivering goods. special instructions are usually issued for extra deliveries before holidays, or on extra busy days. stables. the stables are usually models of neatness and perfect in arrangements, every modern convenience being brought into use, providing accommodation for a delivery system of hundreds of horses and wagons used daily in delivering goods in the city and suburbs. heated throughout with steam, lighted by electricity, and electric power applied to rotary brushes for grooming, hydraulic elevator service capable of lifting tons of feed and grain to upper floors, basement fitted up with complete blacksmith shop for horse shoeing, wagon and sleigh repairing. ground floor space is usually devoted to wagons, each having its respective station. easy stairways provided for horses to reach the upper floors, which are constructed to bear almost unlimited weight, divided into rows of stalls with aisle space between. harness rooms, cleaning rooms, harness repair shop, hospital for sick horses, paint room, etc., together with the most modern machinery for grinding and chopping feed. the stables must always be kept clean and well ventilated. horses must never be taken out without being fed, watered, cleaned and properly shod: a lame or sick horse should never be used. harness should be washed and cleaned regularly, wagons oiled, tightened up and kept clean. nothing should be allowed to leave the stables except in first-class condition. all repairs should be attended to at once. wagons should be at the store in time for all deliveries. a record should be kept of the men's time and sent to the office regularly. drivers' and stablemen's wages should be obtained on pay day; the pay roll should be signed by each one, and returned to the office. all c. o. d. money received from drivers at night should be put in sealed envelopes and placed in safe keeping. a watch should be kept in the stables at night, and a regular patrol made to see that all horses are properly fastened, blankets on and everything in good shape. wagons should be washed at night and wagon signs thoroughly cleaned. all wagons should be examined carefully, and a written report handed in of all repairs needed, together with wagon number. all fire pails, hose and appliances to be used in the event of fire should be examined regularly, to see that they are all in good working order. general cash office. a central cash office is established for receiving all receipts from sales made, and arranged for quick and easy change-making. as a customer makes a purchase, a duplicate of the check or bill made out for the same, together with money received from customer, are sent direct to the cash office, the most improved method being by pneumatic cash carriers. as received, checks are placed on file and any change returned to clerk. thus the totals of checks and receipts of each cashier's desk must agree. each cashier makes up a report of the amount of cash received, and cash is given head cashier, who recounts it. the checks of each cashier are kept separate and sent to the auditing office, where they are totalled, and this total must agree with the amount of cash in the head cashier's hands, and correspond with the amount on cashier's report. check office, or auditing department. this department should make up the total receipts of each cashier by the sales checks received, compare them with cashier's report, and recheck until they are found correct. it should also make up each department's sales, arrange each salesperson's checks into original book form by number, and report any missing checks, auditing all checks and reporting any errors. the work of obtaining the different totals required is greatly facilitated by the use of adding machines, which insure both accuracy and despatch. this auditing of checks thus provides a positive check upon the amount of cash received by each individual cashier, furnishes an accurate account of the exact amount of business done by each department, and the total daily business done by the house, besides showing the exact amount of goods sold by each individual salesperson, which may be made use of to estimate their value as compared with each other, and largely governs the individual wages paid. c. o. d. business. large amounts are represented in the business as sold and paid for, cash on delivery, and, therefore, this branch is given special attention. special c. o. d. books are furnished every department, and such special care exercised in recording the amount to be paid, address, etc., as will prevent any errors or misunderstandings. all c. o. d. parcels are entered upon special sheets or books provided drivers, and are checked off as paid in by drivers at the c. o. d. office with the record kept there, which should show the customer's name and address, department that goods were bought in, who sold them, the amount of the c. o. d., the date and amount paid. where goods are sent to distant towns, and considerable time must elapse before returns can be made, these outstanding c. o. d.'s must be watched closely, checked up regularly; and in the event of any unnecessary delay corresponded about, and such knowledge obtained as will furnish accurate information about each individual account. the mail-order business. the mail-order trade as associated with department stores began in a very small way: it began with a few requests from customers out of town asking for samples and prices of certain goods, a few letters of enquiry regarding one thing and another. these requests and enquiries, properly answered, brought in the first orders, which were carefully filled to the satisfaction of the customers. they told their friends about it, and more enquiries were answered, more orders received. this encouraged some effort, and special circulars or booklets were issued telling about the store and goods. these were mailed to regular customers, and a few thousand extra sent to carefully-selected names of possible customers, until gradually extra help was required to attend to these orders, to answer the correspondence, etc.; and it was found necessary to systematize this branch of the work, to organize and establish a "mail-order department." the mail-order trade grew up side by side with the store trade. when the store was young and variety of goods small, the mail-order trade was limited; but as the store grew, as extra space was needed for increased service, and new goods and new departments were rapidly added, the mail-order trade increased in proportion, keeping abreast of it all the time. mail-order customers could not know but very little about the house they dealt with except through advertisements, or from hearsay, and, therefore, the reputation of the business depended upon the goods sent and the treatment they received. the foundation of this business was well laid from the beginning. the principles inculcated were that a clear understanding must exist between the house and the customers--that goods would not be misrepresented, that customers would be told in plain words what they were, and that they would be found to be exactly as represented, or that their money would be refunded; and that's what they wanted. the management and method were perfected, and the responsibility of handling the business fully recognized, and an honest endeavor made to satisfy every reasonable demand. they realized that it is one thing to create a business of this kind, and another thing to retain it; that it costs more to get a new customer than to retain one already secured. anything, therefore, that would destroy the confidence of a customer in the house or leave an impression that would tend to injure trade must be strongly condemned, and to strengthen this position a personal interest in every order was encouraged and insisted upon. mail-order buyers must learn to interpret the customers' wants, and see that the detail of every order is carefully attended to. the correspondence must contain the fullest explanations; the goods must always be properly checked, packed and shipped; and every head of every department must take a lively interest in this work, and impart that interest to the salespeople; and only so far as this personal interest extends, from cash boy to president, does the business prosper. upon this foundation has been raised a business of such proportions that it scarcely knows any limits, and wherever telephone or telegraph, mail or express, reaches, there you will find this business represented. distance makes no difference. customers served at any time and in any place. catalogues, representative of the entire stocks of these large houses, are issued from time to time, and regularly find their way into the people's homes, no expense being spared to keep customers informed regarding goods and prices. the methods employed have won their trade, and fair treatment retains it. the tremendous growth of this business is the most satisfactory proof that it has succeeded. it clearly demonstrates that they have the confidence of their customers everywhere, that buying in this way is becoming better understood and appreciated; and that the method of shopping by mail is no longer an experiment, but, beyond argument, is an acknowledged success. a perfectly organized mail-order department is a distributing agency for the whole country, requiring a perfect system, demanding intelligence, exactitude, and promptness, carefulness in filling, and despatch in sending orders. it reaches out for the trade of people in distant towns and villages. these places are full of bright, intelligent people, whose ability to buy is unquestioned. they are reached only by intelligent and truthful advertising. the mails take the counters of the big stores to the doors of these people. they like to shop by mail. they like to get samples and catalogues, and to make a selection of city goods, being strongly impressed that they get something different from what the local dealer supplies; something their neighbors haven't got, something stylish, exclusive. the means of communication are better and quicker than ever before. whoever can write a letter can send for nearly everything they want. wherever the catalogue goes the store goes. some of the appeals made, statements advanced, and arguments used to influence and encourage trade among out-of-town customers might be classified as follows: whenever you order, always bear this in mind, that if you don't get goods as represented, back goes your money to you as soon as you want it. the smallest order you send will receive the same prompt and careful attention as if it were ever so large. where you and your neighbors order together, goods can be packed separately and forwarded in one shipment, thus making the charges low. selling goods at fair prices every day should interest you. it may be a satisfaction to select goods yourself, but your orders by mail will be promptly and faithfully executed. out-of-town customers always get the benefit of any reduction in the price of goods. freight is a small item where customers are saved many times the cost of transportation. you are at absolutely no risk whatever in ordering by mail, as you always get the best and pay the least. samples and prices are sent free of charge, therefore there need be no hesitation in asking for them. a trial order will convince you that it will be filled carefully and promptly. if goods are not all right, you don't have to keep them. the goods offered are bought for cash in large quantities, sold direct to customers for cash and not through agents, therefore the traveling man's salary and expenses, the middleman's profits, his losses and poor accounts, are not paid by you. mistakes are rarely made; but always rectified. where there is the slightest cause for complaint, if you write fully, everything will always promptly be made right. the bigger saving is made on the bigger order you send. no charge is made for packing goods, and they always open up in first-class condition. your money is refunded every time if you are not satisfied. goods are bought direct from the manufacturer, and then go direct to you. your smallest order will be filled at the same price as the customer who buys a thousand dollars worth. goods marked at one price only. isn't it much more satisfactory and much easier to sit down at home, look over the catalogue, select the goods required and mail your order, than to depend upon stores where the stock is small as well as assortments incomplete, and get something that does not give you half satisfaction, notwithstanding that you do pay an extravagant price? if an error is made, and it's not your fault, you are not asked to pay any expense incurred. some of the most successful men of the day give you in the catalogue sent the benefit of their thought, experience and hard work. it may be a surprise to compare catalogue prices with others, but always a favorable one for the catalogue. confidence in the goods offered at the prices asked was established long ago. the man is prosperous who saves a dollar on this and a half dollar on that: the prices quoted help you in this direction. the goods offered are _exceptional_, on account of the price; and _rare_, because of their exclusive style. honest value is guaranteed for every cent you send, or it is sent back again. it pays you to deal where no false representations are made, but where goods are sold exactly as advertised. the goods offered are honest, the prices are right, customers are every-day honest people; and that's why it's easy to do business together. you don't save the freight when you buy at home; the freight and a big profit as well are added in the price. the whole truth of the matter is--_what promises are made, are kept_. it is the belief engendered in the truth of these and other statements, the influence they exert in convincing, and the persistent method of keeping it up, that attracts this particular trade; and the faithfulness with which all promises are kept, all obligations fulfilled, that builds the business up on the lines of perfect confidence and retains it. all may not be agreed upon the effect the response to this method of doing business has upon the country at large; but it is, nevertheless, a fact that the people everywhere are giving their material support to houses whose advocated policy is to supply them everything on which they can save them money, and it has proved to be a pronounced success to the promoters. the possibilities of increased trade through the medium of the mail-order department appear almost unlimited. the amount of business that may be done has evidently never yet been measured, and no other branch of the business is apparently as capable of as large development as the mail-order trade. catalogues. the general catalogue of department stores stands in the same relation to the mail-order trade as the newspaper does to the store trade. it is the chief medium for mail-order advertising. though supplemented in various ways by special advertising, yet the catalogue stands distinctly alone as the indispensable means for securing and retaining the trade of out-of-town customers; and bearing this important relation to the business, extraordinary care is exercised in its preparation from start to finish. it is the silent traveler, the individual salesman; and as the highly successful representative salesman must have qualifications that bring business, so the catalogue must have the essentials which will insure successful results. these consist of appearance, paper, printing, illustration, arrangement, description, goods, prices, etc.; all of which must be thoroughly understood and intelligently carried out, not only in the relations they bear to each other, but also in the relations they all bear to the general effect and result. the quantity to be issued is first decided, depending upon the number of present customers to be provided for, and the additional quantity required for extra circulation to influence new trade, which increase depends upon the amount of new business likely to be done, and the appropriation for which is usually determined upon a percentage of the profits. next in order for consideration, is the size of the catalogue. the number of pages varies slightly, according as it is a spring or fall issue, and any increase from previous issues is governed by the addition of new stocks into the business. if new departments have been added, additional space must be made in the catalogue to provide for them. the paper is next selected. the size of the sheet must be accurately determined and the weight fixed, having due reference to the weight of the book when completed, as the postage for mailing is an important factor in the cost, and an extra ounce over weight might mean a great additional expense. the inside paper should be light but strong, and of such a color and finish as to produce the best effect with whatever character of cuts are used in illustrating. particular attention must be paid to the cover paper, it must be of suitable weight and color and of a high finish, capable of producing a superior cut in colors, and extra strong, in order to stand handling. tons of paper are required for the issue of a catalogue, which is usually bought direct from the mills, being manufactured expressly to order as to size, quality and finish specified, and delivered as required. the cover design must be decided upon early, giving the artist time to fully complete his drawing, and the engraver time to execute his best work. it must also pass through experimental stages with the printer, possibly proving in a variety of colors, criticising and comparing, until the best effect is secured and selection is made; and to do this and work off thousands of covers, and have each one perfect, the work must not be hurried. the cover design must be good, both front and back. it should interest and attract, and at first glance create a favorable impression. it should be a quick-acting advertisement, characteristic of the business, telling the reader instantly what it is about, so distinctly individual and striking that it insures attention like a flash. a good cover design is a most important feature of any catalogue, requiring originality of conception and the best artistic engraving and printing skill in its execution. such a cover is always worth infinitely more than it costs. arrangements are next made with engraving companies whose artists and engravers are to prepare the drawings and provide the cuts used in illustrating the catalogue, and whose abilities and resources are sometimes taxed severely to get the work out as required. the quantity to be issued and the size of the book being determined, paper selected, and artists and engravers secured, the work of compiling the catalogue begins. general catalogues are issued semi-annually, usually in march and september. a definite date is fixed when the catalogue is to be completed, and everyone associated with it in any way must work to that end; not always easily accomplished, but possible, and therefore insisted upon. blank books are usually provided heads of departments, who are expected to use them, thus preserving a uniformity in the preparation of copy, and facilitating the work of the catalogue manager and printer. for months previous to the issue of the catalogue the buyers have been securing goods from everywhere, planning ahead, anticipating the wants of customers by making extensive preparations for the future. the world's markets must be visited and examined into, finding out what is new in this line, what change in that, whether this new idea in lamp goods is what the people will want, what designs in baby carriages are new and attractive, whether this style of boys' clothing is correct or not, knowing the latest ideas in gloves, laces, ribbons, handkerchiefs, fancy goods, etc.; securing the newest and most fashionable dress fabrics, knowing what styles in millinery, jackets, mantles, blouses, wrappers, etc., will prevail; seeking out, buying and arranging for quantities and deliveries to meet the demands of the trade--in fact, going over the whole range of merchandise. the department manager's selections from these goods, as to quality, variety and price, must be carefully made, keeping in view the character of the trade appealed to and being governed in this by his experience and knowledge of its requirements. his descriptions must be accurate and short, but comprehensive, telling exactly what the goods are, giving the facts in a clear, truthful and intelligent manner. he must illustrate his goods where possible, the better to enable the customer to form an opinion as to the shape, style, appearance, etc. valuable assistance is rendered heads of departments in this particular by the catalogue manager, who, by reason of his work, has made careful comparison of other catalogues, and has kept in constant touch with everything new in the way of illustrating, and is, therefore, ready with ideas and suggestions, which are utilized to the best advantage. goods to be illustrated are set aside, the artist is given full instructions as to what is desired, style and size of cut required, grouping of articles or figures, etc., and the work is put in hand. drawings are submitted to catalogue manager, who with head of department examines the work, suggests the necessary changes, criticises carefully, points out any defects, and, when satisfactory, passes them. each drawing must be examined minutely. the pose of this figure, the artistic arrangement of this group of figures, whether the arm is too short or too long, or any part out of proper proportion; the way this skirt hangs, and the effect that fold produces, the completeness and accuracy with which the detail of trimming is shown; whether this hat or bonnet should be shown with front, side, or back view, the faces to be baby-like, youthful, or otherwise, thus indicating who suitable and intended for; in fact, all the detail of all drawings should be examined most carefully, to know that they are exact representations of the goods, with a suggestion as to their uses, and that the effect is pleasing and attractive. the finished cuts soon follow, with proofs of the same. these proofs should be clear and distinct. the illustrations assist in selling the goods, are a necessary expense, and must do justice to the goods. copy, when handed in from department managers to catalogue department, should be accompanied with all the cuts to be used. each cut should be numbered and its corresponding number should appear in the copy where the cut is intended to go, and, where possible, all goods should be numbered, to facilitate ordering, care being exercised that no numbers are duplicated. the copy, as submitted, must all be carefully read by the catalogue manager, all cuts examined and compared as to numbers, etc., to see that none are missing and that all appear in their proper places; anything not satisfactory must be explained, the grammatical construction should be carefully watched, and he is expected to satisfy himself fully that everything about the copy is positively o. k. before passing it. a complete record should be kept of the number of pages of copy handed in from each department, and the number of cuts received, together with date. also when copy and cuts are given to printer, and when and what proofs are returned from printer and given back to the several departments, as, where copy and proofs are passing through so many different hands at different times, a constant check should be kept on it. the copy and cuts, when submitted and passed, are handed over to the printer, an effort being made to get them in his hands in the order they should appear in the catalogue, which greatly facilitates his work in many ways, and materially assists in getting the whole catalogue completed much more quickly. proofs of the catalogue, as set up, are very carefully examined, the arrangement of matter and cuts given special attention, and when every page is entirely satisfactory it is finally o. k.'d. electrotype or stereotype plates are then made from the type, and these plates handed over to the pressroom, when the work of printing begins. as fast as possible, the forms are printed, folded, gathered and stitched, covers put on, books trimmed and completed. special attention is given to preparation of index; every page is gone over carefully, and, as far as possible, every line of goods appearing in the catalogue is alphabetically arranged in the index, thus providing an easy reference to whatever goods customers may wish to select. certain space in catalogue is devoted to giving instructions to shoppers by mail, and too much care cannot be exercised in their preparation. they should be short, but cover the ground completely, giving customers whatever information they need to order intelligently, anticipating all contingencies, thus preventing delay, misunderstanding and inconvenience. people are forgetful, and this information, if referred to, acts as a constant reminder. the special points emphasized to customers are--to always write their name, post office, and state or province, state how much money is enclosed, how and where they want goods shipped, and, if goods are ordered by mail, to enclose sufficient extra for postage and, where necessary, for insurance or registration. they are requested to send remittances by express order, post office order, or other safe means, and cautioned against sending by unregistered mail; to order by number and page in catalogue, and, when requesting samples sent, to state definitely what is required, color, quality, price, etc., so that a suitable selection may be forwarded. where goods for any reason are returned, they are specially reminded to put their name on the parcel, so that it may be identified at once. they are encouraged to order by freight where possible, to economize on the charges, and to club together with other customers in ordering, for the same reason. they are told definitely what to do in case of delays, complaints or exchanges, and sufficient information is given and classified in such a manner that, if referred to and made use of as intended, there is very little liability of any serious difficulty arising. it won't do to take it for granted that customers always understand what to do. they must be reminded of certain requirements under certain conditions, and largely educated in this direction, and, therefore, instructions to shoppers by mail bear no unimportant relation to the business, and must always be clear, intelligent and complete. the general arrangement of the catalogue should be studied, with a view to having departments of a similar character grouped together, thus assisting in the general effect. economy of space should be studied on every page. while cuts should, as far as possible, be of uniform size, yet they must be no larger than actually necessary to show goods properly, as space occupied by cuts larger than are needed is money wasted. position and arrangement of cuts can be so studied as to greatly reduce the cost of space. printed matter must be set close to cuts, and while type selected must be clear and easy to read, yet it must not be large. an understanding should exist with the printer that the matter must be set to save space wherever consistent, and any carelessness or neglect in this respect should be observed and effectually stopped at once. a saving of five pages in a catalogue by watching the size of cuts, their arrangement, the setting of the type, etc., if the issue should be say two hundred thousand, means a million pages of paper saved, outside of any saving in composition, presswork, etc. such arrangements should be made with the printers as will insure good work throughout. the good effect desired in the special care exercised in preparation of copy, getting drawings and cuts made, etc., can be largely reduced by hasty and careless composition, poor ink, and lack of proper attention to presswork and binding. the printer, therefore, should be wisely selected, one in whom confidence can be placed, who knows how to set it up in the way it will look well, and will use his knowledge so that the catalogue, as representative of the business, will be satisfactory in this particular. while the catalogue is being compiled and printed, catalogue wrappers are being addressed to customers, and everything prepared for mailing. the method of recording and permanently preserving customers' names and addresses is deserving of attention here. that most in vogue is a system of card indexing. the different towns in each state or province are written or printed on cards, and these are arranged alphabetically in suitable cases, and ruled so as to show by months and years the amount of business done in each town, and any other particulars required. the name of each customer in the various towns is entered on a separate record card, which is ruled, allowing space for the name and address, and so the date and amount of each purchase is shown as it occurs, space being left at the bottom of each column for total footings, and these individual cards are filed under the town they belong to. where the towns have a large population and the number of customers is correspondingly large, an auxiliary alphabetical index is used for easy reference. the information recorded on these cards may be entered direct from the orders themselves, or where the loose-leaf book system is used, the sheets may be detached as required, and the information registered direct from these sheets. each drawer or compartment in which cards are filed is labelled on the outside, to indicate its contents. thus, when recording an order, the first reference is to the town the order is from, and then under this town is found the card with customer's name, upon which entry is made, and the card put back in its proper place. these cards, therefore, show at all times the name and address of each customer, how much business each has done, and the total amount of business done in each town. previous to sending out catalogues, these cards are all gone over carefully, and where customers have not ordered within a certain time their cards are taken out. where two or more names in the same town, and evidently of the same family, appear, positive information is obtained and acted upon, with a view to preventing a waste of catalogues by sending more than one to the same family. the list is thoroughly examined, checked, revised, and all old, dead matter excluded before addressing catalogue wrappers, as sending out catalogues to names that do not respond is a dead loss of postage, printed matter and effort. a big advantage in keeping a mailing list on index cards is, that they can be distributed among a large number of writers, and thousands of wrappers written in a short time, which cannot be conveniently done where kept in books; and the card system also keeps the list neat and clean, while books, by reason of names being crossed out, etc., always present anything but a good appearance. when wrappers are addressed, they are all checked back and compared with cards, to insure absolute correctness. all the wrappers for one town are usually attached together and kept separate from other towns, and thus, when mailing, all the catalogues going to any one town are put in a bag or bags by themselves, which, while causing extra labor on the part of the sender, insures correctness, and enables post office employees to handle large quantities with great despatch. printed envelopes bearing the firm's name and address, and blank order forms, are usually enclosed for the benefit of the customers. the art of catalogue compiling and looking after its proper distribution entails hard and extremely careful work. when finished and sent out, it has to compete with other catalogues wherever it goes, and, as it is the representative of the business, it must be complete in every detail, in order to do its work well. while the catalogue has its distinctive place as "the steady trade bringer" from out-of-town customers, yet much is accomplished by special mail-order advertising. this embraces booklets, circulars, leaflets, etc.; little pamphlets properly illustrated and well written dropped into the people's homes through the medium of the letter, the parcel, or both. suggestions of seasonable goods, a special about furs when the weather is cold, rubbers and waterproofs during the rainy season, hints for weddings in june, light clothing for warm-weather wear, and so on through the whole range of merchandise, keeping the business before the public all the time with something new, attractive, seasonable. where "special sales" are inaugurated, such as "white goods sale," "special furniture sale," etc., shoppers from out of town are given an opportunity to participate in any advantages they may bring through the medium of the newspaper advertisement as far as it reaches, and through such special distribution of advertising matter relative to these sales as is consistent with anticipated profits. the christmas season is specially considered, the gift question in all its bearings duly studied, planned and provided for in advance. tuning the business up all the time, keeping at a safe distance any danger of a relapse or "that tired feeling," which may almost unsuspectingly creep into a business, by administering these special advertising tonics, new, interesting and helpful, the result of well-studied plans. this process of continual construction is not built up alone by keeping in constant touch with customers already secured, but by reaching out for new trade among new people. getting new names. regular customers, on request, readily contribute the names and addresses of possible customers in their immediate vicinity. special appeals made to special classes, for a consideration, usually result in securing satisfactory lists. these lists as received are compared with names already in use, and all duplicates struck out, thus providing against the possibility of sending the same matter to the same name twice. securing these new names is simply a part of the natural development of the catalogue trade. wisely considered, the development is both from within and from without. from within, by adding new stocks to the business from time to time, as space, resources and abilities permit; and from without, by adding new and increased numbers to the purchasing list. from within, by getting more goods to sell; and from without, by getting more people to buy. not only continuing to sell the same goods to the same people, but getting more goods for these same people, and more people to buy these goods. instead of having the _dollar_ sent to some other business for lack of goods, get that _dollar_ by having the goods, the effort being made to build up the business and develop it on the lines of selling all the people all their goods all the time. it is the understanding of this principle and its working out through the catalogue and all other auxiliary advertising, backed up by the goods required, that makes the possibilities of this trade. receiving and opening mail. while the catalogue is under course of construction, the whole mail-order system should be thoroughly gone over, tightened up, well oiled, improved where possible, and put in proper shape to handle the large volume of business which is bound to come immediately after the distribution of catalogues. where the mail is large, it is usually brought from the post office by wagon, the smaller deliveries being brought by regular post office carriers. all registered letters and parcels are carefully checked as to number, by actual count, and compared with number entered on post office registration sheets, before signing for them. envelopes are first cut open by one or more persons. registered letters are kept separate from all others, are distributed separately and accounted for before any ordinary mail is handled. each opener is held responsible for the number of letters received, which are checked back, totalled, and the totals must agree with the total number given out by the one in charge. in the event of any error, it must be examined into at once and everything made o. k. a positive check is kept upon all letters and every precaution exercised to prevent the possibility of mistakes or loss of any kind. ordinary unregistered letters are treated in the same careful manner. special tables are provided for mail openers, and each one occupies a separate space or division. when a letter is opened, the amount enclosed (whether in bills, express orders, drafts, checks, post office orders, stamps or silver) is carefully counted, checked and entered on the order, totalled and compared with the amount customer claims to have enclosed. if these agree, the amount is signed for by the opener or stamped with an initial stamp, and the envelope is also initialed. the money is usually placed directly on the order it belongs to, both are put in a box or basket specially provided for the purpose, and each succeeding letter, with the remittance it contains, follows in its regular order as opened, until the mail is all completed. in some cases the money and orders are separated at once. each letter or order is examined carefully, to see that the name and address are given, and if not, the envelope should be attached for reference. if any samples referring to orders are enclosed, they must be attached to the order, and care exercised in attaching measurement forms, plans, or any separate sheets bearing any relation to the order. should there be any difference in the amount received and the amount customer claims to have enclosed, the attention of the one in charge must be called to it at once, and, after thorough examination, be certified to by one or more. any omission of samples or enclosures of any kind, or any irregularities of any character, must be reported immediately, examined into, and certified to by those of recognized authority. ordinary mail, such as enquiries, requests for samples, etc., and all letters not containing money, are kept separate from letters with money enclosed. orders and money are collected, and the cashier checks and counts all money over again, comparing it with the amount entered on each order by the opener, and, where o. k., stamps each order and envelope with a duplicate consecutive numbering and date stamp. thus, at almost the first stage of handling an order, it receives its individual number, which is different from the number appearing on any other order, and is used to identify it through the different stages it may have to pass while being completed. envelopes are separated from orders, and each checker's envelopes put in a package by themselves for reference. should one be needed, the order is first examined, and, as it bears the checker's signature, reference is then made to that checker's package of envelopes, and the one bearing the same number as the order is easily and quickly found. book-keeping, buying, checking, etc. where the business is large, the country is usually divided up into districts or sections, each division being designated by a letter; thus one state or province would be known as "a," and another as "b," and these sections each usually have a head under the supervision of the manager. a simple form of cash book is largely made use of, by which the number and amount of each order only is entered under its proper division column. the totals of these columns must agree with the total amount of cash received. orders follow in their natural course to the book-keepers, who, under the date received, enter the orders in regular order by number, name and address, and credit the customer with the amount received. cashier and book-keepers are able to compare entries by number and amount, and should always agree. all orders, after being entered in the books, are generally examined by one or more appointed for this work, who note anything of importance on the order, marking it in such a manner as to attract special attention. bargains on sale that day, which are usually marked "rush," requests to have goods delivered by a certain time, enclosed with a shipment made by another house, or with goods already bought and holding; in fact, anything and everything requiring any particular or extra care, so that no omission of instructions will occur, and that the detail of each order shall be distinctly carried out. all requests for samples, catalogues, etc., are put in hand at once, so that this work is being done promptly, and while the other work in connection with the order is being carried on. all orders, after being examined, everything noted and all specials sorted out, are classified into large, small or medium. all orders for only one article, such as gloves, drugs, jewelry, books, etc., are separated from orders for miscellaneous merchandise, all credits referred to looked up, and everything put into complete shape for buyers to handle. as orders are distributed among the buyers, they are charged with the number received, and are individually held responsible for all orders while in their possession. in some cases buyers are not used, but orders are copied on requisition sheets, and sent to the different departments to be filled; but where a large retail business is done, the method of using buyers is largely adopted. the buyers' duties are many, and a great deal depends upon their ability and skill. they are expected to keep a record of all orders received and how disposed of. their orders must be read carefully and thoroughly understood; if they lack any information, such as color, size, samples, or any errors in extensions or additions, they must be observed, and, where necessary, consulted about. all requests for estimates or prices asked for on orders must be got from the proper department, written up clearly, and have the signature of one whose authority is recognized. where goods are going by express or freight, the buyers usually make use of a purchasing card. they are provided with check books, and, as they visit the different departments and make their selections, they make out a check in duplicate for each purchase, leaving both with the salesperson. the top check is sent with the goods to the mail-order sorting section, and the duplicate is sent to the cash office, just the same as though it were actual money. this duplicate check represents so much money and is taken in payment for goods. great care is exercised in making out these checks. not only is one half treated as cash, but the other half goes with the goods direct to the customers, showing them exactly how their money has been spent. these checks must be written plainly with good figures, and give a full description of goods, prices, etc. the date, exact time purchase is made, the department bought from, sales number and order number, must all appear on each check, and all have such important relations to the work that any omission or carelessness cannot be allowed. on their purchasing card they enter the number of the order they are buying, and enter this same number on every check belonging to that order, also entering each purchase as bought on the purchasing card by department, sales number, and amount. when the purchase is completed, the order and purchasing card are handed to a shipping clerk, who examines the order as to shipping instructions, enters the name and address and how goods are to be shipped on this card, when they are passed to a clerk who examines the order carefully, to see that everything has been bought correctly, no omissions made, all additions correct, and who, when satisfied that the order is executed properly in every particular, sends the order with proper charge slip attached back to the book-keeper, and the purchasing card is sent to the sorting or inspecting room, where goods in the meantime have been sent. assembling and packing mail-order goods. this assembling section is arranged to provide space for goods until each order is completed. under a system largely made use of by several houses, the original number stamped on the order and entered by the buyer on every check belonging to that order is here made use of as the sorting number. sorting tables are arranged for receiving goods, and are numbered from one to ten. checks accompany all goods, and if the number of the check is say 2,617, the goods are placed on no. 7 table; if check is number 2,618, goods would be placed on no. 8 table, and so on. the last figure on every check denotes the table it is to be placed on, and, as orders are numbered consecutively as they are received, the goods are very evenly distributed over the ten tables; and, as all numbers must end in some figure between one and ten, the ten tables thus provide for all numbers. shelving is partitioned off back of these tables with a space of about eighteen inches square in each compartment. these compartments are four or more high and as many in number as the business demands. while the last figure in any check number denotes the table it is to be placed on, so the last two figures are made use of to indicate what particular compartment the goods are to be placed in. thus, check no. 2,617 and goods go to no. 7 table, and when placed go to no. 17 compartment; no. 2,627 with goods go to no. 7 table and no. 27 compartment, and so on, sufficient space being provided for the repetition of these endings as required. no. 2,617 being entered on checks belonging to mr. blank's order, and this number appearing on his checks only, all his goods find their way to no. 7 table, and are placed in no. 17 compartment, and checks are filed in this compartment as goods are placed. the purchasing card used by the buyer, and on which the order number and all the items bought appear, is carefully compared with checks, and when checks representing all goods on this card are received the order is complete and ready for packing. all goods as received on sorting tables are opened up, looked over carefully, checked, weighed, measured, colors, sizes, qualities and quantities critically examined, compared with description, and particulars given on checks; and if not satisfactory must be set aside and refused until made o. k. when an order is complete, the goods and card are taken from this inspecting section and sent to the express or freight-packing section of the shipping room, each lot of goods being kept in a separate compartment until packed. experienced packers are employed, who again, and finally, compare goods with bills, and check everything carefully while packing. according to the nature of the goods, they are wrapped in paper, boxed, baled or crated, entered up in shipping books according to shipping instructions on card, and handed over to the different transportation companies as called for, and cards are filed for reference. goods sent by mail, correspondence, paying for goods, etc. where goods are ordered to go by mail, checks are made out as before, but with this usual difference, that buyers retain the top check and bring the goods with them. each item as bought is entered by department, sales number and amount on a shipping and charge sheet. when an order going by mail is all bought, it is carefully checked by the buyer, weighed, and the amount of postage determined as near as possible, when goods and order are handed to shipping clerk, who enters the name and address on the shipping slip, when all are passed to the mailing section, where goods are carefully checked, wrapped, weighed, amount of postage determined, parcels addressed, stamps put on, entered by name, address and amount of postage in a parcel-mailing book, and placed on sorting table, after which they are sorted and placed into different bags by state, province, or whatever division of parcels the post office authorities may name, that will facilitate rapid handling and quick despatch. should a parcel, when wrapped, require more postage than customer has allowed money for, it should be laid aside, and the head of division should determine whether to hold parcel and write for the additional amount required, omit something from the parcel, or allow the customer to remit the balance due. where small amounts are to be returned to customers, in some cases their particular parcels, as wrapped, may be left open at one end and placed on a separate table, where, after checking, a small envelope containing the amount to be returned may be enclosed in the parcel. these little envelopes may be prepared in advance and placed in separate divisions, all one-cent envelopes being in one space, all two-cent envelopes in another, and so on, so that the work can be done rapidly, and a great saving effected in postage on letters which otherwise would require to be written in order to return the balance due. all registered parcels are kept separate and signed for by the post office authorities. it is easy at any time, by reference, to find out exactly how a package was addressed, how much postage was put on the parcel, how much money was enclosed, whether registered or not, and just what mail it was sent out on. all orders, when properly checked, should be passed back to the book-keepers, who, having made the original entry and credited the cash when the order was first received and before goods were bought, may now refer to that order number, name and address again, and charge the customer with amount of goods sent, amount of postage paid, and cash returned, or remaining to be returned, thus balancing the account. a simple index system may be made use of for any debit or credit balances that may require to be kept. orders pass on to heads of divisions, who examine all carefully, sorting out any that may be replied to by form cards or letters, seeing that all necessary explanations and enquiries have been submitted, made and signed by those authorized, and that they are satisfactory, and who dictates all necessary replies. all replies, when dictated and type-written, are handed back for examination, and, when correct, are signed and given to cashier, who encloses any balance to be returned, keeping a record of the same by number and amount, when the letters are sent to the mailing section, stamped and mailed, and orders sent to be filed with copy of reply attached. the graphophone system of dictating and reproducing is largely made use of in place of shorthand where the business is large, and is found to greatly facilitate the handling of correspondence. personal representation of the customers by everyone associated with the different departments is especially encouraged. the buyer who visits the departments cannot be compelled to accept anything except what in her judgment is o. k. she represents the customers absolutely, stands in their place, and studies their interests at every turn, and this same personal interest is specially observed by every individual clerk in whatever relation they may bear to orders or goods passing through their hands. the payment for goods purchased by the mail-order department is extremely simple. the duplicate checks made out by buyers and given to salespeople when selecting goods represent so much money, and are sent to the cash office immediately. they are collected here and sent to the check office or auditing department daily, where they are all audited. the total amount of these checks represents the total amount of goods bought that day, and the mail-order cashier thus hands over the exact amount required to pay for goods received. as these checks also show the different departments goods have been purchased from, they are all sorted out by departments, and each department, therefore, receives credit for its share of the money. likewise is it easy to know at all times just what percentage of cost the total mail-order expense is upon the business done. the mail order expense properly consists of its share of light, heat, power and rental, sundry expenses, such as stationery, office fixtures, furniture and wages paid. the wages list, properly divided, should show how much is paid for buying, book-keeping, type-writing, samples, checking, packing, etc., and if wages paid in each division week by week and the amount of business done are compared with any previous week's expenses and business, the department is promptly made aware of any unnecessary increased expense, just exactly where that unnecessary increase is, and the remedy may be applied at once. the catalogue expense may also be readily arrived at. the total issue costs a certain amount, and according to the number of pages each department occupies, so in this proportion may be estimated each one's share in the expense. each department manager, knowing what his catalogue space may have cost for a certain issue, and what amount of business he may have done from that issue, can estimate exactly what percentage of cost his mail-order advertising is upon his sales, while the total catalogue expense for any one issue may be added to the other total mail-order expense for that time, and the exact percentage of cost may be arrived at upon the total amount of mail-order business done. such a system may be adopted and made actual use of that will point out at once the exact condition of every part of this business, and provide a safety valve which will indicate at all times the true profit or loss, and through just what channel that loss or gain accrues. filing correspondence. systems of filing differ, but where the business is large, one of two methods is largely adopted, that is filing either by number or place. when filed by number, the original number stamped on the order is made use of for filing purposes. where the place file is used, suitable boxes or drawers are arranged in cases, each box being labelled on the outside indicating its contents. these drawers are provided with cards on which are printed or written the different post offices in each state or province, and arranged for easy reference. thus all correspondence coming from any one town is filed together next its town card, and where the mail from any one town is large it may be subdivided by an alphabetical index. thus, to find mr. b.'s order from blank town reference is first made to the drawer which contains blank town, and under this town, among the bs, will be found mr. b.'s orders. one set of drawers may be made use of for each month's filing, and, therefore, as many sets of drawers are provided as will correspond with the number of months letters may be preserved. separate files may also be kept (usually alphabetical by name) for filing letters, such as those where customers have forgotten to give size, color, or measurements, where they have overlooked enclosing samples, or any omission or circumstance which may cause customers to be written to and their orders held for further information, or orders that may have any balance holding to credit, etc. the filing must be very accurately done, as constant reference is made, and it is of the utmost importance that any correspondence required shall be found with the greatest despatch. special orders. a special effort should be made to have the system so arranged that it will enable the mail-order department, as well as every other department in connection with the house, to know how many orders are partly bought and holding for goods which have been ordered that are not in stock, or that require to be made. the buyer who finds anything asked for on an order which a department cannot supply at once (and no checks should be taken unless the order can be filled promptly) should give someone appointed by each department full particulars of what is required, the number of the order, name of customer, description, size, or measurements of goods to be made or procured. when everything is bought, with these exceptions, the order should be then handed to a special mail-order clerk, who should note what is lacking to complete the order, and in a set of special department files (space being provided for each department) should place the holding order. he should visit the different departments, ascertaining particulars concerning each order, find out what efforts are being made to fill the same, and crowd these orders to completion, where necessary, writing customers explaining any cause of delay. as each department secures the goods required, the mail order department should be notified immediately, when the order may be quickly produced from its department file, check made out and order completed. it is easy to ascertain at any time through such a system exactly what goods each department lacks, and direct such efforts as will provide for the least possible lack of stock and the least possible delay in executing orders. returned goods, exchanges, and complaints. a separate section should be devoted to returned goods or exchanges. as goods are received the packages should be examined as to identification, whom and where from, and entered up alphabetically under the date received, with all particulars required, and goods placed in suitable compartments. when letter of explanation is received, goods are easily located, and both should be given to special exchange clerks, who will secure the necessary exchange bills and make such new selections as customers may desire. the cause of all goods returned should be thoroughly investigated in every instance, and where the fault lies with the house, the customer should be reimbursed for any extra expense incurred; and whatever department or individual is to blame should be made fully acquainted with their error, and such steps taken as will prevent a repetition of it. usually associated with this work is a special section, which should deal with all letters of complaint. the cause of all complaints should be fully enquired into and at once. there should be no delay whatever, but immediate answers insisted upon. explanations should be complete and to the entire satisfaction of customers, and any loss through carelessness or errors made good without reserve. each department and their help should be held strictly accountable for any claims which, upon investigation, show where the responsibility should rest. this feature of promptly adjusting all differences and satisfying every reasonable demand leads to continued and increased confidence, and should, therefore, be given very particular attention. samples. the preparation, selection and sending out of samples should receive the most careful attention. in some cases requests for samples are distributed among the different departments and are filled and sent to the sample department, but this method with progressive houses is considered slow, and for this reason alone unsatisfactory. the improved method is to cut from the piece such lengths of goods as are required. these are sent to the sample department with width, price and full particulars, where suitable paper printed in squares, the size of sample to be sent, are attached. these are sewn by machines driven by electric power and afterwards cut in proper sizes by electric cutting knife, prices inserted and placed in partitioned spaces in drawers arranged in suitable cabinets. as requests for samples are received, they are filled direct from these drawers, and sent out by the next mail. help is employed here who by long experience become familiar with all classes of sampleable goods, and who are under the direct management of one who thoroughly understands interpreting the customers' wants, and who bears no unimportant part to whatever measure of success may result from the sale of all goods by sample. keeping employees' time. this position requires a man of considerable firmness, as he comes in contact with every employee, and is bound to enforce the discipline of the house as applied to absentees and lates, regardless of any partiality or favoritism. he has direct charge of the cloakrooms, and must see that they are kept neat and clean, and that each individual has a certain space allotted. he should be on duty early and late, and should see that every one registers their time in passing in and out. a record of all employees going out on passes should be kept, and none should be accepted unless signed by those authorized. he should keep a record of employees' names and addresses, and have the same checked up regularly. he should supply wages department and also heads of departments with a report of all who are absent. where so many are under the charge of heads of departments, it is impossible for them to tell at once who may be absent. the time-keeper should notify them promptly every morning and noon, and they will thus be enabled to arrange immediately, so that the work done by absentees is provided for. he should not allow parcels of any kind to be carried in or out of the store, nor allow anyone to reënter the store after passing the time desk in going out, or return to the cloakrooms after passing the time desk going in. as part of the store help must go to dinner at one hour and part at another, he should regulate it so that those who go out one hour are back in their departments before others are notified, thus preventing crowding on stairways and passages. departments are usually notified by bells, and each is familiar with its particular signal. doors should be closed sharp on the minute, and all lates excluded. no matter what system for registering time is used, it is easy to determine who is late or absent, as on coming in all keys or time cards hanging on the time board are on one side of the time clock, and when the time is registered they are hung on the opposite side. those which have not been removed indicate at once who has not come in. time cards of any absent, who have not sent in a reason for absence, should be removed from the time board and such employees should secure permission from those authorized before their time can be again marked. lists of those going on holidays should be supplied time-keeper, and their cards should also be removed. the time-keeper should supply the wages department with correct time sheets, as desired. he should see that employees are orderly in passing in and out, and permit no loitering in the cloakrooms. a register is usually placed at the exit door, which should be signed by one appointed for each department or section of the store when leaving at night, certifying that all persons have left their department, and that all windows are secured, blinds down, etc. employing help. the hiring of help is largely centered in one individual for the entire store. departments requiring additional help should notify the employment office, and give particulars of the kind of help required, which fact should be noted and filed for reference, a preference being given former employees seeking reëngagement. the hours for engaging help are usually from 8 to 10 a. m., after which no applications are considered for that day. all applicants must be treated with courtesy. even though no immediate help is required, applicants in many cases are permitted to fill out application, which should be placed on file for reference, and a satisfactory applicant may then be notified as soon as a position is open. all applications should contain, as far as possible, full particulars concerning applicant. it should show the date of engagement, name, address, whether married or single, nationality, church denomination, where previously employed, for how long, and reasons for leaving. references should be given, who may be communicated with, and whose replies should be attached to application. application blank should show salary agreed upon and for what particular department employed. space should be provided for percentage record, and for transfer from one department to another, for increased salary recommendations, which are usually signed by heads of departments and passed by those appointed. they should be at all times a complete and permanent record of each employee. all help is usually engaged upon the distinct understanding and agreement that they are privileged to leave any day, or their services may be dispensed with at any time. a new employee, when given a time card or key, and the time-keeper has explained the system of registering time, etc., and allotted cloakroom space, is conducted to the head of the department or assistant. paying wages. the system of registering time furnishes accurate information for estimating wages. the time sheets kept by the time-keeper are here made use of. the name of each employee under the respective department each one is attached to, with number, rate of wages per week, number of days worked, actual wages due, etc., should be entered on the wages sheet. the total amount of money required on any pay day is given wages office, each individual's pay is placed in a pay envelope, sealed, numbered and entered in signature book. each head of a department, or one appointed, receives all wages for that department, signing for the same, and sees that they are distributed and signed for by each individual as received. the work is done accurately and with despatch, as thousands are by this method paid their weekly earnings in a very short time. watchmen. watchmen should report at the store each night, and as soon as the store is closed examine the leaving register, to see that each department has signed for everything having been left in perfect order. they should examine at once all doors and windows, seeing that they are securely fastened; also all other entrances to building, and all places where anyone might be concealed. they should report in writing anything irregular occurring during the night, leaving the same at the office, and repeat the report until the irregularity has been attended to. a regular patrol should be made throughout the entire building. an ingenious system of clock registration is made use of in some cases, which indicates upon examination in the morning the different stations each watchman has passed and the exact time of each passing during the entire night. in the event of fire or any other accident occurring during the night, such special instructions should be followed as will meet with the ready response of whatever assistance may be required. general rules for employees. rules for employees are in force in all large department stores. different stores differ in detail of rules, but the application is the same, all serving to build up the system of government which directs and controls the entire management. weekly examinations are held in some instances, and familiarity with the rules exacted, thus enforcing and maintaining system and discipline. the hours for opening and closing business vary at different seasons of the year, of which due notice is given. the opening hour is usually 8 o'clock, at which time all employees are expected to be in their respective positions, all covers folded and put in proper places, stocks and counters dusted, and everything made ready for the day's business. all employees must enter and leave the store by employees' entrance, leaving all wraps, hats, rubbers, lunches, etc., in the cloakroom, which is conveniently arranged for this purpose. upon entering the store in the morning and upon leaving and returning at noon, and on going out at night, each individual records his or her time. if for good reason an employee is necessarily delayed, a permission pass may be obtained to commence work; but if late without a good reason being given, they cannot commence work until noon, and thus lose a half day's work and a half day's pay. attendance to business must be punctual and regular. continued lateness and absence would merit discharge. employees who are absent for any cause must notify the house at once, either the head of their department or time-keeper, and satisfactory reasons given for being absent. whenever a change of address is made, employees must report same to time-keeper at once. employees must never leave the store during business hours (except for dinner) without a pass signed by the head of the department and countersigned by one authorized. blank pass books are usually supplied heads of departments. these passes should give the names of employees, their numbers, what departments employed in, date and time of going out, and must be presented to the time-keeper, who will permit employees to go to the cloakroom for wraps and pass them out. employees must not leave their departments to go to any other part of the store without informing the head of the department, or assistant, and obtaining permission. employees desiring to purchase goods for themselves are expected to do so during the least busy hours, usually from 8 to 9 a. m. a pass to purchase must be obtained from the head of the department. this pass is exchanged for a purchasing card. all employees' purchases must be made on purchasing card and sent by the regular delivery. if for any reason a parcel cannot be sent by the regular delivery, and employee is to carry it home, these parcels must be o. k.'d by the proper party. a numbered check is given to the employee and a duplicate attached to the parcel. by presenting this check at the exit door, the package is delivered to the proper party. parcels are not allowed to be carried into the store by employees. the wagons call upon request and deliver packages to the parcel office, where they may be obtained. employees are to avoid gossiping and not allow their time to be taken up with friends who desire to visit with them during business hours. loud conversation to be avoided. business hours not to be occupied in reading books, papers, letter writing, needlework, etc. loafing or wasting time away from departments not allowed. extravagance and display in dress to be avoided. the use of striking colors and patterns is objectionable. the costume should be modest and neat in appearance. employees are expected to be courteous to each other, using the same dignity, respect, and care in add dressing others that they feel they are entitled to themselves. should clerks be deserving of censure, it should be done in a gentlemanly manner, not before other employees or customers, thus retaining the respect of each other. the use of gum or tobacco, eating nuts, fruits, candy, or lunches during business hours is strongly objected to. loitering around the outside of the building, on the corners or at the entrances, expectorating on the walks and giving the premises an untidy appearance will not be permitted. defacing the walls, counters or fixtures, or abusing the property in any way, means immediate dismissal. all employees must learn to obey the orders of those whose authority is recognized, and be governed by the rules and regulations of the house; not only because they must, but for their own individual interests, and the interests of the house in general. some rules may appear rigid, but they are deemed necessary, and, therefore, must be obeyed, and the living up to them is not intended to be a reflection on the self-respect of any one. mechanical section. underneath the selling space in these large stores lies the network of machinery, all necessary for the prompt and careful adjustment of each day's work, furnishing the power for heating, lighting, elevator service, etc. modern automatic sprinkler system always ready for an emergency, rendering the property and merchandise as nearly fireproof as possible, aided by a corps of properly-drilled firemen taken from the regular employees staff. pneumatic cash system connecting with every part of the store selling space; not only utilized for carrying cash, but also providing the means of ventilation, by using up and discharging thousands of cubic feet of impure air regularly, and bringing fresh air into the building constantly. complete staffs of engineers, carpenters, painters, etc., are almost constantly employed in looking after additions, alterations, and repairs, thus keeping the whole building in perfect condition. all are under the direct management of experts, whose mechanical skill is utilized to assist in rendering the store service complete, and whose services are recognised on an equality with those occupying the most responsible positions in connection with the business. +-----------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page 21 ever changed to every | | page 48 call changed to called | | page 85 wont changed to won't | +-----------------------------------------------+ adventure stories for girls the crimson thread by roy j. snell the reilly & lee co. chicago printed in the united states of america copyright, 1925 by the reilly & lee co. all rights reserved contents chapter page i two hours before midnight 7 ii crimson with a strand of purple 23 iii a new mystery 36 iv the picture girl 52 v "come and find me" 67 vi the iron ring 80 vii cordie's mad flight 93 viii the diamond-set iron ring 109 ix her double 136 x cordie's strange ride 153 xi as seen from the stairway 167 xii silver gray treasure 175 xiii lucile's dream 181 xiv the newspaper picture 187 xv "with contents, if any" 192 xvi a great day 205 xvii an icy plunge 215 xviii the mystery lady's new role 229 xix meg wields a belaying pin 234 xx the great moment 246 xxi the man in gray 254 xxii the finish 263 xxiii meg's secret 271 xxiv three questions 277 xxv what the brown bag held 294 the crimson thread chapter i two hours before midnight starting back with a suppressed exclamation of surprise on her lips, lucile tucker stared in mystification and amazement. what was this ghost-like apparition that had appeared at the entrance to the long dark passage-way? a young woman's face, a face of beauty and refinement, surrounded by a perfect circle of white. in the almost complete darkness of the place, that was all lucile could see. and such a place for such a face--the far corner of the third floor of one of the largest department stores in the world. at that very moment, from somewhere out of the darkness, came the slow, deep, chiming notes of a great clock telling off the hour of ten. two hours before midnight! and she, lucile, was for a moment alone; or at least up to this moment she had thought herself alone. what was she to make of the face? true, it was on the level with the top of the wrapper's desk. that, at least, was encouraging. "that white is a fox skin, the collar to some dark garment that blends completely with the shadows," lucile told herself reassuringly. at that moment a startling question sent her shrinking farther into the shadows. "if she's a real person and not a spectre, what is she doing here? here, of all places, at the hour of ten!" that was puzzling. what had this lady been doing in that narrow passage? she could not be a member of the working force of the store. no sales person would come to work in such a superb garment as this person wore. although lucile had been employed in the book department for but ten days, she had seen all those who worked here and was certain enough that no such remarkably beautiful face could have escaped her notice. "she--why she might be anything," lucile told herself. "a--thief--a shoplifter. perhaps she stole that very cape--or whatever it is she wears. perhaps--" suddenly her heart gave a leap. footsteps were approaching. the next instant she saw a second face appear in the narrow line of light which the street lights cast through the window. "laurie seymour," she breathed. laurie was the new man in the department. he had been working at the boys' and girls' books for only three days, yet lucile liked him, liked him tremendously. he was so friendly, even-tempered and different. and he seemed a trifle mysterious. "mysterious," she mused, "perhaps here's the mystery answered." it certainly did seem so, for after the apparition in white had whispered a word or two, laurie looked at her strangely for a second, drew from his pocket a slip of paper and handing it to her, quickly vanished into the shadows. the next instant the apparition vanished, too. again lucile found herself alone in the far corner of the mammoth store, surrounded by darkness. perhaps you have been wondering what lucile and laurie were doing in the great store at this hour. since the doors are closed at six o'clock, you have no doubt thought of the entire place as being shrouded in darkness and utterly deserted. these were the days of the great rush of sales that comes before christmas. that evening eight thousand books had been trucked into the department to be stowed away on or under tables and shelves. twenty sales persons had been given "pass outs"; which meant that they might pass _in_ at seven o'clock and work until ten. they had worked like beavers; making ready for the rush that would come on the morrow. now the great bulk of the work had been done. more than half of the workers had chirped a cheery "good-night" and had found their way down a marble stairway to the ground floor and the street. lucile had been sent by "rennie," the head sales-lady of juveniles, to this dark section for an armful of books. here in this dark corner a part of laurie's true character had, uninvited, come to her. "he gave her his pass-out," she said to herself. "with that she can leave the building with her stolen goods." for a second, as she thought of this, she contemplated following the mystery woman and bringing her back. "but that," she told herself, "would be dangerous. that passage is a hundred feet long and only four feet wide; then it turns sharply and goes two hundred feet farther. she may carry a knife; such women do. in that place she could murder me and no one would know until morning. "of course," she reflected, "there's the other end of the passage where it comes out at the offices. she must leave the passage there if she does not come back this way. i might call the watchmen. they could catch her. it's a perfect trap; she's like a mouse in a boot. but then--" she paused in her mad rush of thought. what proof had she that this beautiful creature was a thief? what indeed? and what right had she to spy upon her and upon laurie? truth was, she had none at all. she was a sales person, not a detective. her job was that of putting books on shelves and tables and selling them; her immediate task that of taking an armful of books to rennie. her simple and sole duty lay just there. then, too, in the short time she had known laurie seymour, she had come to like him. "he might be innocent of any real wrong," she reasoned. "if i go blundering into things i may be serving a friend badly indeed." "but," she was brought up short by a sudden thought, "if he gave her his pass-out, how's he to leave the building?" how indeed? in a great store such as this, where hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of rare jewels and much silver and gold are kept and where princely furs and priceless old paintings are on display, it is necessary to maintain a constant vigil against thieves. "pass-outs" are given to all employees who enter or leave the store after closing hours. it was true enough that without his pass-out, laurie could not get by the eagle-eyed guard who kept constant vigil at the only door where the employees were permitted to pass out to the street. "but the books," she murmured, starting up, "rennie will be waiting." rennie, whose real name was miss renton, appeared to be in no hurry. having become interested in writing down lists of books that were to be ordered in the morning, she had so far forgotten the girl as to exclaim as she came up: "why, lucile! i thought you had gone! now, dearie, just put those books down right there. we can take care of them before the rush begins in the morning. run along now and get your coat. you must go home. it's past ten, less than two hours till midnight!" "yes, but--" lucile checked herself just in time. she had been about to say that she was afraid to go for her coat. and indeed she was, for was it not hanging on the wall in that narrow passage at the door of which the mystery lady had appeared? "but it wouldn't do to tell," she thought, "i--i've got to go alone." go she did, but with much fear and trembling. she might have spared herself all this trembling, for there was no one in the dark passage. but what was this? the row of coat hooks were all empty save one, her own, and on that hook--what could it mean?--on that hook hung not her own too frankly thin and threadbare coat, but a magnificent thing of midnight blue and white. it was the cape with the white fox collar worn by the mystery woman. even as her hand touched the fox skin she knew it was far more costly than she had thought. "it's over my coat," she breathed. "i've only to leave it." this, she found, was not true. _her coat had vanished._ the cape had been left in its stead and, as if to further perplex and alarm her, the midnight blue unfolded, revealing a superb lining of siberian squirrel. "oh!" lucile exclaimed as her trembling fingers dropped to her side and she fled the place. one consoling thought flashed across her mind. rennie had not yet left for the night. rennie, the tall and slim, with a thread of gray in her black hair, who had been in the department for no one knew how long--rennie would know what to do. the instant she was told all that had happened she would say what the very next step must be. "the instant she is told," lucile whispered to herself. then suddenly she realized that she did not wish to tell all she had seen. "not just yet, at any rate," she told herself. "i'm not supposed to have seen it. i want time to think. i'll tell rennie only what i am supposed to know--that my coat has been taken and this cape left in its stead." rennie showed little surprise on hearing the story. "someone has probably taken the wrong coat," she said. "but that's not possible!" lucile laughed at the very thought. "why?" "i'll show you," and she dashed back for the cape. as rennie saw the magnificent creation, she gasped with astonishment; then began to murmur something about fairy princesses looking after poor girls and leaving them gorgeous garments. "you can't go home without a wrap," she told lucile. "they say there's a regular blizzard outside. you'll simply have to wear it home." taking the garment from lucile's hands, she placed it upon her shoulders with a touch that was half caress. then, having fastened it under lucile's chin, she stood back to exclaim: "why, dearie, you look charming!" "but--but how am i to get out of the building with it? no one will believe that a mere sales girl owns a cape like this. it's new. probably it's been stolen." "stolen!" exclaimed rennie. "what nonsense! "besides," she added in a quieter tone, "it's not quite new. the strings that hold it together at the throat are worn a little smooth and there's the least bit of a soil at the bottom. you wait ten minutes for me and we'll go out together. i know the watchman. i'll take you out under my wing." greatly relieved by these words and intent on making the most of her wait by having a good general look at the room, lucile sauntered away to the left where she was soon lost from sight behind tables, stacks of books, and massive pillars. since she had worked here but ten days, the charm of the place had not yet worn off. the books, row on row of them, fascinated her. here was a wealth of learning that no one could hope to appropriate in a lifetime. to the right of her was poetry, thousands of volumes; to the left, books on travel, thousands more; and before her new fiction, tens of thousands. who would not envy her? it was a great place for one who loved books. with a feeling of sorrow she thought of the time when she must leave all this wealth; when she must say goodbye to the wonderful friends she had already formed here. in two short weeks she would be going back to the university. since she was dependent upon her own resources for her support--and since for one who specialized in english there was quite as much to be learned about books by selling as by reading them--her head professor had quite readily granted her a month's leave of absence that she might come down here to assist in meeting the christmas rush. "ah yes," she breathed, "it will be of the past in two more weeks. but in two weeks much may happen. think of what happened to-night! think--" she was brought up short by a sound. had it been a footstep? she could not make sure for the floor was heavily carpeted. instantly she became conscious of the darkness that surrounded her like a shroud. before her loomed the dim outlines of the elevator cages. distorted by the uncertain light, these seemed the cells of some gloomy prison. far off to the right was a great rotunda. from the rail that surrounded this, when the lights were on, one might gaze upward to dizzy heights and downward to dizzier depths. now she thought of that awe inspiring vault as if it were some deep and mysterious cave. "oh--ooo!" lucile gasped. "this place gets spookier every moment. i'll go back to--" even as she spoke she caught a sound to her right. impelled by sheer curiosity, she took a dozen steps in that direction. suddenly she started back. against the wall a light had flashed on for a second and in that second she had caught sight of a face--the face of laurie seymour. again the light came on. this time the flash was a little longer. she saw his face clearly. on his finely cut features there was such a smile as suggests anticipation of amusing adventure. in one hand he held the flashlight. under his arm was a bundle of corrugated paper such as is used in wrapping books for mailing. he was standing by a square opening in the wall. lucile knew in a vague sort of way where that opening led. books that had been wrapped were dropped in there. a circular spiral chute, some three feet in diameter, wormed its way like an auger hole down from this point to the sub-basement where was located the shipping room. even as she thought this through she saw laurie swing his feet across the opening. then, just as the light flashed out, she again saw that amused grin. the next second there came the sound of some heavy object gliding downward. "he--he went down the chute!" she gasped. "he'll be killed!" how long she stood there, petrified with surprise and dread, she could not have told. it could not have been many seconds but it seemed an hour. at last the end came, a sickening thud sounding faint and far away. without uttering a sound, but with heart beating wildly and feet flying at almost superhuman speed, the girl raced across the room and down a flight of broad marble stairs. "i must find him. he is hurt. perhaps he is killed!" she kept repeating to herself. down one flight; down two; three; four, she sped. and then, in the darkness of this vast shipping room, she paused to listen. not a sound. she may as well have been alone in the catacombs of egypt or the mammoth cave. "must be this way," she breathed. truth was, she had lost her sense of direction. she was not sure which way to go. she took a dozen steps forward. finding herself confronted by a dark bulk, she started walking round it. having paused to think, she found fear gripping at her heart. when she tried to retrace her steps she discovered that the stairs had apparently vanished. she was lost. "lost!" she whispered. "lost in the subbasement of this great building at night!" even as she thought this there came to her, faint and far distant, yet very distinct, the even tread of footsteps. "it's not laurie. he doesn't walk like that. it--it's--" her heart stood still, "it's a watchman! and here i am dressed in this magnificent garment which does not belong to me. somehow i must get back to the third floor and to rennie! but how? how!" chapter ii crimson with a strand of purple panic, an unbelievable terror ten times stronger than her will, seized lucile and bore her fleetly down a dark, unknown aisle. the very thought of being discovered by a watchman unknown to her, mingled with the sensation of the fear of darkness, had driven her well-nigh frantic. "the cape," she whispered to herself. "i must not be found with the cape!" had she but possessed the power to reason quietly, she might have known that the watchman, searching for an explanation of her strange conduct, would, upon her suggesting it, take her back to the third floor and rennie. not being in full possession of these powers, she abandoned herself to panic. snatching the cape from her shoulders she thrust it under her arm and plunged on into the darkness. in the deeper shadows she saw dim forms looming up before her. some seemed giants ready to reach out and grasp her; some wild creatures poised to fall upon her from the dark. now she tripped and went sprawling. as she sprang to her feet she caught the gleam of a light. thinking it the watchman's flashlight, she was away like the wind. at last pausing for breath, she listened. at first she heard only the beating of her own heart. then, faint and far away, came the mellow chimes of the great clock announcing the arrival of half past ten. "half past ten!" she whispered in consternation. "rennie will leave. the place will be in darkness and i shall be lost! what shall i do?" again she caught a faint gleam of light. watching it for a moment, and seeing that it was steady and constant, she dared to creep toward it. drawing nearer, she saw that it came drifting down an elevator shaft from some place a long way above. "the elevator is there. the door is open!" she said to herself in surprise. "and there is no one in it." just then, as she strained her ears to listen, she caught again that heavy, even tread of the watchman. our nerves are strange masters. a great general is thrown into panic at sight of a cat; a woman of national fame goes into convulsions at sight of rippling water on the sea. as for lucile, at that moment nothing could have so overthrown her whole mental balance as that steady tramp-tramp of the watchman. this time it drove her to the most curious action. as a wild animal, driven, winded, cornered, will sometimes dash into the very trap that has been set for him, so this girl, leaping forward, entered the elevator cage. had there been more time, it may have been that her scattered wits returning would have told her that here, where the dim light set out her whole form in profile, was the most dangerous spot of all. before she had time to think of this the elevator gave a sudden lurch and started upward. nothing could have been more startling. lucile had never seen an elevator ascend without an operator at the levers and she naturally believed it could not be done; yet here she was in the cage, going up. it was as if some phantom hand were in control. darkness and silence rendered it more spectral. the ever increasing speed shot terror to her very heart. sudden as had been the start, so sudden was the stop. thrown to the floor and all but knocked unconscious, she slowly struggled to her feet. what did it mean? what was to be the end of this terrible adventure? as she looked before her she saw that the car had stopped about three feet above some floor. the doors to that floor were shut. the catches, however, were within her reach. should she attempt to open them and make a leap for it? had she but known it, those doors were supposed to open only when the cage was level with the floor. but the infinite power that tempers the wind to the shorn lamb sometimes tampers with man-made doors. as if by magic, the doors swung back at her touch and with a leap she was out and away. then, gripping her madly beating heart, she paused to consider. she was free from the elevator, but where was she? her situation seemed more desperate than before. she had not counted the floors that sped by her. she did not know whether she was on the sixth or the tenth floor. reason was beginning to come into its own. with a steadier stride she took a turn about the place. putting out a hand, she touched first this object, then that. "furniture," she said at last. "now on what floor is furniture sold?" she did not know. coming at last to a great overstuffed davenport, she sat down upon it. feeling its drowsy comfort after her hot race, she was half tempted to stretch herself out upon it, to spread the splendid cape over her, and thus to spend the night. "it won't do," she decided resolutely. "every extra moment i spend here makes it worse." at that she rose and looked about her. over to the right was a broad stretch of pale light. "it's the moonlight falling through the great skylight of the rotunda," she breathed. instantly she began making her way in that direction. arrived at the railing, she looked down. she was high up. the very thought of the dizzy depth below made her feel faint; yet, fighting against this faintness, she persisted in looking down until she had established the fact that she was on the sixth floor. there remained then but to descend three flights of stairs to find the blessed third floor and, perhaps, rennie. she was not long in descending. then, such a silent cry of joy as escaped her lips as she saw rennie's light still dimly burning in the far corner. slipping on the cape, the better to hide the dust and dirt she had collected from many falls, she at last tiptoed up close to the desk where rennie was working. "hello, dearie," said rennie, smiling up at her through her thick glasses. "ready to go? in just one moment." lucile caught her breath in astonishment. then the truth burst upon her. the whole wild adventure through which she had been driven at lightning speed had consumed but half an hour. so intent upon her work had dear old rennie been that she had not noted the passing of time. some three minutes later, arm in arm, they were making their way down the dark and gloomy marble stairs; and a moment later, having safely passed the guard, they were out on the deserted street. the instant they passed through the door they were caught in a great whirl of wind and snow that carried them half the way to state street before they could check their mad gait. for rennie, who was to take the surface line, this was well enough; but for lucile it meant an additional half block of beating her way back to her station on the "l." with a screamed "good-night" that was caught up and carried away by the storm, she tore herself away and, bending low, leaped full into the teeth of the gale. a royal battle ensued. the wind, seeming to redouble its fury at sight of a fresh victim, roared at her, tore at her, then turning and twisting, appeared to shake her as some low born parent shakes his child. snow cut her face. the blue cape, wrapping about her more than once, tripped her for a near fall. "but it's warm! oh, so warm!" she breathed. then, even in the midst of all this, she asked herself the meaning of all this strange mystery of the night, and, of a sudden, the sight of laurie stepping into that tortuous chute flashed back upon the screen of her memory. stopping stock still to grasp a post of the elevated's steel frame, she steadied herself and tried to think. should she turn back? should she make one more attempt to rescue laurie from whatever plight he may have gotten himself into? for a moment, swaying like a dead leaf on a tree, she clung there. "no! no!" she said at last, "i wouldn't go back there to-night! not for worlds!" she made one desperate leap across the street and was the next moment beating her way up the steel stairway to the elevated. once aboard the well heated train, with the fur lined cape adding its cozy warmth to her chilled and weary body, she relaxed for the first time to think in a quiet way of the night's affair. a careful review of events convinced her that she had behaved in quite a wild and insane manner at times, but that on the whole the outcome was quite satisfactory. certainly she could not have been expected to return home without a wrap on a night such as this. surely she had had nothing whatever to do with laurie's giving away his pass-out, nor of his flinging himself so recklessly down the parcel chute. he was almost a stranger to her. why, then, should she concern herself with the outcome of an affair which he had clearly entered into of his own free will? on this last point she could not feel quite comfortable, but since the elevated train was hurling her homeward and since she could not, had she used her utmost will-power, have driven herself back into that great darkened store, and since there was no likelihood of her being admitted without a pass, she concluded that she must still be moving in the path of destiny. in strange contrast to the wild whirling storm outside, she found her room a cozy nook of comfort. after throwing off her street clothes and going through a series of wild gymnastics that came very near to flying, she drew on her dream robe, threw a dressing gown across her shoulders then sank into a great overstuffed chair. there, curled up like a squirrel in a nest of leaves, she gave herself over to cozy comfort and to thoughts. she had arrived at a very comforting one--which was that since she had worked until ten this night she need not report for duty until twelve the next day--when a spot of color caught her eye. a tiny flash of crimson shone out from a background of midnight blue. the midnight blue was the rare cape which she had hung against the wall. "wonder what that touch of scarlet means?" she whispered drowsily. immediately she thought of hawthorne's "scarlet letter." she shuddered at the thought. she had dreamed bad dreams for weeks after reading that book. gathering up her robe, she sprang lightly from the chair to put out a hand and take up the folds of the cape. "a thread," she mused, "a crimson thread!" that the thread had not been accidentally caught up by the garment she saw at once. with a needle it had been passed twice through the cloth, then tied in a loose knot. it was at the place on the cape that rested over one's heart. "now why would one wear such a curious ornament?" she asked herself while a puzzled look came on her face. "the scarlet letter, a crimson thread across one's heart. how similar! how very strange!" she mused. again she shuddered. was this some ominous omen? with deft fingers she untied the knot, and drawing the thread free, carried it to her great chair where, intent upon examining the thread in detail, she again curled herself into a position of perfect comfort. "huh!" she exclaimed after a time. "strange sort of thread! looks like ordinary silk thread at first. about size 40 i'd say, but if you examine it closely you discover a strand of purple running through it, a very fine strand, but unmistakable, running from end to end. how very, very unusual." "anyway," she said slowly after another moment's thought, "the whole affair is dark, hidden, mysterious. and," she exclaimed, suddenly leaping from her chair and clasping her hands in ecstasy, "how i do adore a mystery. i'll solve it, too! see if i don't! and i must! i must! this cape is not mine. i cannot keep it. it is my duty to see that it is returned to the owner, whoever she is and whatever her motive for entering our store at that unearthly hour and for leaving her wrap instead of mine." drawing a needle from the cushion on her chifforobe, she threaded it with the crimson bit with its purple strand, then, after selecting the spot from which it had been taken, she drew it through the wonderful cloth twice and knotted it as it had been before. "there," she breathed, "that's done. now for bed." two thoughts passed across her dreamy mind before she fell asleep: "i may sleep until ten. how perfectly gorgeous! the first person i shall look for when i enter the store will be laurie seymour. i wonder if i shall see him? how exciting. i wonder--" in the midst of this last wonder she fell asleep. chapter iii a new mystery it was a very satisfactory reflection that lucile's mirror returned to her next morning at ten. after fifteen minutes of such gymnastics as even a girl can perform in her own room with the shades down, followed by five minutes of a cold shower, she stood there pink and glowing as a child. the glow of health and joy remained on her cheeks even after her drab working dress had been drawn on. it was heightened by the half hiding of them in that matchless white fox collar. almost instantly, however, a look of perplexity overspread her face as her eyes caught the reflection of a tiny spot of crimson against the darker color of the gorgeous cape which had so mysteriously come into her possession. "the crimson thread," she whispered. "i do wonder what it could mean." the elevated train whirled her swiftly to her place of toil. to her vast relief, the first familiar figure to catch her eyes as she passed between the tables of books in her own corner at the store was that of laurie seymour. could it be that as he smiled and nodded to her she caught in his eye a look of witching mockery? one thing she did see plainly enough--there were slight bruises and two freshly plastered cuts on his right hand. "got them when he went down the chute," she told herself. as she paused before him she threw back the broad front of the mysterious cape and said: "you should know something about this, i am sure." "beg pardon?" he started and lucile thought she saw a sudden flush on his cheek. "you should know something about this," she repeated. "why, no, begging your pardon again," he answered easily. "having had no sisters and having never ventured into matrimony, i know almost nothing about women's garments. i should say, though, that it was a fine cape, a corking fine one. you should be proud of it, really you should." this was all said in such a serious tone, and yet with such a concealed touch of mockery in it, that lucile abruptly turned away. plainly there was nothing to be learned from him concerning the mystery, at least not at the present moment. as she turned, her eyes chanced to fall upon a stack of books that stood by the end of the table. "well, well!" she exclaimed. "there were two hundred books in that stack last night! now they are at least a third gone!" "yes," laurie smiled, and in his smile there was a look of personal interest. "yes, they are going very well indeed. we shall need to be ordering more soon. you see, it's the critics. they say it is a good book, an especially good book for young folks. i can't say as to that. it sells, i can assure you of that, and is going to sell more and more." as lucile made her way to the cloak room, she was reminded of a rumor that had passed through the department on the previous day. the rumor had it that jefrey farnsworth, the author of this remarkable book "blue flames," (of which she and laurie had just been speaking, and which was proving to be a best seller in its line and threatening to outsell the latest popular novel) had disappeared shortly after the publication of his book. the rumor went on further to dilate upon the subject to the extent that this promising young man (for he was a young man--no rumor about that) had received a letter the very day he had vanished. there was no mystery about the letter. having been found on his table, it had proven to be but a letter from his publishers saying that his book would undoubtedly be a great success and that, should he be willing to arrange a lecture to be given before women's clubs regarding his work and his books, they had no doubt but that he would greatly profit by it and that in the end his sales would be doubled. women's clubs all over the land would welcome him with open hands and sizable checks. the letter had said all this and some few other things. and upon that day, perhaps the most eventful day of his life, farnsworth had vanished as completely as he might had he grown wings and flown to the moon. "only a rumor," lucile said to herself, "but if it's true, it's mystery number two." instantly there flashed through her mind the puzzling look of unusual interest that she had noticed on laurie's face as he spoke of the huge sales of the book. with this recollection came a strong suggestion which she instantly put from her mind. after hanging the mysterious cape in a secluded corner, she hunted out her sales-book and plunged into her work. even a sales-book of soiled red leather may be entrusted with a mystery. this she was to learn soon enough. such an afternoon as it proved to be! she had need enough for that robust strength of hers. saturday afternoon it was--two weeks before christmas. as the clock struck the noon hour the great office buildings poured forth people like a molten stream. bosses, bookkeepers, stenographers, sales-managers, office boys, every type of man, woman and overgrown child flooded the great stores. mingling with these were the thousands upon thousands of school children, teachers, and parents, all free for an afternoon of pleasure. a doubtful sort of pleasure, this. jostling elbow to elbow, trampling and being trampled upon, snatching here, snatching there, taking up goods and tossing them down in the wrong place, they fought their way about. the toy department, candy department, children's book department--these were the spots where the great waves of humanity broke most fiercely. crowded between a fat woman with a muff and a slim man with a grouch, lucile wrote a sale for a tired looking little lady with two small children. in the meantime an important appearing woman in tight fitting kid gloves was insisting that lucile had promised to "wait upon" her next. as a matter of fact lucile had not seen her until that very moment, and had actually promised to sell a large book to a small person who was in a hurry to catch a train. "catch a train!" lucile exclaimed to the checking girl. "there must be a train leaving every two minutes. they're all catching trains." so, crowded, pushed and jostled about, answering a hundred reasonable questions and two hundred unreasonable ones every hour; smiling when a smile would come, wondering in a vague sort of way what it was all about, catching the chance remark of a customer about "christmas spirit," lucile fought her way through the long day. then at last, a half hour before closing time, there came the lull. blessed lull! almost as abruptly as it had come, the flood ebbed away. here and there a little group of people moved slowly away; and here someone argued over a long forgotten book or hurried in to snatch up a book and demand instant attention. but in the main the flood-tide had spent itself. creeping back into a dark corner and seating herself upon the floor, lucile added up her sales and then returned to assist in straightening up the tables which had taken on the appearance of a chip yard. "people have a wonderful respect for books," she murmured to laurie. "yes, a lot of respect for the one they buy," smiled laurie. "they'll wreck a half dozen of them to find a spotless copy for their own purchasing." "yes, they do that, but just think what a shock to dear rollo or algernon if he should receive a book with a slightly torn jacket-cover for a christmas present!" "that _would_ be a shock to his nervous system," laughed laurie. for a time they worked on in silence. lucile put all the century classics in order and filled the gaps left by the frenzied purchasers. laurie, working by her side, held up a book. "there," he said, "is a title for you." she read the title: "the hope for happiness." "why should one hope for it when they may really have it?" laurie exclaimed. "may one have happiness?" lucile asked. "surely one may! why if one--" lucile turned to find a customer at her elbow. "will you sell me this?" the customer, a lady, thrust a copy of pinocchio into her hand. "cash?" "yes. i'll take it with me, please." there was a sweet mellowness in the voice. without glancing up, lucile set her nimble fingers to writing the sale. as she wrote, almost automatically, she chanced to glance at the customer's hands. one's hands may be as distinctive and tell as much of character as one's face. it was so with these hands. lucile had never seen such fingers. long, slim, tapering, yet hard and muscular, they were such fingers as might belong to a musician or a pickpocket. lucile felt she would always remember those hands as easily as she might recall the face of some other person. as if to make doubly sure that she might not forget, on the forefinger of the right hand was a ring of cunning and marvelous design; a dragon wrought in gold, with eyes of diamonds and a tongue of ten tiny rubies. no american craftsmanship, this, but oriental, indian or japanese. without lifting her eyes, lucile received the money, carried her book to the wrapper and delivered the package to the purchaser. then she returned to her task of putting things to rights. scarcely a moment had elapsed when, on glancing toward her cash book which lay open on a pile of books, she started in surprise. there could be no mistaking it. from it there came a flash of crimson. imagine her surprise when she found that the top page of her book had been twice pierced by a needle and that a crimson thread had been drawn through and knotted there in exactly the same manner as had that other bit of thread on the blue cape. it required but a glance to assure her that through this thread there ran the single strand of purple. the next instant she was dashing down the aisle, hoping against hope that she might catch a glimpse of the mystery woman with the extraordinary fingers and the strange ring. in this she failed. the woman had vanished. "and to think," she exclaimed in exasperation, "to think that i did not look at her face! such a foolish way as we do get into--paying no attention to our customers! if i had but looked at her face i would have known. then i would have demanded the truth. i would have--" she paused to reflect, "well, perhaps i shouldn't have said so much to her, but i would have known her better. and now she is gone!" but there was yet work to be done. drawing herself together with an effort, she hurried back to her table where the disorderly pile of books lay waiting to be rearranged. "speaking of happiness," said laurie, for all the world as if their conversation had not been interrupted, "i don't see much use of writing a book on the hope for happiness when one may be happy right here and now. oh, i know there are those who sing: "'this world's a wilderness of woe. this world is not my home.' "but that's religion, of a sort; mighty poor sort, too, i'd say. idea being that this world's all wrong and that if you enjoy any of it, if the scent of spring blossoms, the songs of birds, the laugh of children at play, the lazy drift of fleecy clouds against the azure sky, if these things make you happy, then you're all wrong. i guess they'd say: 'life here is to be endured. happiness only comes after death.' huh! i don't think much of that." "how can one secure happiness?" lucile asked the question almost wistfully. she was over-tired and not a little perplexed. "there's a lot of things that go with making people happy," said laurie as his nimble fingers flew from book to book. "i'm quite sure that happiness does not come from long hours in a ball-room nor from smoking cigarettes, nor any one of the many things that put dark rings about the eyes of our young new rich or near rich, and that set their eyelids twitching. "happiness," he mused, throwing back his head and laughing softly. "why, it's as easy to be happy as it is to tell the truth. have friends and be true to them. find a place you love to be and be there. keep your body and mind fit. sleep eight hours; eat slowly; take two hours for quiet thinking every day. have a crowd you love, a crowd you feel that you belong to and fit in with. of course they'll not be perfect. none of us are. but loveable they are, all the same. "for instance, take the crowd here," he said, lowering his voice. "you and i are transients here. christmas eve comes and out we go. but look at donnie and rennie, bob, bettie, and dear old morrison over there in the corner. they're the regular ones, been here for years, all of them. "see here," he continued earnestly, "i'll bet that when you came in here you had the popular magazine notion of the people who work in department stores; slang of the worst kind, paint an inch thick, lip stick, sordid jealousy, envy, no love, no fellowship. but look! what would happen if rennie, the dear mother and straw-boss of us all, should slip before a car and be seriously injured to-night? what would happen? not a soul of us all, even us transients, but would dig down and give our last penny to buy the things that would help her bear it. that's what i mean, a gang that you belong to, that you suffer with, endure things with and enjoy life with! that's the big secret of happiness." as lucile listened to this short lecture on happiness, she worked. at last her task was done. then with a hurried: "thanks awfully. goodnight," she rushed for the cloak-room preparatory to donning the fur-lined cape. she half expected to find it gone, but it was not, and after throwing it across her shoulders she dashed down the stairs to join the homeward rushing throng. as she snuggled down beneath the covers that night, she found her mind dwelling with unusually intense interest upon the events of the past two days. like pictures on a screen, strange, unanswerable questions passed through her mind. who was the mystery woman of the night shadows in the book department? why had laurie given her his pass-out? why had she left her gorgeously beautiful cape behind for a shop girl to wear home? how had the unusual crimson thread come to be drawn into the cloth of the cape? had the mystery woman put it there? had she drawn that thread through the page of lucile's cash book? it seemed that she must have. but why? why? why? this last word kept ringing in her ears. why had laurie given up his pass-out? where had he slept that night? how did it happen that an elevator in a department store at night ran of its own accord with no one to work the lever? surely here were problems enough to keep one small brain busy. then again, there was the problem of the missing author of that wonderfully successful book. what did laurie know about that? why had he talked so strangely about it? when she had allowed all these problems to pass in review before her mind's eye, she came to but one conclusion--that she would believe laurie a sincere and trustworthy person until he had been proven otherwise. her faith had been shaken a bit by the revelation of the night before. "life," she whispered sleepily to herself, "is certainly strange. surely one who can talk so wonderfully about happiness can't be bad. and yet it's all very mysterious." right there she concluded that mysteries of the right sort added much to the happiness of us all, and with that she fell asleep. chapter iv the picture girl little dreaming of the stirring events that awaited her, and without the slightest anticipation of the new mystery and unusual responsibilities that were crowding in upon her that day, lucile took her monday morning train with the quiet composure of one who, having enjoyed a perfect sunday of rest, looks forward with enthusiasm to a day of interesting service. the supreme moment of that day arrived in a rather unusual place at a time when the clock's hands were nearing the hour of 1:00. before that, however, there came hours of the usual toil which many would call drudgery. from eight-thirty until ten there were few customers. every moment was taken up. two truckloads of books had come down from the apparently inexhaustable storerooms above. these must be placed on the tables. tables must be dusted; cash-books filled with blanks for the day; books out of place must be returned to the proper section. as lucile came and went in the performance of her allotted tasks, she was more and more impressed with what laurie had said about this group of loyal friends, this company of sales-people who were so much like a very large family. "they are all my friends, almost my kinsfolk," she told herself with a little gulp of joy that was very near to tears. and so they were. even outside her little corner they greeted her with a comradely smile. there was the pleasing lady who sold new fiction, and the tumbled haired lady who sold travel books and had sold books in stores from coast to coast. in the first alcove was the worried lady who handled standard sets; in the second was the dignified one who murmured in low, church-like tones of prayer books and rosaries; while in the farthest, deepest alcove of all was dear old morrison, the young-old man with premature gray hair and a stoop. but his lustrous eyes were lighted with an earnestness such as one seldom looks into, and he had an air of poise and refinement and a smile of perfect fellowship. he sold fine bindings, and knew them well. besides that, he could tell you the name and publishers of every book for serious minded people published since the days of ben franklin. working among such people as these, and in spite of all her strenuous hours of labor, lucile dreaded the coming of christmas eve when she must bid them all farewell and return to her studies. never before had she been so tempted to relinquish her cherished hope of university training and to settle down to work among a host of interesting and loyal friends. so the forenoon wore away, and with the passing of each hour the great and startling event of that day came sixty minutes nearer. the noon hour at last arrived. having hastily eaten her paper-bag lunch, lucile hurried from the store. there was yet three-quarters of an hour to spend. she would spend the time sauntering through a place of great enchantment, the art museum. five minutes of battling with wind and intense cold, and she was there. racing up the stone steps, she paused an instant for breath. then she entered and hurried up the broad marble stairway. at last she came to a place where a great circular leather cushioned seat in the center of a room offered opportunity for perfect repose. there she sank down, to hide her eyes with her hands until the frost and the glare of snow had left them, then to open them slowly and to squint away contentedly toward the wall which lay before her. before her, and a little to the left, was a painting from ireland, the work of a great master. it was a simple thing in a way, a boy clad in humble garb shoveling snow, and a girl with a shawl thrown over her shoulders, coming down the well cleaned path. very simple people these, but happy and kind. there were sparrows perched along the path. a very humble theme, but such masses of wonderful color! had she not seen it, lucile would not have believed that artists could have achieved such perfection. to the left was an equally lovely picture; dawn on the heather, the sun rising from the dripping dewy green and a girl reaper going to her toil with the song of a lark on her lips and joy in her eye. these were the pictures that brought rest and joy to lucile's half hour of leisure and helped prepare her for events that cast no shadow before them. she had descended the marble stairs and was about to leave the building when a picture arrested her attention; a living picture of a girl. and such a girl as she was! a supple grace to her waist and shoulders, a proper curve at the ankles, and a face--such a face! cheeks aglow with the color the frosty out-of-doors had given them. cheeks offset by dark, deep-set eyes, made darker still by eyelashes that were like hemlocks in a snow covered valley, and a smooth oval forehead backed by a wealth of short, wavy hair. this was the picture; only faintly sketched, for behind all this beauty there was a certain strength of character, a force of will that seemed a slumbering fire gleaming from her eyes. in the background were people and marble pillars. the girl had just entered the museum and, uncertain of her way, stood irresolute. "she's from the country," lucile whispered to herself. "her clothes show that. but how startling, how unusual, how--how striking she is! "she's like the pictures i've been seeing, they were unusual and priceless. she is the same. and yet," a feeling of fear and sadness swept over her, "those priceless pictures are carefully guarded night and day. i wonder if she is? she seems alone. it's not to be wondered at, their guarding those pictures. who would not like one for his room? who would not love to open his eyes each morning upon the girl in the 'song of the lark'? but they'd wish to possess that girl, too. a father, a mother, sister, brother, would be proud to possess her, to look at her every morning, a--anyone would. and yet, she's not--" her meditations were cut short by sight of a figure standing not ten feet from her; a tall, slim, young man whose features might have been carved from marble, and in whose eyes lucile had surprised a steely glance such as she had once caught in the beady eye of a down-swooping hawk. and then, as if enacting her part in a play, the girl of this living picture suddenly wavered where she stood. her face went white, then with a little, wavering cry, she crumpled in a heap on the marble floor. lucile could have sworn the girl was alone and uncertain of her next move. she understood what had happened. having traveled far in the intense cold, the girl had been overcome by the heavy warmth of the museum and had fainted. the thing that happened next puzzled lucile beyond belief. after ten seconds of motionless panic, a half score of people sprang to her assistance. but the young man, he of the marble features and steely eye, was first up. "it's all right," he was saying in a quiet, even tone, "she's my sister. i'll take care of her. we have a car outside." lifting the unconscious girl in his arms, he started for the door. "it's not all right! it's not all right!" lucile fairly shrieked the words. to her vast astonishment, the next moment she was gripping a burly guard by the arm and saying in a voice hoarse with emotion: "it's not all right! he's not her brother. he--he's stealing her! stop them!" to her further astonishment, the guard believed her. with three strides he reached the door and blocked it. "here! here!" he said in the tone of one who is accustomed to be obeyed. "it won't do. you can't take her out like that." "oh, all right," there was a note of forced indifference in the young man's voice, but there was murder in his cold, hard eyes. "all right, if you know so much. fetch some water and get her out of it. she'll tell you i'm her brother. but be quick about it. you're a beef-head for ordering a gentleman about." lucile's heart went to the bottom of her shoes. what was this? had her emotions led her astray? was he indeed the girl's brother? it would seem so, else why would he consent so readily to the delay, which must mean proof one way or another? she was soon to see. tremblingly, she awaited the outcome. dropping upon the marble floor, she pillowed the girl's head in her lap and brushing away the hair from the face, caressed the cold forehead with a soft hand. when the water had been brought lucile dampened her handkerchief and laid it icy cold on the other's forehead. almost instantly the eyes opened and the girl, having dragged herself to a sitting position, stared about the museum. "wha--where am i?" she asked. "what has happened?" "you're in the art museum. you fainted." "faint--fainted!" there was terror in her eyes. "it was the cold. it's nothing, really nothing." lucile put a steadying arm about her. "you'll be quite all right in a moment." "now where is that brother of hers?" grumbled the guard. "he's nowhere to be seen! he's gone!" "gone?" echoed lucile. "brother?" said the girl in astonishment. "i have no brother. i am alone." such a wave of feeling swept over lucile as made her sick and faint. she had been right, dreadfully right. she had saved this girl, this wonderful creature, from--she dared not think from what. for a moment, rocked by her emotions, she sat there in silence. at last, with a supreme effort, she dragged herself to her feet. "you look the worst of the two," said the guard, giving her a keen glance. "i'm all right," she protested stoutly. to the girl, whom she had assisted to her feet, she said, "you may come with me if you wish. our store's only two blocks away. there's a rest room. you'll be all right there until you sort of get your bearings. perhaps i can help you." "i'd--i'd be glad to," said the other, clinging to her impulsively. so they left the museum together. though she kept a sharp watch to right and left, lucile caught no sign of the volunteer brother, but she shivered once or twice at the very thought of him. * * * * * * * * it was a very much perplexed lucile who curled up in her big chair that night for a few moments of quiet thought before retiring. a new mystery had been added to her already well filled list of strange doings. "first," she said to herself, telling them off like beads on a rosary, "there comes the beautiful mystery woman and the cape she left behind; then laurie seymour and the vanishing author; then the crimson thread; and now this girl." as she whispered this last she nodded toward the bed. there, lying wrapped in slumber, was the beautiful girl she had saved in the museum. "she's even more beautiful in sleep than when awake," lucile murmured. "and such a strange creature! she hasn't told me a thing." the last statement was entirely true. any notion lucile had of the girl, any guess at her hidden secrets, was based on observation and conjecture alone. not one word regarding them had escaped the strange girl's lips. having accompanied lucile to the store, she had lain upon a couch in the "quiet room" for three hours. whenever lucile had stolen a moment from work to look in upon her, the girl had appeared to be day-dreaming. far from being worried about events of the past or the immediate future, she had appeared to be enjoying the recalling of an interesting adventure or anticipating one. at five she had risen from the cot and, having brushed her hair and arranged her clothing, had insisted upon helping her new-found friend to put her tables to rights. she had accepted lucile's invitation to pass the night with her with the nonchalance of one who is offered this courtesy from a long-time friend. innocent of one scrap of baggage, in the same manner she had accepted lucile's offer of a dream robe. in only one respect had she showed her independence. having produced a dollar bill from somewhere on her person, she had insisted on paying for her own frugal lunch. "her clothes are the strangest of all," lucile whispered to herself. "when a girl comes upon a run of hard luck, she's likely to try to keep up an appearance even though she is shabby underneath. but look at her; a countrified suit of shiny blue serge, two years behind the times, and her undergarments are new and of the finest silk, up to the minute, too. how is one to explain that?" she was not disturbed in the least about the girl's morals. she was as sweet and clean as a fresh blooming rose. lucile would have sworn to that. with the lights turned out, and with the tingling winter air entering the open window, before retiring the girl had joined lucile in the nightly "setting up" exercises and had appeared to enjoy them, too. the strange girl's skin was like the finest satin. her lines were perfect, her muscles superb. through lack of knowledge of the exercises, she often blundered. but she could whirl more quickly, leap higher and swing about more gracefully than lucile, who had never failed to throw her whole heart into her gym work. "all that," lucile murmured as she drew off her bathrobe preparatory to slipping beneath the covers, "all that, and she has not told me one word about herself. for a country girl she certainly has her full supply of reserve. to-morrow i am to try to get work for her as a wrapper. no doubt i can do it. and then?" she thought about the future for a moment. she was alone this year. if you have read our book, "the cruise of the o'moo," you will remember that while living in the yacht in dry dock she had two companions--florence and marion. florence had gone home. marion was in alaska. now lucile was alone. she would welcome a friend and, unless she had misread her character, this girl had the qualities of a steadfast and loyal pal. "but her past?" lucile whispered as she placed her slippers beneath the bed and drew back the covers. "ah well, we shall see." once during the night she was wakened by the girl, who was evidently talking in her sleep. "don't let them. don't! don't!" she all but screamed as she threw out her arms for protection from some dream foe. putting her arms about her, lucile held her tight until the dream had passed and she fell back once more into peaceful slumber. chapter v "come and find me" "i'll pull some wires." the kindly face of morrison, the man of fine bindings, gleamed as he said these words to lucile next morning. "that's the way things are done these days. i haven't much notion how they were done in the past. but now, if i want anything, i pull some wires. for instance, your young friend whom you found in the art museum and whose name is cordelia but whom you choose to call cordie for short, wants work in this store. you ask me to pull wires and i pull 'em. i pull one and miss so and so comes bowing out of her box of an office and i whisper what i want. 'i'll pull some wires,' says she, putting on her best smile. 'i'll put in a wedge, a very thin wedge.' "she puts in her thin wedge. she pulls some wires and mr. so and so up on the eleventh floor bobs bowing out of his box and inclines his ear to listen. "'ah! yes, i see, i see,' he murmurs. 'i shall pull some wires.' "he pulls some wires. a slip of paper appears. it is signed. it is given to your friend. she goes here, she bobs there, and presently here she is. she has accepted 'the iron ring,' wrapping packages with very gay company all about her, having a good time and getting pay for it. but let me assure you it could not be done without wires pulled and thin wedges inserted. no, it could not be done. nothing these days is done without wires and wedges. wires and wedges, wedges and wires, my dear." with this very lucid explanation of the way the world is run these days, the benevolent morrison bowed himself away. true to his prediction, two hours later the mysteriously silent cordelia was installed in an obscure corner of the book section, working at the wrapping counter. she had accepted "the iron ring," said ring being an affair of solid iron into which, in a semi-circular bump on its edge, had been set a sharp bit of steel. the theory is that the steel edge cuts the stout cord with which the bundles are tied. truth was that more often the sharp edge cut the girls' fingers than did the steel the string. so, in time having learned wisdom, cordie discarded this doubtful bit of jewelry and used a knife. however, she worked on steadily and quite skillfully. before night it had become evident to all that the girl was proving a credit to her young protector, and that, take it all in all, wires had not been pulled nor wedges inserted in vain. two matters of interest came to lucile's attention that day. a rumor was confirmed and a discovery made that in the end was to take someone somewhere. first in regard to the discovery. someone had left a morning paper on lucile's table of books. she snatched it up and was about to consign it to the waste box when a headline caught her eye: "come and find me" beneath this was a second headline: "two hundred dollars for a handshake." there was not time to read what followed. hastily tearing the corner from the page, she thrust this scrap into her pocket to be read later. "the rumor's confirmed," said laurie a moment later as he thrust a clipping from a publisher's weekly in her hand. there were but a few lines. lucile read them in a moment. it had to do with the disappearance of the promising young writer, jefrey farnsworth, author of "blue flames." "there can be no doubt," the article went on to say, "that the young man has utterly disappeared. being a single man with few intimates, and a man who lived a rather secluded life, he has either slipped away without being noticed or has met with some grave mishap. his publishers are greatly disturbed over his disappearance. without doubting his willingness to assist in the task of being made famous, they had booked him for talks before no less than twenty women's clubs. "as the popularity of his book, 'blue flames,' had grown by leaps and bounds, every woman in the country was ready to be told by him just what her son or daughter should or should not read. there was not the least doubt but that here was the first genuine best seller in the line since the first days of treasure island and huckleberry finn. yes, the world was ready to hear him speak. but farnsworth was not ready--at least he has vanished." "twenty women's clubs," exclaimed laurie, doing a feint in pantomime. "think of speaking to twenty women's clubs! thousands and thousands of kid-gloved, well fed, contented women! oh! wow! twenty clubs, then twenty more and twenty after that! to drink tea with 'em and to have them grip your hand and tell you how they enjoyed the rot you fed to them! oh! ow! ow!" "women's clubs are all right," protested lucile, her face lighting with anger. "their work is constructive. they do a great deal of good." "beg a thousand pardons," said laurie, coloring in his turn. "i didn't mean to say they weren't. they're all right, and the ladies too, lord bless 'em. but how does that go to prove that a poor, innocent young writer, who happens to have struck gold with his pen but who never made a speech in his life, should be chained to a platform and made to do tricks like a trained bear before thousands of women? women's clubs are all right, but they couldn't club me to death with their clubs." he threw back his shoulders to join lucile in a laugh over his rather bad pun, and there, for the time being the matter ended. lucile was destined to recall the whole affair from time to time. hours later, she had an opportunity to study his face unobserved. she noted his high forehead, his even and rugged features, his expressive hands, and when she saw him selling away on that stock of "blue flames" as if his life depended upon it, she was led to wonder a great wonder. however, she kept this wonder to herself. the noon hour had come before lucile found time to again look at the scrap of printing she had torn from the discarded newspaper. in the employees' lunch room, over a glass of milk and a sandwich, and with the wonderful cordie sitting opposite, she read the thing through. "come and find me. i am the spirit of christmas," it ran. "i offer gold, two hundred in gold, for a shake of the hand, yet no one is so kind as to give me the clasp of cheer. i am the spirit of christmas. i am tall and slim, and of course i am a woman--a young woman whom some have been so kind as to call fair. to-day i dress in the garb of a working woman. yesterday it was the coat of a sales-girl. at another time it was in more gorgeous apparel. but always my face and my hands are the same. ah yes, my hands! there is as much to be learned from the hands as from the face. character and many secrets are written there. "yesterday i walked the boulevard, as i promised i should, yet not one of the rushing thousands paused to shake my hand and say: 'you are the spirit of christmas.' had one done so, tho' he had been but a beggar in rags, the two hundred of gold would have clinked into his pocket. yet not one paused. they all passed on. "i entered a little shop to purchase a tiny bit of candy. the saleslady, a little black-eyed creature, scowled at me and refused to sell so little, even though i looked to be a shop-girl. she did not shake my hand, and i was glad, for had she done so and had she said: 'you are the spirit of christmas,' the gold would have clinked for her. i left my mark, which is my sign, and passed on. "later i entered a busy shop, a great shop where tired girls rushed here and there constantly. i troubled a dear little girl who had a wan smile and tender eyes, to show me many things. i bought nothing in the end, but she was kind and courteous for all that. i wished--oh, how i wished that she would grasp my hand and whisper ever so softly: 'you are the spirit of christmas.' but she said never a word, so the gold did not clink for her. after leaving my mark, which is also my sign, i passed on. "to-day i shall join the throngs that shop among the windows of state street. i shall enter a store here and another there. i shall pause here to examine goods and there to make a purchase. at every place, as i pass on, i shall leave my mark, which is also my sign. if you chance to see me, if you know me, if you read my secret in my face or in my hands, grasp those hands and whisper: 'you are the spirit of christmas.' then gold will clink for you, two hundred in gold. "i am the spirit of christmas. everywhere i go i leave a crimson trail behind." this was the end. lucile glanced up with a dazed and puzzled look in her eyes. "what in the world can it mean?" she asked, holding the bit of paper before cordie. cordie laughed. "that's something the paper is doing. i think it's just to make people buy the paper. no one has ever recognized her. she's clever." "i'd like to find her," mused lucile. "wouldn't you, though? who wouldn't? you'd get the gold if you did; but you never will. she's keen. why, only two days ago she was in this store for a half hour. bought a book, mind you, and you may have sold it to her. think of that! the day before that she was in the store for six hours. think of that! and no one knew her. they'll never get her, trust her for that. but if they do, the gold will clink." the girl laughed a merry laugh, then hurried away for a cream-puff. left to herself, lucile had time for a few moments of quiet thinking. she found her pulse strangely quickened by the news story and her companion's interpretation. somehow, almost as if some strange power outside her were whispering it to her, she felt forced to believe that she could connect this new and interesting discovery with some of the other mysteries which had come to haunt her. "but how?" she asked herself. "how?" cordie appeared to know a great deal about this "spirit of christmas" lady and the gold that would clink for a handshake. but after all, she had revealed no facts that were not known to hundreds of thousands who had followed the matter closely. it had all been in the papers. "no, it doesn't tell me anything about cordie," lucile whispered, "except--" she paused suddenly. cordie had told of things that had happened in the city four days back. could she have been in the city all this time? probably had been. and without baggage, or so much as a dream-robe. how very strange! but had she been without baggage? might she not owe a board bill? might not her belongings be in the hands of some landlady at the present time? "it's a wonder she doesn't tell me about herself," lucile murmured. "it's no use to ask her. a person who is forced to reveal her past is almost sure to tell anything but the truth. i must wait her time. it's true she has a little money; but perhaps not enough to pay the bill. "i wonder," she went on thoughtfully, "why i don't cut her adrift? why should i be looking after her? haven't i enough to do in looking after myself?" it was true that she had her own responsibilities, but she knew right well that if need be she would do a great deal more for the girl before casting her off to become an easy prey to the human hawks and vultures who haunt a great city. "but this lady of the christmas spirit," she murmured. "the good fates surely know i need that gold. and if this strange little beauty, cordie, costs me something, which she promises to do, i shall need it more than ever." once more her eyes ran over the scrap of paper. they came to a sudden pause. "behind me i leave a crimson trail," she read. for a moment her brow was wrinkled in puzzled thought. then she gave a sudden start. "if it should be! if it meant just that!" she exclaimed half aloud. "but then, of course it couldn't. a crimson trail--a crimson trail----" "here's one for you," exclaimed cordie, setting a delicious cream-puff before her. "there's just time for devouring them before we go back to work. work! oh, boy! i say it's work! but it's heaps of fun, anyway. "say!" she exclaimed suddenly, "do you know james?" "who is james?" "the man who carries away the packages from my desk." "a stooped old man." "not a bit of it." "they always are." "he's not. take a look at him. he's a sight for tired eyes. he--he's intriguing. i--i'm working on him. he's awful reserved, but i think he likes me. he's got a story. i'll get it. leave that to me." "so even little cordie loves mysteries and has found one to study out," thought lucile with an amused smile as she turned to go. chapter vi the iron ring cordie's description of james proved quite true. an intriguing figure was this james; a stalwart man of forty, a straight, square-shouldered six-footer, with face as brown as a coffee bean. he was unmistakably american, yet he seemed oddly out of place as, with arms piled high with bundles, he moved steadily through the crowd. there was a certain directness, and with all that a slight roll about his walk, that suggested some sort of sea craft. he was not unlike some port-to-port steamer, waiting at dock for its load, then steaming away to the port of discharge. "a silent man, and one who has been accustomed to command, not to plod," was lucile's mental comment. "he's not accustomed to being called james, like a chauffeur or a butler. you can see that by the twinkle in the corner of his eye when someone calls him by that name. i wonder what could have brought him to the extremity of carrying bundles for twenty dollars a week. i'm sure he doesn't drink to excess. his face would show it if he did. oh well, that's cordie's little mystery. let her fathom it when the opportunity comes." cordie's opportunity came a little later, and in a decidedly startling manner. in the meantime this was another busy afternoon; one of the busiest of the season. "only listen to them!" lucile said to cordie as she waited for a parcel. "most of them are women trying to select books for boys and girls. not one in ten really knows what she wants or what boys and girls read these days. listen--" cordie listened as she worked, and this, from a score of pairs of lips, is what she heard: "have you got the alger books?" "do you keep peck's bad boy? that's such a splendid story. don't you think so?" "i want a--a book for a boy fourteen years old. what can you recommend?" "have you the elsie books? those are _such_ sweet stories!" "i want a book for a boy twelve years old. i don't want anything trashy, though. which of these fifty-cent books would you recommend?" "is this a good book?" "the answer," whispered lucile with a little giggle, "the answer, if they say 'is this a good book?' is always 'yes.' always yes, whether you think so or not. i'll tell you why. nine times out of ten, when a woman customer says 'is this a good book?' she has already made up her mind that it is a good book. if you say 'yes' she'll smile and buy it. if you say 'no,' she'll frown and buy it anyway. so why provoke a frown, and christmas only two weeks away?" only her untiring good nature and her native sense of humor, kept lucile on her feet and going. there were times, however, when even these deserted her. one of those unfortunate moments arrived this very afternoon. a particularly unpleasant customer had said to her: "i want a book about a boy who was brought up by the monks." after suggesting everything that seemed akin to this, she happened upon "tarzan." "oh yes!" exclaimed the customer, "that's it. tarzan." a second customer wanted "laddie." when the modern "laddie" was produced, the customer insisted that this was not the original "laddie," but a cheap substitute; that the first "laddie" was written years ago by a person who's name she did not recall, but who had written another book called something else. she had insisted on lucile's asking everyone in the section about it and, after leaving very warm and unhappy, reappeared ten minutes later with another clerk, still looking for the original "laddie." in the midst of all this lucile came upon a fidgeting customer whose fingers were constantly plaiting stray locks of hair and whose lips were saying: "i must make a train. i really must. do you think you could get them to hurry. do you? do you really? that would be so nice of you!" after hurrying the sale through and getting many a sharp look for stepping in ahead of her turn, lucile had the pleasure of seeing the customer meet a friend an aisle over and pause for a prolonged spell of gossip. "who could believe that they could be such children?" she murmured. "no, we haven't the broncho buster boys," she turned to answer a query. "that's a fifty-cent series which we do not carry." the person who asked the question was a rather pompous lady in kid gloves. "have you the broncho buster boys?" she caught the words spoken behind her back. the customer, ignoring her decided negative, had deliberately turned about and asked the same question of a girl who had come on the floor that morning and knew nothing about the stock. "i told her," lucile said in as steady a tone as she could command, "that we do not carry them." instantly the customer flew into a towering rage. her words, though quite proper on the lips of a society lady, were the sort that cut to the very soul. a sharp retort came to lucile's lips and she said it. she was in the midst of it when a hand touched her shoulder and a steady voice said: "here! here! what's this?" the words, while not said in an unkindly tone, had a ring of authority to them. wheeling about, lucile found herself facing a beautiful lady, one of the most beautiful she had ever seen; black hair, full cheeks of wonderful color, and eyes of the deepest blue. lucile took in all the beauty of her for the first time at a glance, and at the same moment cold terror struck to her heart. this was miss bruce, the head of the section, the one who could dismiss a salesgirl at a word. and she had just heard lucile break the most rigid rule of the house! she had talked back to a customer! white faced, staring, endeavoring to speak but uttering no sound, lucile stood there as if frozen to the spot. "there, there, dearie! i know how it is. don't do it again, that's all." lucile felt a friendly pressure on her arm, then the great lady of the section was gone. in spite of her bravest efforts, tears rushed to lucile's eyes. one splashed down on either cheek before she could check them. were they tears of vexation or gratitude, or merely tired tears? who could say? through the tears lucile dimly saw a face. it was an electrifying vision, and dashing away the tears, she became at once her own, keen, better self. "yes, yes, it is! it's the mystery lady," she assured herself. "she's--she's talking to cordie. i must----" as she started toward the wrapping stand where stood the mystery lady, a voice at her elbow said: "will you sell me this? could you have them hurry a little? i must make a train. i really must." it was the harried and hurried lady of a half hour previous. she had found another book and was making another train. with great reluctance and much pent-up anger, lucile waited upon her; and in the meantime, as was her wont, the mystery lady, the lady of the crimson thread, had vanished. "who--who was the tall lady you were speaking to a moment ago?" she breathlessly asked cordie a moment later. "how should i know? she asked me for a string to tie a package. lots of them ask for string, or a piece of corrugated paper, or a card to write a greeting on." "was that all?" "that was about all." "look!" exclaimed lucile. "who put that there?" she was pointing to a loose end of wrapping paper through which had been drawn and neatly tied a bit of crimson thread with a single purple strand. "search me," smiled cordie. "how should i know?" while lucile was disengaging the thread and thrusting it in her pocket, cordie was searching the top of her desk. "that's funny," she said at last. "it was here a moment ago. now it's gone." "what?" "my iron ring." "the one you cut cord with?" "i'm supposed to use it for that," cordie tossed her head. "the thing cuts my finger. all the same, i ought to have it. you're supposed to turn such things in when they lay you off. but if it's gone, it's gone." shrugging her shoulders, she promptly forgot it. so did lucile, but the time came when she was reminded of the loss in a most forceful manner. "i wonder," she whispered as she moved away, "i do wonder what she does that for. this is the third time. it's the strangest thing i ever heard of." she fingered the crimson thread. the melting away of great stocks of the year's most popular book for young people, "blue flames," was most amazing. a fresh truck load, three or four hundred copies, had come down that very morning. by mid-afternoon they were two-thirds gone. for a time, as she watched, lucile's astonishment grew; then it began to ebb. she was learning the secret of it. laurie seymour hovered over the pile constantly. hardly a customer left him without purchasing one or more copies. apparently well informed regarding the contents of the book, he told still more regarding the personality of the author and how he had gone about the task of gathering the material. all of the local color of the book was penned with minute exactness; the characters were true to life; their actions, while not pedantic, were such as would lead girls and boys to higher thinking and unselfish living. more than that, the story contained precisely the elements which young people of to-day demand. action, adventure, suspense, mystery--all were here in proper and generous proportions. thus he would describe the book. "yes," he would assure the prospective purchaser, "it's this year's publication; not six weeks off the press and it sells for a dollar. how is that possible? that it might have a large sale the author cut his royalty to one-third, and the publishers cut their profits accordingly. the book compares favorably with many a book selling for nearly twice the price." what customer could refuse such a book? few did. even more important than this was the fact that the other salespeople, especially those who were new and had little knowledge of the stock but who were zealous for quick sales, listened to his lucid story of the book, and having learned it by heart, joined in selling it. there were times when clerks fluttered as thickly about that pile of books as sparrows around a crust of bread. "who is laurie seymour; why is he so greatly interested in that particular book, and how does he come to know so much about it?" having put these questions to herself, lucile went about the task of asking others about him. she asked rennie and donnie, the inseparable two who had worked in that corner so long. she searched out tommie, the young man of twenty who knew all about boys' books. she asked morrison, of the fine bindings section, and even emmy, the veteran inspector. all shook their heads. they had come down one morning, and there he was selling books. that had been two weeks previous. someone had pulled some wires and here he was. by-and-by the rush would be over, then out he would go. that was the way things were done at christmas time. it wasn't worth while to care too much! but lucile did care. her curiosity had been aroused. she wanted to know more about laurie seymour. her curiosity was given a trace of satisfaction that very evening. at least she found out who knew about laurie. yes, she found out, but then---she had come hurrying round a pillar when she all but ran into laurie. he had been talking in low tones and laughing in notes quite as low. to her great surprise she saw that the person he was talking to was none other than the perfectly beautiful miss bruce, the head of the section. "and to think," lucile said to herself, "he actually appeared to be joking her about something! and he a sales-person! ah well, our chief is a star--would have been a star on any stage, and a star has a right to be friendly with any member of the cast." "well," she smiled to herself, "i know now who could tell me all about laurie seymour; but i'd never dare ask. never! i'll have to find out some other way." one impression coming from this incident bore down heavily upon her. laurie seymour was a young man with a past broader than the four walls of the juvenile book section. just what that past might have been, she could not guess. "perhaps," she told herself, "he is some artist getting pictures from life; or an actor gathering local color for a play, or--" "is your table in order?" it was rennie who broke in upon her meditations. it wasn't, so she hurried away to forget, for the time being, laurie seymour and her perplexing problems. chapter vii cordie's mad flight "cordie, there's something i should tell you." cordie looked up from the book she was reading, stared at lucile for a moment, then with a toss of her pretty head exclaimed: "if you should, why don't you?" they were at the end of another day. some time had passed since the mystery lady had last appeared in the store. work had increased; crowds of buyers had grown denser, more insistent in their demands. two perpendicular lines had appeared between lucile's eyes. cordie, too, had felt the strain of it. her nerves were tense. she had been upon lucile's bed for a half hour, trying to relax. it was no use. "why don't you tell me?" she demanded impatiently. "i'm afraid it may frighten you." "frighten me?" the girl's eyes went wide with surprise. "yes, but i think i should tell you. it may put you on your guard." cordie sat bolt upright. "do you remember the time i found you--when you fainted in the art museum?" lucile asked in a quiet voice. "i couldn't forget that. wasn't it terrible?" "more terrible than you think, or at least i believe it might have been." "why?" cordie stared. "a few seconds after you fainted, a strange young man picked you up in his arms. he said you were his sister. he started to carry you out and would have, too, if i hadn't made the guard stop him." "oh!" breathed cordie, wild eyed, incredulous. "so that was what the guard meant when he asked where my brother was? oh, how--how sort of romantic!" "it may have been," said lucile in a very sober tone. "he may have been romantic, but he also may have been very bad. that's why i thought you ought to know. he may be keeping a watch on you. men who are fascinated by a face often do. you ought not to go alone upon the streets. you should not have been alone that day. no girl from the country, unacquainted with the ways of the city, is safe alone upon its streets and within its public buildings." "why, i'm not--" cordie halted in the midst of the sentence and began again. "did you think--" then drawing her lips tight as if to keep in a secret that was about to escape, she lapsed into silence. when she broke the silence a moment later the look on her face was very serious. "i do realize the danger," she said slowly. "truly i do. i will be careful, very, very careful. it was wonderful of you to save me from that--that man. how can i ever thank you enough?" hopping down from the bed, she wound her arm about lucile and planted a kiss upon her forehead. just at that instant a question entered lucile's mind. "i wonder when her appreciation will reach down as deep as her pocketbook? that's a sordid thought. i ought not to think it," she told herself, "but i just can't help it." lucile was having to pay an increased rent on her room because of the girl's occupying it with her. a pay day had come and gone, yet her young charge had shown no desire to bear her share of this burden. "no! no! i mustn't let myself wonder that," lucile corrected herself stoutly. "she'll pay when she can. she's probably saving up for her rent which is in arrears somewhere else. i do wonder, though, what she was about to tell me when she said: 'i'm not--' and 'did you think--' i truly wish she'd tell me about herself, but i can wait her time for revealing." half of the following day had not passed before lucile repented having told cordie of her volunteer brother. "he'll probably never be seen again by any of us," she told herself, "and now look at the poor girl. she's all unnerved; grips her desk and stares in a frightened manner every time a man looks at her. and yet," she reflected, "if anything happened and i hadn't told her i'd never forgiven myself. surely life is full of perplexing problems." ere that day was done something was destined to happen which would make this particular problem many times more perplexing. since she knew nothing of this, lucile went serenely on selling books. "let me tell you something," said rennie, the veteran book-seller, who had apparently made an excuse for going to lunch with lucile that day. "you're letting this work get on your nerves. look at those puckers between your eyes. it's no use. you mustn't let it. you'll go to pieces and it's not worth it. you've got your life to live. you--" "but rennie--" rennie held up a finger for silence. "you're young; haven't learned the gospel of repose. you, perhaps, think of repose as the curling of one's self up in a soft-cushioned chair. that's not repose; it's stagnation. did you ever see a tiny bird balancing himself on a twig over a rushing waterfall and singing his little heart away? that's repose. you can have poise and repose in the midst of the crowding throng. the bird, only half conscious of the rushing water beneath him, sings the more sweetly because of it. we, too, may have our service sweetened by the very rush of things if we will. "and it is service! you believe that, don't you?" there was a new light in the veteran saleslady's eyes. lucile, as she looked at her frail body, thought to herself: "she's more spirit than body. she's given half herself away in service." "why yes," she replied slowly, "i suppose selling juvenile books is a service in a way." "you suppose!" rennie gripped her arm until it hurt. "don't you know it is? it may be made a great, a wonderful service. there are books and books. you have read many of them. you know them. you are young. you have read. some you have loved, some despised. which do you sell? which?" "why, the ones i love, of course." "that's just it. being endowed by nature with taste, good taste, and having had that taste improved by education, you are able to choose the best. "books are like water. some are like foam, the white caps of the sea; pure enough but effervescent. they pass in a moment and are lost forever. others are like scum from a stagnant pool; they are poison. then there are those blessed others which are like the cool, pure, refreshing water that comes bubbling up from a mountain spring. reading has an untold and lasting influence on a child. do you believe that? when you have put one of those better books into the hand of a boy or girl, you have conferred a lasting blessing upon someone. do you believe that?" "ye--yes." "of course you do. now, when you go back to your work this afternoon, do it with the consciousness that you are really being a benefactor to your generation. say to yourself: 'see all those people. some of these are to go away from here this afternoon richer because i have been here to serve them, to advise them, to select for them the thing they really need.' then watch the little annoyances, the petty troubles that tempt you to fret, 'fold their tents like the arabs and silently steal away.' "sales-people?" rennie continued. "why, we are far more than that. we may, if we will, take our place beside teachers, nurses, librarians, and all those whose names will be written high on the tablet of the future where will appear all those who have truly benefited their race. "pardon me," she smiled again, "i didn't mean to preach, but really i hope it may do you good." "i--i'm sure it will." there was a mist in the girl's eyes as she said this. she had caught a vision of what real life work meant to this frail woman. once more she was tempted to give up her education in favor of a career as a vendor of juvenile books. at ten minutes before closing time lucile, having promised to meet cordie at the northeast door, hurried down the stairs to the first floor. then things began to happen with lightning-like rapidity. she had just started on her little journey across the store to the northeast entrance when, all in a flash, she caught sight of a hand, such a hand as she had seen but once and would never forget. the long, slim, muscular fingers and the ring of the dragon's head were there. she could not be mistaken. somewhere in that jostling throng was the mystery lady. and--yes, lucile was sure of it, there she was off there to the right. she could not mistake that face. with a bound she was after her. "not so fast there! not so fast!" exclaimed a floor man. "there isn't any fire. what made you think there was?" wedged in between a tall lady from the city and a very broad-shouldered, bear-skin coated man from the country, lucile could but heed the floorman's admonition. "she's making for the door," she whispered breathlessly. "i'll follow her out. can't fail to catch her in the street. i'll get her before she has gone a block. and then--" ah yes, and then--well, she'd decide what was to be done when the time came. she'd trust to inspiration. she did not catch up with her in the first block, nor the second or third, either. the sidewalks were rivers of people; the cross streets filled with automobiles. considering the fact that this was an obstacle race of an exceedingly unusual type, the mystery lady made wonderful progress. as for lucile, she was not to be outdone; indeed, she gained a little here, and a little there. she dodged through an open space on the sidewalk and sprinted down a stretch of street where no autos were parked or traveling. "i--i'll get her in the next block," she panted. "suppose there'll be a scene, but who cares? here goes!" a policeman's whistle, releasing the flood of autos on the cross street, had just blown. with a leap she sprang away before them. grazed by the wheel of a gray sedan, drawing an angry hoot from a huge touring car, she crossed the channel and was about to dash on when a hand seized her firmly by the arm and gave her such a turn as fairly set her whirling. "here you!" exclaimed a gruff voice. "what you tryin' to do? tryin' to commit suicide? autos has their right as well as them that walks. give 'em their turn, can't you?" what was there to do? she could not tell this policeman of her cause for speed. she could but stand there panting until he chose to release her. and as she stood there, with time to think, a startling question came to her mind: "cordie! what of cordie? i promised to meet her at the northeast entrance! closing time has now passed." for a moment her head whirled, but as the grip on her arm relaxed she murmured: "well, whatever is to happen has happened back there. i'll get madamoiselle of mysteries yet!" at that she crept slowly away until she was lost from sight of the officer; then again raced on at breakneck speed. * * * * * * * * she was right. something indeed had happened by the door of the northeast entrance. cordie had been prompt in keeping her appointment; especially so since her nerves, disturbed by lucile's revelation of the night before, were on edge. surprised at not finding lucile waiting for her, she had moved back into a secluded alcove to watch the passing throng crowd through the doors. crowds always amused her. some of the people were short and some tall; some young, some old; but all were interesting. each had his story to tell if only he could be induced to tell it. this is why the flow of a river of people is so interesting. just when it was that her attention was drawn from the moving throng to a single stationary individual, the girl could not tell. the instant she saw the man she felt he had been watching her; felt too that she had recognized in him her volunteer brother of the art museum. "yes," she whispered as cold dread gripped her heart, "there is the hawk-like eye, the marble face. it is he. oh! how shall i escape?" losing her power to reason, she dashed away from the door and into the crowd that was now thronging toward the exits. * * * * * * * * lucile found it rather difficult to again locate the mystery lady. when at last she succeeded it was to get a good square look at her, the first she had been afforded. "how strangely she is dressed!" she murmured. "like some countrywoman come to the city for shopping." for a second she was inclined to doubt her judgment. it could not be the lady--yet, yes, there was her profile. there could be no mistake; so, again she dashed along after her. although she maintained a pace that appeared to be a leisurely one, the mystery lady was hard enough to overtake. turning to the right, she crossed two streets to at last come out upon the boulevard. swinging to the left, she joined the home-going throng. lucile, gaining moment by moment, was all but upon her when she turned quickly to enter a broad, open door. "now i have you!" lucile murmured. she passed through the broad door just in time to see the mysterious one push back a heavy curtain and disappear. lucile was about to follow, when a guard, touching her on the shoulder, demanded: "got a pass?" "why--why no," lucile stood there nonplussed. "this is opera hall. you can't go back of that curtain without a pass." "but--but that lady gave you no pass." the guard made no reply. he merely shrugged and smiled. dropping back a step or two, lucile stood staring at the curtain. her head was whirling. what a strangely privileged woman this one must be. she entered and left a great department store at two hours before midnight, and no one said to her "no." she steps into a vestibule of a great musical hall and passes behind the curtain without a pass. what would she do next? suspended from one brass post to another, a heavy silk rope hung before the curtain. there were gaps in the curtain. through one of these gaps, as lucile stood staring at it, a hand was thrust. it was the hand of the mysterious lady. and upon it, beside the dragon's head ring, was another. and this ring one more unusual and startling than the other. it was the iron ring of a bundle wrapper! "cordie's ring," lucile whispered, "and, as i live, a diamond has been set in it. a magnificent diamond, worth hundreds of dollars! how strange! how weird! a diamond set in iron!" even as she thought this, the hand disappeared. instantly the heavy purple curtain began to sway. expecting anything, the girl stood there breathless. a needle flashed twice through the cloth of the curtain, then in its place there appeared a tiny spot of crimson. "the crimson thread!" lucile whispered. "and i may not pass beyond the curtain!" chapter viii the diamond-set iron ring when cordie fled from the man of the hawk-like eye and the marble features she dashed directly into the moving throng of shoppers. in this, however, she found scant relief. no matter which way she might turn she felt sure that the man pursued her and would overtake her if she did not flee faster and faster. putting her utmost strength into this flight, she dashed past counters strewn with goods, round a bank of elevators, through narrow aisles jammed with shoppers, across a narrow court and again into the throng. at last, in utter desperation, she fled down a stairway; then another and another. little dreaming that she had been descending into the very depths of the earth, she came up at last with a little suppressed scream to a place where from out a long row of small iron doors fire gleamed red as a noonday sun. where was she? surely she had not dreamed there could be such a place as this in a great department store. after wavering unsteadily for a moment, she turned, stumbled, righted herself, and would have gone racing back up the stair had not a heavy hand fallen upon her shoulder and a gruff, kindly voice said: "beg pardon, miss cordelia, are you in trouble?" surprised at hearing herself called by her own name, she turned about to find herself staring into the face of james, the bundle man. for a few seconds she wavered between pause and flight. there was, however, such a light of kindness in the man's eyes as could not be questioned. so, stepping back from the stairs, she said: "yes, i am in trouble. the--the man; i think he was following me." "he'd do well not to follow you too far this way, if he meant you any harm." the bundle man shook his powerful frame, then glanced at the fires. "wha--what are they?" cordie stammered. "where are we?" "don't you know?" he looked incredulous. "them's the boilers that heat the buildin'. i suppose you never wondered before how this huge building got heated? well, that's how. them's the boilers that does it. "sometimes i come down here to sit after hours," he half apologized. "the boys down here that tends to the stokers let me come. i like it. it's the nearest thing to the sea that one finds about the buildin'. you see, it's sort of like a ship's hold where the stokers work." "oh, you belong to the sea." "yes, miss. i'll tell you about it; but that will do for another time. you'll be going home. if it's all right, i'll see you safely on your way, or if you want i'll see you safely home. you need have no fear of me. i'm old enough to be your father, an' i took a sort of interest in you from the first. i'd be glad to help you--" he broke short off to stare at the door through which cordie had entered. framed by the outer darkness, a face had appeared there. however well shaven and massaged it might be, it was not a pleasing face to look upon and hawk-like eyes were set in a countenance as expressionless as marble. "that's him!" whispered james, staring as if his eyes would pop out of his head. "that's the very man." the next instant the man disappeared. there was reason enough for this too, for with every muscle of his face drawn in lines of hate, the stalwart james had leaped square at the door. and what of lucile? after gazing for a moment in astonishment at the purple curtain with the touch of crimson shining out from it, (beyond which the mystery lady had disappeared,) she stepped close enough to make sure that same purple strand ran through the thread. then she turned and walked out of the building. she found herself more mystified than ever. when would all this maze of mysteries be solved? why had the mystery lady done that? why the crimson thread? why the iron ring? that was the fourth time the crimson thread had appeared, and this time there could be no doubt but that it had been she who had held the needle. strangely enough, at this moment there flashed through her mind one sentence in that clipping relating to the lady who called herself the spirit of christmas. "i am the spirit of christmas," she whispered it as she recalled it. "i am the spirit of christmas. wherever i go i leave my mark which is also my sign." she wondered vaguely what she could have meant by that. this lady of the christmas spirit had the whole city on tip-toes. everyone was looking for her; everyone hoping to come downtown some fine morning to meet her and to claim her bag of gold. shoppers gazed into faces of fellow shoppers to wonder: "are you the spirit of christmas? shall i grasp your hand?" news boys, staring up at lady customers who slipped them pennies for papers, wondered: "are you the christmas lady?" every day the paper told how she had been dressed on the previous day, where she had been and what she had done. one day, in the guise of a farmer's wife, she had visited the stockyards and had spent hours wandering through great buildings or on board-walks above the cattle. the next day found her again among the throngs of shoppers. here she had purchased a handkerchief and there a newspaper. she described the clerk and the newsboy. the clerk and the boy read it and groaned. for them the great moment had come and was gone forever. "who will discover her? when will it be? who will get the gold?" these were the questions that were on every tongue. there could be no doubt but the paper was reaping a golden harvest from it, for did not everyone in the city buy a paper that they might read of her latest exploits and to discover where she was to be on that day, and to dream that this day he might be the lucky one; this day he might hear the gold coin jingle? lucile thought all this through as she hurried back toward the store. at the same time she chided herself for being so foolish as to miss her appointment with cordie for such a wild goose chase. she hoped against hope that she would find cordie still waiting. she found the door closed. as she pressed her face against the glass she saw but one person near the entrance--the night watchman. cordie was not there. "gone," lucile murmured. "i only hope nothing has happened to her." at that she turned about and raced away to catch an on-coming elevated train. * * * * * * * * as james disappeared through the door of the furnace room of the department store, cordie sank down in a chair. the chair was black and greasy, but she had no thought for that. indeed, so excited and frightened was she that for a time she was unable to think clearly about anything. when at last the full meaning of the situation had forced its way into her consciousness, she leaped to her feet, exclaiming: "stop him! stop him! he'll be killed!" "i bet you he won't," a burly furnace tender smiled quietly. "he's a hard boiled egg, that boy; muscles like steel and quick as a cat. if anybody does him in you'll have to give him credit. y'ought t' see him box. there ain't a man among us that can touch him." somewhat reassured by this glowing description of her companion, the girl settled back again in her seat. she knew that she was safe enough here with these rough but kindly men. as she sat there thinking, there came to her mind a question. why did james go into such a fit of anger at sight of the stranger at the door? "surely," she told herself, "it could not have been because the man had been following me. that wouldn't be natural. james scarcely knows me. why should he suddenly become such a violent champion of my cause? and besides, he had no way of knowing that that was the man who was following me. he did not wait to ask a single question; just whispered: 'that's him!' and rushed right at him." "no he didn't do it because of me," she concluded after a few moments of thought. "he's seen that man before. i wonder when and where. i wonder what he's done to james?" then came another, more startling question. what would james do to the man if he caught him? instantly her keen imagination was at work. quickening her sense of hearing, it set her listening to sounds which she told herself were the dull thud of fist-blows, the sickening rush of a blade as it sped through the air, a low groan of pain, and then sharper, more distinct, the pop-pop of an automatic. in vain she told herself that with the hiss of steam, the dull thud-thud of revolving grates and the general noises of the boiler-room, it was quite impossible for her to distinguish sounds ten yards away, and that in all probability the two men were hundreds of feet away from her, on some other floor. the illusion still persisted. so certain did she become that a battle was being fought just outside the door that she found herself gripping the arms of her chair to keep from crying out. the nickel-plated clock against the wall had ticked away a full half hour. the suspense had grown unbearable when of a sudden, with face grimy, hair tousled, and clothing all awry, james appeared at the door. "you--you," cordie started up. "yes, miss," james grinned. "i know i look as if i'd come in from a long and stormy voyage. my deck needs swabbin' down and my sails a furlin', but i'll be shipshape and ready to take another cruise before the clock can strike eight bells." this talk sounded so quaint to the girl that she quite forgot the recent danger james had been in, and sat staring at him as he thrust his head into a huge basin of water and proceeded to scrub it with a course brush, much as one might some huge vegetable. by the aid of a comb and whisk broom, he succeeded in making himself presentable. "now," he smiled a broad smile, "your uncle james, once a seaman and now a land fighter, is ready to pilot you home. what's the port?" "sixty-first and drexel," said cordie. "all right. port 'er bow. we're off." concerning his recent combat--if there had been a combat--james said not a word. cordie wondered at this, but eager as she was to know the outcome of the battle, if there had been one, she dreaded quite as much to hear the whole truth. visions of an inanimate form, lying bruised and bleeding in some dark corner of the stair, set her shuddering. so in the end she asked no question. their passage to the upper floor and out of the building was uneventful. the watchman at the door recognized them and allowed them to pass. previous to this time james had seemed quiet and uncommunicative, but now as they rattled along on the l train he told her many a wild tale of the sea journeys he had made. in his deep mellow drawl he talked of the whale ship _addler_ in northern seas; of eskimo and polar bear and the gleaming northern lights; and then he talked of the cutter _corwin_ among the palm shadowed south sea islands. it was with a real feeling of regret that cordie, hearing her own station announced, realized that their visit was at an end. five minutes later, brimming over with excitement, she burst into lucile's room. "wait!" exclaimed lucile as she read in cordie's eyes the story of some thrilling experience. "you've had an adventure. so have i. let's not spoil 'em in the telling. let's set the stage for a story. you haven't had a bite to eat, have you?" "no--o," cordie admitted, "not a single bite. i'd forgotten." "neither have i. you'll find a loaf of bread and a slice of cream pimento cheese in the upper dresser drawer. there are some vanilla wafers, too. you make the sandwiches and i'll have the cocoa piping hot in a minute. no, i'll tell you, let's dress for it first." fifteen minutes later they sat in their bright colored dressing gowns, sipping the delicious hot beverage and hungrily devouring sandwiches. "now," said lucile after the last sandwich had vanished and fresh cups had been poured, "now's the time for spinning yarns. you tell yours first." with many a gesture and dramatic pause, cordie told of her startling discovery, her wild dash through the throng, her descent into the depths of the earth, and of the strange doings down there beneath the surface of the city's streets. "yes," said lucile, sipping her chocolate thoughtfully as cordie's narrative ended, "that surely was the young man who attempted to carry you away when you fainted in the art museum. dear little girl, you must be careful, very careful indeed. you must never be left alone; never! never! even if the mystery woman beckons or the lady of the christmas spirit clinks her gold in my very ears, i will not desert you again." it was a very warm and friendly hand that lucile felt tucked into her own, and a suspiciously husky voice that said: "thank you, my dear big sister. "but," cordie exclaimed suddenly, "i must not tell them. it would never do. they wouldn't let me----" suddenly checking her speech as if about to unwittingly reveal a secret, she changed the subject abruptly. "please tell me of your adventure," she said. "my adventure?" smiled lucile. "compared with yours, it was no adventure at all--merely an episode. however, since it throws some light on a mystery and reveals the whereabouts of a bit of stolen property, i must tell you about it." then, while cordie leaned back among the cushions, her eyes half closed as if she were day dreaming, lucile told of her experience with the mystery lady. "my iron ring!" exclaimed cordie, sitting bolt upright as lucile came to that part of the story. "my iron ring! the old mischief! i might have known! i----" again cordie checked herself. "might have known what?" asked lucile. "might have known that someone had stolen it, i suppose," finished cordie lamely. "anyway, someone did, didn't they? and isn't it funny that she should have a diamond set in it? wouldn't it be a joke to come upon her wearing it? wouldn't it, though? i'd march right up and say, 'lay-d-e-e give me the ring! you stole it. my precious, my onliest, only iron ring!'" she threw back her head and laughed. lucile joined her in the laugh, and with this forgot for a time that cordie had said something very unusual about the ring and the lady who had taken it. at last cordie broke the silence: "james is a very unusual person." "yes, he must be." "do you suppose he caught that man--the one who had been following me?" "i hope so, but perhaps not. you say he was all mussed up when he came back?" "uh-huh." "but not bruised, nor bloody, nor anything like that?" "no, i guess not--no, not a bit." "then probably he didn't. when i got through my wild race about the place the other night i was good and mussed up, and i hadn't been in a fight either. it wouldn't be easy to catch anyone in that labyrinth." again there was silence for a little while. "lucile," whispered cordie, bending forward eagerly, her face alight with some strange idea. "james is so mysterious. do you suppose he could be a pirate in hiding?" "a pirate! why child, there aren't any pirates." "not any at all?" "you don't read about any, do you?" "you don't read about lots of things. you never read about my wrapping bundles, did you? but i am, just the same. everything doesn't get in the papers. i think it would be wonderful if he turned out to be a real pirate. you'd think he was one if you heard some of the stories he told me to-night about the sea." "all right," laughed her companion, "if you can make him out a pirate, a nice friendly sort of pirate who is kind to ladies and all that, you're welcome. but for my part, i'd give a lot more to know what that self appointed brother of yours has done to james. it must have been something rather terrible." "yes," agreed cordie, "it surely must." "listen!" exclaimed lucile. "there go the chimes! ten o'clock, and you work in the morning!" leaping from her chair, she began cleaning up the remnants of their little feast. ten minutes later the room was darkened for the night. though the room was dark, and though lucile was tired enough for sleep, her eyes did not close at once. she was thinking and her thoughts were not of the most cheerful sort. the outlook, she was forced to admit, was gloomy enough. she had hoped to save enough money from her pay at the store to start her in the new term at school. this hope was fast dwindling away. her own expenses had been greater than she had thought they would be. added to this was the increase in her room rent due to the presence of cordie. her dream that cordie was saving money had been blighted only the night before, for on that night cordie had brought home the gorgeous dressing gown she had worn as they sat over the cocoa cups. "and it must have cost her every penny she possessed," groaned lucile. "how extravagant! how--how----" she wanted to say ungrateful, but could not quite do it. the girl appeared so impractical, so lovable, so irresponsible, that she could not find the heart to blame her. quickly she switched her thoughts to a more cheering subject--laurie seymour. he had proven such a jolly fellow-worker--so cheerful, so kind and helpful, so ever ready to bear the heavy burdens--that lucile had all but forgotten the fact that he had given his pass-out to the mystery lady on that night when she had in such a surprising manner come into the possession of the valuable fur lined cape. equally strange was the fact that she had come to think of the mystery lady in a new way. she found that she could no longer think of the lady as a thief. "and yet," she mused, "what could have been her reason for haunting our store at that hour of the night? why should she have left the cape?" the cape. ah yes, there was vexation enough in that! too precious to be worn to work, it had hung for days in lucile's closet while she had gone to work all too scantily clad in a sweater and broad scarf. she wished that she might have her own coat. poor as it might be, it was at least her own and it was comfortable. next morning, having arrived at the door of the store a full fifteen minutes before the opening hour, the two girls were enjoying a few moments of window shopping before the gorgeous windows of state street. suddenly, above the rattle of distant elevated trains and the honk of auto horns, lucile caught clear and distinct the calling neigh of a horse. wheeling quickly about, she stared around her. true enough, there were still many horses on the streets of the city, but where before, in the din and rattle of the streets, had she caught that one clear call of a horse? what she saw caused her to start and stare. cordie was no longer at her side. instead she was in imminent danger of being run down by a cab as she dashed madly across the street toward the spot where, like a statue in blue, a young policeman sat rigidly erect on his police horse. the thing the girl did, once she had safely crossed the street, was even more surprising. without the least glance at the young policeman, she threw both arms about the horse's neck and hid her face in his mane. far from objecting to this unusual procedure, the horse appeared to rather enjoy it. as for the stern young minion of the law, he was so overcome by surprise that he did not alter his statue-like pose by so much as a movement of a finger. lucile flew across the street. "cordie! cordie! what in the world are you doing?" she fairly screamed. paying not the least attention to this, cordie repeated over and over: "dick, you old darling. dear old dick. you knew me, dick, you did! you did!" this lasted for a full moment. then, appearing to come to herself, the girl dropped her hands and stepped back upon the sidewalk. one glance at the stern young officer, and a quite different emotion swept over her. her face turned crimson as she stammered: "oh, what have i done? i--i beg--beg your pardon." "it's all right," grinned the young man, coming to life with a broad smile. "friend of yours, i take it?" "yes--oh yes,--a very, very good friend." "my name's patrick o'hara," there was a comradely tone now in the young officer's voice. "he's a friend of mine too, and a mighty good one. shake." solemnly drawing off his gauntlet, he swung half way out of his saddle to grasp the girl's hand. "thanks. thanks awfully. is this--this where you always stay? i--i'd like to see dick real often." "this is my beat; from here to the next cross street and back again. i'm here every morning from seven to one. we--we--dick, i mean, will be glad to see you." the way he smiled as he looked at cordie's deep colored, dimpled cheeks, her frank blue eyes, her crinkly hair, said plainer than words: "dick won't be the only one who will be glad to see you." "lucile," implored cordie, "i wish you'd do me a favor. i haven't a lump of sugar for poor old dick. i can't leave him this way. i--i never have. won't you please talk to this--this policeman until i can go to the restaurant on the corner and get some?" "it's all right, miss--miss----" "cordie," prompted the girl. "it's all right, cordie," patrick o'hara grinned, "i'll not run away. duty calls me, though. i must ride up a block and back again. i--i'll make it snappy. be back before you are." touching dick with his spurless heel and patting him gently on the neck, he went trotting away. five minutes later, the lump of sugar ceremony having been performed to the complete satisfaction of both dick and cordie, the girls hurried away to the scenes of their daily labors. this little drama made a profound impression upon lucile. for one thing, it convinced her that in spite of her expensive and stylish lingerie, cordie was indeed a little country girl. "for," lucille told herself, "that horse, dick, came from the country. all horses do. he's been a pet of cordie's back there on the farm. his owner, perhaps her own father, has sold him to some city dealer. and because he is such a thorobred and such a fine up-standing beauty, he has been made a police horse. i don't blame her for loving him. anyone would. but it shows what a splendid, affectionate girl she is. "i'm sort of glad," she told herself a moment later, "that she's gotten acquainted with that young officer, patrick o'hara. he seems such a nice sort of boy, and then you can never tell how soon you're going to need a policeman as a friend; at least it seems so from what happened last night." she might have shuddered a little had she known how prophetic these thoughts were. as it was, she merely smiled as she recalled once more how her impetuous little companion had raced across the streets to throw her arms about the neck of a horse ridden by a strange policeman. "i wonder," she said finally, "i do wonder why cordie does not confide in me? oh well," she sighed, "i can only wait. the time will come." had she but known it, cordie had reasons enough; the strangest sort of reasons, too. it was in the forenoon of that same day that a rather surprising thing happened, a thing that doubled the mystery surrounding the attractive young salesman, laurie. lucile was delivering a book to a customer. laurie was waiting at the desk for change and at the same time whispering to cordie, when of a sudden his eyes appeared ready to start from his head as he muttered: "there's sam!" the next instant, leaving wrapped package, change and customer, he disappeared as if the floor had dropped from beneath him. "where's laurie?" cordie asked a moment later. "his customer's waiting for her change." though lucile didn't know where he was, she was quite sure he would not return, at least he would not until a certain short, broad-shouldered man, who carried a large brief case and stood talking to rennie, had left the section. she felt very sure that laurie wished to escape meeting this man. "that man must be sam," lucile thought to herself as she volunteered to complete laurie's sale. "now i wonder what makes him so much afraid of that man! "he looks like a detective," she thought to herself as she got a better look at him. "no, he smiles too much for that. must be a salesman trying to get rennie to buy more books." the conversation she overheard tended to confirm this last. "make it a thousand," he said with a smile. "i won't do it!" rennie threw her hands up in mock horror. "oh! all right," sam smiled. "anything you say." having been called away by a rush of customers, lucile had quite forgotten both laurie and sam when she came suddenly upon the large brief case which sam had carried. it was lying on her table. "whose is that?" a voice said over her shoulder. "that's sam's, confound him! he's always leaving things about. now he'll have to come back for it and i'll--" "who's sam?" lucile asked. she turned about to receive the answer. the answer did not come. for a second time that day laurie had vanished. chapter ix her double "two more shopping days before christmas," lucile read these words in the paper on the following morning as she stepped into the elevator which was to take her to a day of strenuous labor. she read them and sighed. then, of a sudden, she started and stared. the cause of this sudden change was the elevator girl. "why, florence!" she exclaimed half incredulous. "you here?" "sure. why not?" smiled the big, athletic looking girl who handled the elevator with skill. "well, i didn't know--" "didn't know i needed the money badly enough," laughed florence. "well, i do. seems that one is always running out of cash, especially when it comes near to christmas. i was getting short, so i came down here and they gave me this job. thought i could stand the rush i guess," she smiled as she put one arm about her former chum in a bear-like embrace. if you have read our other books, "the cruise of the o'moo" and "the secret mark," you will remember that these two girls had been the best of chums. but a great university is a place of many changes. their paths had crossed and then they had gone in diverging ways. now they were more than pleased to find that, for a time, they were employed in the same store. "speaking of christmas," said florence, "since i haven't any grand christmas surprises coming from other people, i've decided to buy myself a surprise." "how can you do that?" asked lucile, a look of incredulity on her face. "why, you see----" "here's my floor. see you later." lucile sprang from the elevator and was away. "it's nice to meet old friends," the elevator girl thought to herself as she went speeding up the shaft, "especially when the holiday season is near. i must try to see more of lucile." running an elevator in a department store is a dull task. little enough adventure in that, you might say, except when your cable begins to slip with a full load on board. but florence was destined to come under the spell of mystery and to experience thrilling adventure before her short service as an elevator girl came to an end. mystery came leaping at her right out of the morning. she left her car in the basement and went for a drink. she was gone but a second. when she came back the elevator door was closed and the cage cables in motion. "gone!" she whispered. "i never heard of such a thing. who could have taken it? "might have been the engineer taking it for a testing trip," she thought after a few seconds of deliberation. "but no, that doesn't seem probable. he'd not be down this early. but who could it be? and why did they do it?" if the disappearance of her car had been startling, the thing she witnessed three minutes later was many times more so. with fast beating heart she saw the shadow of the car move down from fifth floor to fourth, from fourth to third, then saw the car itself cover the remaining distance to the basement. her knees trembled with excitement and fear as she watched the cage in its final drop. the excitement was born of curiosity; the fear was that this should mean the last of her position. she had never been discharged and this gave her an unwonted dread of it. the car came to a stop at the bottom. three passengers got off and one got on, and the car shot upward again. and florence did nothing but stand there and stare in astonishment! had she seen a ghost, a ghost of herself? what had happened? her head was in a whirl. the girl at the lever was herself. broad shoulders, large hands, round cheeks, blue eyes, brown hair, even to freckles that yielded not to winters indoors. it was her own self, to the life. "and yet," she reasoned, "here i am down here. what shall i do?" as she faced the situation more calmly, she realized that the girl driving her car must be her double, her perfect double. she remembered reading somewhere that everyone in the world had a double. and here was hers. but why had her double made up her hair in her exact fashion, donned an elevator girl's uniform and taken her elevator from her? "that is what i must find out," she told herself. "there's no use making a scene by jumping in and demanding my cage," she reasoned, after a moment's reflection. "i'll just get on as a passenger and ride up with her." there was something of a thrill in this affair. she was beginning to enjoy it. "it's--why, it's fairly mysterious," she breathed. in spite of all, she found herself anticipating the next move in the little drama. driving an elevator was frightfully dull business. going up and down, up and down; answering innumerable questions all day long about the location of silks, shoes, baby rattle, nutmeg graters, boxing gloves, garters and fly-swatters--this was a dull task that tended to put one to sleep. and often enough, after her noon luncheon, she actually had to fight off sleep. but here, at last, was a touch of mystery, romance and adventure. "my double," she breathed. "i'll find out who she is and why she did this, or die in the attempt." again the cage moved downward. this time, as the last customer moved out of the door, she stepped in. moving to the back of the car, she stood breathlessly waiting for the next move of her mysterious double. the move did not come at once; in fact she had to wait there in the back of the car a surprisingly long time. the girl at the lever--her double--had poise, this was easy enough seen, and she had operated an elevator before, too. she brought the cage to its position at each floor with an exactness and precision that could but be admired. the cage filled at the first floor. it began to empty at the third. by the time they had reached the eleventh, only two passengers, beside florence, remained in the back of the car. only employees went beyond the eleventh; the floors above were stock rooms. the girl at the lever threw back a fleeting glance. florence thought she was about to speak, but she did not. the car went to the thirteenth landing. there two people got off and three got on. florence remained. the car dropped from floor to floor until they were again in the basement. once more the mysterious double gave florence a fleeting glance. she did not speak. florence did not move from her place in the corner. the car rose again. to florence the situation was growing tense, unbearable. again the car emptied. at the eleventh floor florence found herself in the car alone with her double. this gave her a strange, frightened feeling, but she resolutely held her place. "say!" exclaimed the girl, turning about as the car moved slowly upward. "let me run your car, will you? take my place, won't you? you won't have a thing to do. it--it'll be a lark." as she said all this in a whisper there was a tense eagerness on her face that florence could not miss. "but--but your car?" she managed to whisper back. "haven't any. don't go on until to-morrow. here's my locker key. get--get my coat and furs and hat out and wear them. stay in the store--book section and rest room. all you have to do. "only," she added as an afterthought, "if someone speaks to you, tells you something, you say, 'oh! all right.' just like that. and if they ask you what you said, you repeat. that's all you'll have to do." "oh, but i can't--" "it isn't anything bad," the other girl put in hastily. there was a sort of desperate eagerness about the tense lines of her face. they were nearing the thirteenth floor. "not a thing that's bad--nor--nor anything you wouldn't gladly do yourself. i--i'll explain some time. on--only do it, will you?" they had reached the thirteenth floor. she pressed the key in florence's reluctant hand. a tall man, with an arm load of socks in bundles, got on the car. he looked at florence. he looked at her double. then he stared at both of them. after that his large mouth spread apart in a broad grin as he chuckled: "pretty good. eh?" three minutes later florence found herself in a kind of daze, standing at the tenth floor landing, staring down at her steadily dropping car. "oh, well," she whispered, shaking herself out of her daze, "sort of a lark, i suppose. no harm in it. might as well have a half day off." with that she turned and walked toward the locker room. the coat and hat she took from the mysterious one's locker were very plain and somewhat worn, not as good as her own. but the fur throw was a thing to marvel at; a crossed fox, the real thing, no dyed imitation, and so richly marked with gray that it might easily be taken for a silver gray. "some strange little combination," she breathed as she threw the fur about her neck and started once more for the elevator. as a proof of the fact that she was carrying out her share of the compact, she waited for her own elevator. the strange girl shot her a quick smile as she entered and another as she got off on the third floor where was the rest room and book section. "seems terribly queer to be walking around in another girl's clothes," she whispered to herself as she drifted aimlessly past rows of people resting in leather cushioned chairs. "especially when that other girl is someone you've spoken to but once in your life. i wonder--i do wonder why i did it?" she meditated on this question until she had reached the book section. "it was the look in her eyes; an eager, haunted look. she's all right, i'd swear to that, and she's in some sort of trouble that's not all her own fault. trouble," she mused. "part of our reason for being here in the world is that we may help others out of trouble. i--i guess i'm glad i did it." of this last she could not be sure. she had sometimes been mistaken, had bestowed confidence and assistance on persons who were unworthy. should this girl prove to be such a person, then she might be helping her to get away with some unlawful act. and she might lose her position, too. "oh well," she sighed at last, "it's done. i'll lose my memory of it here among the books." to one who is possessed of a real love for books, it is a simple task to forget all else in a room where there are thousands of them. so completely did florence forget that she soon lost all consciousness of the role she was playing, and when a rough looking man with a seafaring roll to his walk came marching toward her she could do nothing but stare at him. and when he said, "howdy meg," she only stared the harder. "the train leaves at eleven thirty," he said, twisting his well worn cap in his nervous fingers. "the--the--" she hesitated. then of a sudden the words of the girl came back to her. "oh! all right," she said in as steady a tone as she could command. "what say?" asked the man. "i said 'oh, all right.'" "right it is, then," he said and, turning about, disappeared behind a pile of books. with her head in a whirl, the girl stood and stared after him. "the train leaves at eleven thirty," she whispered. it was a few minutes past ten now. should she go and tell the girl? she had not been instructed in this regard. what sort of an affair was this she was getting into, anyway? was this girl hiding from her people, attempting to run away? the man had looked rough enough, but he had looked honest, too. she had wandered about the place in uncertainty for another half hour. then a kindly faced women, in a sort of uniform and a strange hat with gold lettered "seaman's rest" on its band, accosted her. "why, meg!" she exclaimed. "you still here? the train leaves at eleven-thirty." there it was again. this time she did not forget. "oh! all right!" she exclaimed and turning hurried away as if to make a train. an hour later, still very much puzzled and not a little worried, she returned to the locker room, took off the borrowed clothes, gave the wonderful fox fur a loving pat, deposited it with the coat and hat, then locked the door. after that she went to her own locker, put on her wraps preparatory to going to lunch, then walked over to the elevator. a moment's wait brought her car to her. the other girl was still operating skillfully. florence pressed the locker key into the girl's hand and stepped to the back of the car. five minutes later she found herself in the crisp air of a midwinter day. "and to think," she whispered to herself, "that i'd do that for a total stranger." as she ate her lunch a resolve, one of the strongest she had ever made, formed itself in her mind. she would become acquainted with her mysterious double and would learn her secret. "the train leaves at eleven-thirty," she mused. "well, wherever it might have been going, it's gone." she glanced at the clock which read twelve-fifteen. and then, of a sudden, all thought of the other girl and her affairs was blotted out by a resolve she had made that very morning. this was friday. day after to-morrow was christmas. she wanted a surprise on christmas. she had started to tell lucile about it that morning, but while just in the middle of the story the elevator had reached the book department and lucile had hurried away. soon after came the strange experience of meeting her double and florence had quite forgotten all about it until this very minute. "have to provide my own surprise," she said to herself, while thinking it through. "but how am i to surprise myself?" this had taken a great deal of thinking, but in the end she hit upon the very thing. her old travelling bag had gone completely to pieces on her last trip. her father had sent her fifteen dollars for the purchase of a new one. she had the money still. she would buy a travelling bag with a surprise in it. only a few days before, a friend had told her how this might be done. every great hotel has in its store room a great deal of baggage which no one claims; such as hat boxes, trunks, bags and bundles. someone leaves his baggage as security for a bill. he does not return. someone leaves his trunk in storage. he too disappears. someone dies. in time all this baggage is sold at an auctioneer's place to the highest bidders. they have all been sealed when placed in the store room, and here they are, trunks, bundles and bags, all to be sold with "contents if any." "with contents if any." florence had read that sentence over many times as she finished scanning the notice of an auction that was to be held that very afternoon and night. "with contents if any," that was where her surprise was to come in. she would pick out a good bag that had a woman's name on it, or one that at least looked as if a woman had owned it, and she would bid it in. then the bag would be hers, and the "contents if any." she thrilled at the thought. her friend had told of diamond rings, of gold watches, of a string of pearls, of silks and satins and silver jewel boxes that had come from these mysterious sealed bags and trunks. "of course," florence assured herself, "there won't be anything like that in my bag, but anyway there'll be a surprise. what fun it will be, on my birthday, to turn the key to the bag and to peep inside. "i know the afternoon is going to drag terribly. i do wish i could go now," she sighed, "but i can't. i do hope they don't sell all the nice bags before i get there." with this she rose from the table, paid her check and went back to her elevator, still wondering about her mysterious double and still dreaming of her birthday surprise. chapter x cordie's strange ride twice a day, after cordie had discovered him, the police horse, dick, had a lump of sugar--one in the morning and another at noon. and mounted officer patrick o'hara, very young, quite handsome and somewhat dashing, received a smile with each lump of sugar. it would have been hard to tell which enjoyed his portion the most, dick or patrick o'hara. apparently nothing could have pleased cordie more than this discovery of an old friend. yes, there was one other thing that would have pleased her much more. she found herself longing for it more and more. every time she saw the horse she secretly yearned for this privilege. and then, quite surprisingly, the opportunity came. it was noon. having come out from the store to give dick his daily portion, she was surprised to find him standing alone, head down, and patiently waiting. a glance down the street told her there had been an auto collision in the middle of the block; not a serious one probably, as the cars did not seem badly smashed, but of course patrick o'hara had gone over there to take down the numbers. since traffic had been jammed, he had dismounted and walked. "wha--what a chance," cordie breathed, her heart skipping a beat. "do i dare?" she looked up at the splendid saddle with its broad circle of brass and other trappings. she studied dick's smooth, sleek sides. "i know i shouldn't," she whispered, "but i do so want to. dick, do you suppose he'd care?" the temptation was growing stronger. glancing down the street, she caught a glimpse of patrick o'hara's cap above the crowd. his back was turned. the temptation was no longer to be resisted. with a touch and a spring, light as air, cordie leaped into the saddle. "just for old times," she whispered. she had meant to hover there for an instant, then to leap right down again. but alas for the best laid plans. old dick had apparently remembered things about the past which she had quite forgotten, and with a wild snort his head went up, his four feet came together, and with a leap that completely cleared him from the autos that blocked his way, he went tearing down the street. for a second the girl's head was in a whirl. so unexpected was this mad dash that she was all but thrown from the saddle. apparently an experienced rider, she regained her balance, clung to the pommel of the saddle for an instant, then gripping the reins, she screamed: "whoa, dick! whoa! whoa!" had her scream been "go dick! go!" it would not have had a different effect. he simply redoubled his speed. then it was that the state street throng of shoppers viewed a performance that was not on the program and one they would not soon forget--a hatless, coatless girl, hair flying, cheeks aflame, dashing madly down the street astride a sturdy police horse. some laughed, some cheered, others gasped in astonishment and fright. a corner policeman leaped for the reins, but missed. panic spread through the cross streets. it was a bad morning for jay-walkers. having failed to see the on-coming charger, they would leap boldly before a slow-moving auto to give one startled look upward, then to register the blankest surprise and shy suddenly backward. had it not been such a serious business, cordie would have laughed at the expressions on their faces; but this was no laughing matter. to all appearances she had stolen a policeman's horse, and that in broad daylight. suddenly a second police horse swung out into the street. "stop! stop! i arrest you!" shouted the rider. "that's easy said," the girl murmured in an agony of fear lest dick should trample someone under his feet. "it's easy said. i wish you would." evidently dick did not agree with these sentiments, for the instant he sensed this rival his head went higher, a great snort escaped his nostrils and he was away with a fresh burst of speed which left the surprised officer three lengths behind. "oh! oh! what shall i do!" groaned the girl. the more she tugged at the reins the faster flew dick's splendid limbs. he had the bit between his teeth. suddenly, as if aggravated by the crowds that threatened to block his way, he whirled to a side street and went dashing toward the boulevard. "the boulevard! oh, the boulevard! we will be killed!" before them lay the boulevard where autos, thick as bees in clover, raced forward at twenty miles an hour. what chance could there be of escape? trust a horse. while pedestrians stared and screamed in terror, while policemen vainly blew whistles and auto drivers set brakes screaming, dick, without slackening his pace, raced ahead of a yellow limousine, grazed a black sedan, sent a flivver to the curb, and with one magnificent leap cleared the sidewalk and the low chain at its edge, landing squarely upon the soft, yielding turf of the park. "ah, that's better," he all but seemed to say. then, heading south along the narrow park that extended straight away for a mile, he continued his mad career. cordie, risking one backward look, gasped in consternation and fear. "dick, dick, you old villain! you've got me in for life! never, never again!" three policemen, each mounted on his steed, came dashing after her in mad pursuit. a straight, broad course lay before them; a pretty enough course to tempt anyone. seeming to gain new strength from the very touch of it, dick gripped his bit and fairly flew. and cordie, in spite of her predicament, regardless of impending arrest, was actually getting a thrill out of it. for one thing, there were now no pedestrians to be run down. the park was deserted. for another thing, ahead of dick lay a clear stretch of turf which she hoped would satisfy his lust for speed. finding herself in a more cheerful frame of mind, cordie took to studying her pursuers. that they were of different ages she guessed more by the way they rode than by a clear view of their faces; dick had left them too far behind for that. the foremost rider was a man of thirty-five or so, a stern minion of the law, and he was plainly angry. it had been he who had informed her on state street that she was arrested. he had an unusually long nose--she remembered that. he rode a poor mount very badly indeed. the punishment he was getting, as he jounced up and down in the saddle, he would doubtless attempt to pass on to her and to dick. she ardently wished that he might never catch up, but realized at the same time that it could not well be avoided. the race must come to a close. the other policemen were different. one was heavy and well past middle age; the other young, perhaps no older than patrick o'hara. they rode with the easy grace of an aged and a young cowboy. she had seen some like that in the movies not so long ago. she fancied she saw a smile on the younger man's face. perhaps he was enjoying the race. she sincerely hoped he might be, and the older man, too. as for the one of the long nose--not a chance. all things have an end. dick's race did. having come close to an iron fence, beyond which towered a brick structure, he appeared to assume that he had reached the goal. dropping to a slow trot, he circled gracefully to the right, and as he came to a standstill he threw his head high as much as to say: "we won, didn't we; and by a handsome margin!" "yes, you old goose," the girl breathed. "and now, instead of a blue ribbon for you and a purse for me, we get an invite to some dirty old police court." there was no time for further thought. the foremost policeman, he of the long nose, rode up and snatching at the reins, snarled: "suppose you call that smart, you--you flapper!" staring angrily at the girl, he gave dick's rein such a yank as threw the magnificent horse on his haunches. instantly cordie's eyes flashed fire. they might take her to jail and welcome; but abuse dick he might not! dick, however, proved quite equal to caring for himself. with a snort he leaped to one side, and jerking his rein from the policeman's grasp, went dashing away. so sudden was this turn that cordie, caught unawares, was thrown crashing to the ground. the officer wheeled and rode after the horse. it was the older man, the one with gray about his temples, who, quickly dismounting, helped the girl to her feet. "are you hurt?" he asked in a tone that had a fatherly touch in it. that did the trick for cordie. all her anger was gone. she was not injured, but tears came trickling out from beneath her eyelids as she half sobbed: "i--i'm sorry. truly i am. i didn't, didn't mean to. truly--truly i didn't! i--i used to ride him in races, on--on the farm. and i thought--thought it would be fun to just sit--sit a minute in his saddle. i tried it and i guess--guess he thought it was to be another race. anyway, he--he bolted with me and i couldn't stop him. truly, truly i couldn't!" "that's all right, miss," said the elderly one, putting a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "it may not be so bad, after all." the younger policeman had also dismounted and now stood smiling at them and appearing to wish he might take the place of his older friend. "that is pat o'hara's horse," he said at last. "he's the smartest mount on the force. and i'll tell you one thing, if we wait for hogan to catch him we'll be here until to-morrow morning." hogan, the irate policeman, was certainly having his troubles catching dick. with the skill and mischief of a trained performer, dick was playing tag with him in a masterly fashion. he would stand with head down as if asleep until his pursuer was all but upon him; then with a snort he would dash away. no amount of coaxing, cajoling or cursing could bring him any nearer to capture. this little play went on for several minutes. then, at a time when dick had circled quite close to her, cordie suddenly put two fingers to her lips and let out a shrill whistle. instantly the splendid horse pricked up his ears and came trotting toward her. "good old dick," she whispered, patting him on the neck and not so much as putting out a hand for his rein. "well i'll be--" mumbled the younger policeman. "there's lots like 'em, both horses and girls," the old man smiled, "and i'll swear there's not more bad in the girl than the horse." "no, now hogan," he held up a warning hand to the one who came riding up. "you leave this to me. where's o'hara's stand?" "state and madison," volunteered the younger man. "good, we're off. you men can ride back to your posts. i'll tend to this matter myself." the younger man grinned. hogan growled; then they rode away. "you better mount and ride back," suggested the older man to cordie. seeing her hesitate, he reached for her rein, "i'll steady him a bit, but he's had his race. guess he'll be satisfied. but," he said suddenly, "you're not dressed for this. you must be half frozen." unstrapping a great coat from patrick o'hara's saddle, he helped her into it and together they rode away. and so it happened that on this day, only a few days before christmas, the throngs along state street viewed a second unusual sight. though quite different from the first, it was no less mystifying. who ever heard of a gray haired policeman and a bobbed haired girl in a policeman's great coat, riding police horses and parading up the city's most congested street in broad daylight? "what a fool i've been," the girl whispered to herself as she hid her face from a camera. "it will all be in the papers. and then what?" they found young patrick o'hara nervously pacing his beat on foot. his face lit up with a broad grin as he saw them approaching. "i sort of figured," he drawled, "that whoever took dick would bring him back. can't anybody do a good job of riding him except me." "if you think that," exclaimed tim reilly, the elderly policeman, "you just take any horse on the force, give this girl and dick a three-length start, and see if you'd catch 'em. you would--not! not in a thousand moons!" patrick o'hara grinned as he helped the girl down. "now you beat it," said tim in as stern a voice as he could command. "i suspect you work around here somewhere close. you've overdone your noon hour, and this the rush season. you'll be in for it now." cordie threw him one uncertain glance to discover whether or not he was in earnest. the next moment she went racing across the street. chapter xi as seen from the stairway "where in the world have you been?" lucile exclaimed, pouncing upon cordie as soon as she came in sight. "rennie's been worrying her poor old head off about you, and miss mones, who's in charge of the checking girls, is furious." "oh," cordie drawled, "i was out to lunch. then i took a spin down the park on my favorite steed. it's a won-der-ful day outside." "you'll have a lot of time to spend outside," scolded lucile, "if you don't get right back to your stand." a moment later, having somehow made her peace with miss mones, cordie was back at her task, rustling paper and snipping cord. late that afternoon lucile was sent to the twelfth floor storeroom to look up a special order. she enjoyed these trips to the upper realms. this vast storeroom was like a new world to her. as she walked down long, narrow, silent aisles, on either side of which were wired in compartments piled high with every conceivable form of merchandise: rugs, piano lamps, dolls, dishes, couches, clothes-pins, and who knows what others, she could not help feeling that she was in the store house of the world, that she was queen of this little ward and that there remained only for her to say the word and a house would be handsomely furnished, a beautiful bride outfitted with a trousseau, or a christmas tree decorated for a score of happy children. yes, these aisles held a charm and fascination all their own. she liked the silence of the place, too. after the hours of listening to the constant babble of voices, the murmur of shoppers, the call of clerks, the answers of floormen, this place seemed the heart of silent woods at night. captivated by such thoughts as these, and having located the missing books and started them on their journey down the elevator, she decided to walk down the nine flights to her own floor. here, too, as she skipped lightly down from floor to floor, she caught little intimate glimpses of the various lives that were being lived in this little world of which she was for a time a part. here a score of printing presses and box making machines were cutting, shaping and printing containers for all manner of holiday goods. the constant rush of wheels, the press and thump of things, the wrinkles on the brows of operators, all told at what a feverish heat the work was being pushed forward. one floor lower down the same feverish pace was being set. here nimble fingers dipped and packed chocolate bon-bons, while from the right and left of them came the rattle and thump of drums polishing jelly beans and moulding gum drops at the rate of ten thousand a minute. ah yes, there was the christmas rush for you. but one floor lower down there was quiet and composure such as one might hope to find in a meadow where a single artist, with easel set, sketches a landscape. it was not unlike that either, for the two-score of persons engaged here were sketching, too. the sketches they made with pen and ink and water-colors were not unattractive. drawings of house interiors they were; here the heavily furnished office of some money king, and there the light and airy boudoir of one of society's queens; here the modest compartment of a young architect who, though of only average means, enjoyed having things done right, and there the many roomed mansion of a steel magnate. these sketches were made and then shown to the prospective customer. the customer offered suggestions, made slight changes, then nodded, wrote a check, and a sale amounting to thousands of dollars was completed. "that must be fascinating work," lucile whispered to herself as an artistic looking young woman showed a finished sketch to a customer. "i think i'd like that. i believe----" with a sudden shock her thoughts were cut short. two persons had entered the glassed-in compartment--a woman of thirty and a girl in her late teens. and of all persons! "the mystery lady and cordie! it can't be," she breathed, "and yet it is!" it was, too. none other. what was stranger still, they appeared to have business here. at sight of them one of the artists arose and lifting a drawing which had been standing face to the wall, held it out for their inspection. cordie clasped her hands in very evident ecstasy of delight, and, if lucile read her lips aright, she exclaimed: "how perfectly wonderful!" the expression on the mystery lady's face said plainer than words, "i hoped you'd like it." the sketch, lucile could see plainly enough from where she stood, was a girl's room. there was a bed with draperies, a study table of slender-legged mahogany, a dresser, one great comfortable chair surprisingly like lucile's own, some simpler chairs of exquisite design. these furnishings, and such others as only a girl would love, were done in the gay tints that appeal to the springtime of youth. "cordie?" lucile stared incredulously. "a simple country girl, what can she know about such things? that room--why those furnishings would cost hundreds of dollars. it's absurd, impossible; and yet there they are--she and the mystery lady." the mystery lady! at thought of her, lucile was seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to rush down there and demand the meaning of that lady's many strange doings. but something held her back. so cordie was acquainted with the mystery lady! here was something strange. indeed, lucile was beginning to wonder a great deal about cordie. "she has her secrets, little cordie!" exclaimed lucile. "who would have thought it?" perhaps it is not strange that lucile did not feel warranted in breaking in upon those secrets. so there she stood, irresolute, until the two of them had left the room and lost themselves in the throngs that crowded every aisle of this great mart of trade. "now," lucile sighed, "i shan't ever feel quite the same about cordie. i suppose, though, she has a right to her secrets. what could she possibly know about interior decorating and furnishing? perhaps more than i would guess. but a country girl? what does she know about the mystery lady? little, or much? have they known each other long? i--i'll ask her. no--n-o-o, i guess i won't. i wasn't supposed to see. it was too much like spying. no," this decisively, "i'll just have to let things work themselves out. and if they don't work out to something like a revelation, then i'll know they haven't, that's all. more than half the mysteries of the world are never unravelled at all." after this bit of reasoning, she hastened on down the remaining flights of stairs to her work. "where's cordie?" she asked of laurie. "out on a shopping pass. swell looking dame came in and called for her." there was a knowing grin on laurie's face as he said this, but lucile, who had turned to her work, did not notice it. cordie returned a few moments later, but not one word did she let fall regarding her shopping mission. chapter xii silver gray treasure "what do you think!" exclaimed cordie. "it was such a strange thing to happen. i just have to tell some one, or i'll burst. i daren't tell lucile. i am afraid she'd scold me." james, the mysterious seaman who carried bundles in the book department, looked at her and smiled. "i've heard a lot of stories in my life, and them that wasn't to be repeated, wasn't. if you've got a yarn to file away in the pigeon holes of somebody's brain, why file it with me." she had come upon james while on the way from the cloak room. she would have to wait a full half hour before lucile would have finished her work, and she felt that she just must tell some one of her thrilling adventure with dick and the policeman. seated on the edge of a table, feet dangling and fingers beating time to the music of her story, she told james of this thrilling adventure. "you came out well enough at that," he chuckled when she had finished. "lots better'n i did the last time i mixed into things." cordie wondered if this remark had reference to his chase after the hawk-eyed young man who had followed her to the furnace room that night. but asking no questions, she just waited. "funny trip, that last sea voyage i took," james mused at last, his eyes half closed. "it wouldn't have been half bad if it hadn't been for one vile crook. "you see," he went on, "sometimes of a summer i run up to nome. i've always had a few hundred dollars, that is up until now. i'd go up there in the north and sort of wander round on gasoline schooners and river boats, buyin' up skins; red, white, cross fox, and maybe a silver gray or two. minks and martin too, and ermine and siberian squirrel. "always had a love for real furs; you know what i mean, the genuine stuff that stands up straight and fluffy and can't be got anywhere far south of the arctic circle--things like the fox skin that's on that cape your pal lucile wears sometimes. when i see all these pretty girls wearin' rabbit skin coats, it makes me feel sort of bad. why, even the eskimos do better than that! they dress their women in fawn skin; mighty pretty they are, too, sometimes. "well, last summer i went up to nome, that's in alaska, you know, and from there i took a sort of pirate schooner that ranges up and down the coast of alaska and into russian waters." "pirate," breathed cordie, but james didn't hear her. "we touched at a point or two," he went on, "then went over into russian waters for walrus hunting--ivory and skins. "we ran into a big herd and filled the boat up, then touched at east cape, siberia. "there wasn't any real russians there, so we went up to the native village. old nepassok, the chief, seemed to take a liking to me. he took me into his storeroom and showed me all his treasure--walrus and mastodon ivory, whale bone, red and white fox skins by the hundred, and some mink and beaver. then at last he pulled out an oily cotton bag from somewhere far back in the corner and drew out of it--what do you think? the most perfect brace of silver fox skins i have ever seen! black beauties, they were, with maybe a white hair for every square inch. just enough for contrast. know who wears skins like that? only the very wealthiest people. "and there i was looking at them, worth a king's ransom, and maybe i could buy them." "could you?" breathed cordie. "i could, and did. it took me four hours. the chief was a hard nut to crack. he left me just enough to get back to chicago, but what did i care? i had a fortune, one you could carry in two fair sized overcoat pockets, but a fortune all the same. "i got to chicago with them," he leaned forward impressively, "and then a barber--a dark faced, hawk-eyed barber--done me out of them. of course he was a crook, just playing barber. probably learned the trade in jail. anyway he done me for my fortune. cut my hair, he did, and somehow got the fox skins out of my bag. when i got to my hotel all i had in my bag was a few clothes and a ten dollar gold piece. i raced back to the barber shop but he was gone; drawed his pay and skipped, that quick. "that," he finished, allowing his shoulders to drop into a slouch, "is why i'm carrying books here. i have to, or starve. just what comes after christmas i can't guess. it's not so easy to pick up a job after the holidays. "but do you know--" he sat up straight and there was a gleam in his eye, "do you know when i saw that barber fellow last?" "where?" "down below the sub-basement of this store, in the boiler room at night." "not--not the one who was following me?" "the same. and i nearly got him, but not quite." "you--you didn't get him?" cordie hardly knew whether to be sorry or glad. she hated violence; also she had no love for that man. "i did not get him," breathed james, "but next time i will, and what i'll say and do for him will be for both you and me. g'night!" he rose abruptly and, shoulders square, gait steady and strong, he walked away. "what are you dreaming about?" lucile asked as she came upon cordie five minutes later. "nothing much, i guess. thinking through a story i just heard, that's all." chapter xiii lucile's dream that evening on the l train lucile read a copy of the morning paper, one which she had carefully saved for a very definite reason. it was the paper which was exploiting the lady of the christmas spirit. lucile always got a thrill out of reading about the latest doings of that adventurous person who had managed to be everywhere, to mingle with great throngs, and yet to be recognized by no one. "well, i declare!" she whispered to herself as a fresh thrill ran through her being. "she was to be in our store this very afternoon; in the art room of the furniture store. that's the very room in which i saw cordie and the mystery lady. this lady of the christmas spirit may have been in the room at that exact moment. how very, very exciting!" closing her eyes, she tried to see that room again; to call back pictures of ladies who had entered the room while she had been looking down upon it. "no," she thought at last, "there isn't one that fits; one was tall and ugly, one short, stout and middle aged, and two were quite gray. not one fits the description of this christmas spirit person; unless, unless--" her heart skipped a beat. she had thought of the mystery lady. "but of course it couldn't be," she reasoned at last. "it doesn't say she was to be there at that very moment. i was not standing on the stair more than ten minutes. there are six such periods in an hour and nine and a half working hours in a store day. fine chance! one chance in fifty. and yet, stranger things have happened. what if it were she! what----" her dreamings were broken short off by the sudden crumpling of paper at her side. cordie had been glancing over the evening paper. now the paper had entirely disappeared, and cordie's face was crimson to the roots of her hair. "why cordie, what's happened?" exclaimed lucile. "noth--nothing's happened," said cordie, looking suddenly out of the window. that was all lucile could get out of her. one thing seemed strange, however. at the stand by the foot of the elevated station cordie bought two copies of the same paper she had been reading on the train. these she folded up into a solid bundle and packed tightly under her arm. "i wonder why she did that?" lucile thought to herself. as often happens in bachelor ladies' apartments, this night there was nothing to be found in their larder save sugar, milk and cocoa. "you get the cocoa to a boil," said lucile, "and i'll run over to the delicatessen for something hot. i'm really hungry to-night." she was down the stairs and away. somewhat to her annoyance, she found the delicatessen packed with students waiting their turn to be supplied with eatables. the term had ended, and those who were too far from home to take the holidays away from the university were boarding themselves. after sinking rather wearily into a corner seat, lucile found her mind slipping back over the days that had just flown. "to-morrow," she told herself soberly, "is the day before christmas. it is my last day at the store. and then? oh, bother the 'and then'! there's always a future, and always it comes out somehow." that she might not be depressed by thoughts of the low state of her finances, she filled her mind with day dreams. in these dreams she saw herself insisting that cordie reveal to her the secret hiding place of the mystery lady. having searched this lady out, she demanded the return of her well worn, but comfortable, coat. in the dream still she saw the lady throw up her hands to exclaim: "that frayed thing? i gave it to the rag man!" then in a rage she, lucile, stamps her foot and says: "how could you! of course now i shall keep your cape of fox skin and siberian squirrel." "ah," she whispered, "that was a beautiful dream!" glancing up, she saw there were still six customers ahead of her and she must wait for her turn. "time for another," she whispered. this time it was the lady of the christmas spirit. she saw her among the throngs at the store. feeling sure that this must be the very person, that she might steal a look at her hands, she followed her from department to department. upstairs and downstairs they went. more than once she caught the lady throwing back a mocking glance at her. then, of a sudden, at the ribbon counter she caught sight of her hands. "such hands!" she whispered. "there never were others like them. it is the lady of the christmas spirit." putting out her own hand, she grasped one of the marvelous ones as she whispered: "you are the lady of the christmas spirit." at once there came a mighty jingle of gold. a perfect shower of gold went sparkling and tinkling to the floor. "oh! oh!--oh! it will all be lost!" she cried, leaping forward. she leaped almost into the delicatessen keeper's arms. to her surprise she saw that the store was empty. her day-dream had ended in a real dream; she had fallen asleep. hastily collecting her scattered senses, she selected a steaming pot of beans and a generous cylinder of brown bread, then drawing her scarf about her, dashed out into the night. chapter xiv the newspaper picture lucile may have been dreaming, but cordie was wide awake and thinking hard. the instant lucile had closed the door behind her she had spread one of the papers she had bought out before her and, having opened it at page 3, sat down to look at a picture reproduced there. for a full two minutes she sat staring at it. "well anyway, it's not such a bad picture," she chuckled at last. after the chuckle her face took on a sober look. then suddenly she exclaimed: "let's see what they say about it!" "well of all things! nothing but a line of question marks! well, at least the reporters know nothing about it." for a moment she stared at the long line of interrogation points, then her face dimpled with a smile. "just think," she murmured. "they never whispered one word! not one of them all! not patrick o'hara, nor the old one they called tim, nor the young one, nor even hogan, who was so angry at me. and i'll bet the reporters begged and tempted them in every way they could think of. what wonderful good sports policemen must be. i--i'd like to hug every one of them!" then she went skipping across the floor and back again, then paused and stared again at the picture. truth was, all unknown to her, and certainly very much against her wishes, cordie's picture had gotten into the paper. this was the picture she was still staring at: crowds thronging state street, a gray-haired mounted policeman, and by his side, also riding a police horse, a bobbed haired young girl in a policeman's great coat. "what if they see it!" she murmured. "they wouldn't let me stay. they will see it too--of course they will." "but then, what does it matter?" she exclaimed a moment later. "to-morrow's the day before christmas. what will i care after that?" hearing steps on the stairs, she hastily tore a page out of each of the two papers, folded them carefully and thrust them into a drawer. then she threw the remaining part of the paper into the waste basket. "to-morrow is the day before christmas," whispered lucile as two hours later she sat staring rather moodily at the figures in the worn carpet. "a great christmas, i suppose, for some people. doesn't look like it would be much for me. with term bills and room rent staring me in the face, and only a few dollars for paying them, it certainly doesn't look good. and here i am with this little pet of mine sleeping on me and eating on me, and apparently no honest way of getting rid of her." she shook her finger at the bed where cordie was sleeping. "if only you were an angora cat," she chided, still looking at the dreaming girl, "i might sell you. even a canary would be better--he'd make no extra room rent and he'd eat very little." "and yet," she mused, "am i sorry? i should say i'm not! it's a long, long life, and somehow we'll struggle through." "christmas," she mused again. "it will be a great christmas for some people, be a wonderful one for jefrey farnsworth--that is, it will be if he's still alive. i wonder when they'll find him, and where? they say we've sold two thousand of his books this season. think of it!" after that she sat wondering in a vague and dreamy way about many things. printed pages relating to the lady of the christmas spirit floated before her mind's vision to be followed by a picture of cordie and the mystery lady in the art room of the furnishings department. cordie's iron ring, set with a diamond, glimmered on the strange, long, muscular fingers of a hand. laurie sold the last copy of "blue flames." jefrey farnsworth, in the manner she had always pictured him, tall, dark, with deep-set eyes and a stern face wrinkled by much mental labor, stood before an audience of women and made a speech. yellow gold glittered, then spread out like a molten stream. with a start she shook herself into wakefulness. once more she had fallen asleep. "christmas," she whispered as she crept into bed. "to-morrow is the day before----" chapter xv "with contents, if any" in the meantime florence had come upon an adventure. the place she entered a half hour after quitting time was a great barn-like room where dark shadows lurked in every corner but one. the huge stacks of bags and trunks that loomed up indistinctly in those dark corners made the place seem the baggage room of some terminal railway depot. as she joined the throng in the one light corner of the room she was treated to another little thrill. such a motley throng as it was. jewish second-hand dealers, short ones, tall ones, long-bearded ones; men of all races. and there were two or three women, and not a few vagabonds of the street, who had come in for no other purpose than to get out of the cold. such were those who crowded round the high stand where, with gavel in hand, the auctioneer cried the sale: "how much am i bid? ten dollars! thank you. ten i have. who'll make it eleven! 'leven, 'leven, 'leven. who'll make it twelve?" there was not an attractive face in the group that surrounded the block. florence was tempted to run away; but recalling the surprise she had promised herself, she stayed. presently her eyes fell upon a face that attracted her, the kindly, gentle face of a woman in her thirties. she was seated at a desk, writing. "she's the clerk of the sale," florence thought. "they're selling trunks now. she may be able to tell me when they will sell bags." she moved over close to the desk and timidly put her question. "do you really want one of those bags?" the woman asked, surprise showing in her tone. "yes. why not?" the girl asked. "no reason at all, i guess," said the clerk. then, after looking at florence for a moment, a comradely smile spread over her face. "come up close," she beckoned. "he'll be selling bags in fifteen minutes or so," she whispered. "sit down here and wait. why do you want one of those bags so badly?" "i--i need one," said florence. "that's not all the reason." "no--not--not all," florence hesitated, then told her frankly of the surprise she had planned for herself. the woman's face became almost motherly as she finished. "i'll tell you what to do," she whispered. "there are just five bags to be sold in the next lot. you won't want the first one. she--the woman who owned it, died." "oh, no," florence whispered. "you won't get the second nor the third. that long bearded jew, and the slim, dark man standing by the post, will run them high if they have to. they know something about them." "how--how--" "how did they find out? i don't know, but they did. the last two bags are quite good ones, good as you would purchase new for fifteen or twenty dollars, and i shouldn't wonder," she winked an eye ever so slightly, "i shouldn't wonder a bit if there'd be a real surprise in one of them for you. there now, dearie," she smiled, "run over and look at them, over there beside the green trunk. and don't whisper a word of what i have told you. "the one nearest the block will be sold first, and the others just as they come," she added as the girl rose to go. making her way around the outskirts of the crowd, florence walked over to the place of the green trunk. the bags were all good, and most of them nearly new. any one of them, she concluded, would see her safely through college, and that was all that mattered. then, lest she attract too much attention, she slunk away into a dark corner. her heart skipped a beat when the first bag was put up. her hopes fell when she saw it sell for thirty-two dollars. her little roll of fifteen dollars seemed to grow exceedingly small as she clutched it in her right hand. was her dream of a surprise for christmas morning only a dream? it would seem so, for the second and third bags also sold for a high figure. but, recalling the little lady's advice, she kept up her courage. "how much am i bid?" said the auctioneer as the fourth bag was handed him. florence caught her breath. she tried to say "ten dollars," but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. a round faced man relieved her of the task. the bag went to eleven dollars, then twelve. then it came to a halt, giving time for florence to regain her voice. "twelve and a half," her voice seemed piping and thin in that great place. but the auctioneer got it. "thank you. twelve and a half, a half, a half." "thirteen! thank you. thirteen i have. now the half," he nodded to florence and she nodded back, "and a half, i have it. and a half. now fourteen. thirteen and a half. now make it fourteen." "fourteen," someone shouted. again the girl's heart sank. what was the use? "and a half?" the auctioneer nodded at her and she nodded back. "now fifteen. now fifteen. now fifteen," he shouted hoarsely. "who'll make it fifteen? fifteen once. fifteen twice!" florence crushed her money into a solid mass, "fifteen three times, and sold to the young lady in blue!" his gavel came down with a bang. scarcely believing her senses, the girl groped her way forward to receive the bag, then hurried over to the desk. "you got it?" smiled the clerk. "here's hoping it's a beautiful, wonderful surprise!" she whispered as she pressed a lonely half dollar into the palm of her hand. curiosity regarding the price that would be bid for the last bag of the lot held florence to the spot for the space of three minutes. and that was a bit of curiosity which she was destined to regret. as she stood there listening to the bids she could not help but notice a dark man, with burning, hawk-like eyes hurry into the place, glance frantically about, race back to the place where the five bags had been, then stand stock still. his dark eyes roved about the place until they came to rest on one spot and that spot was the one occupied by the bag which florence held in her hand. from that time until she left the room, although he pretended to be looking at everything else, she was sure his eyes did not leave that bag for a space of more than five seconds at any one time. the cold glitter of his eyes made her feel strangely weak at the knees. she had not gone twenty rods from the place when she heard footsteps behind her. looking back, she saw that same small dark man coming behind her. "just happened to come out then," she tried to reassure herself. but it was no use. something within her told her that she was being followed, followed on the deserted city streets at night. at once a mad procession of questions began racing through her mind. who was this man? was it the bag he wanted? why? what did he know about the bag? what did it really contain? to none of these questions could she form an adequate answer. only one thing stood out clearly in her mind--the bag was hers. she had come by it in an honest manner. the hotel had a right to give it to the auctioneer to sell. she had a right to purchase it. she had paid for it. she had the bill of sale. it was rightfully hers. but even as these thoughts crystallized in her mind she realized that she was desperately afraid. the man with his burning black eyes was enough to inspire fear, and added to that it was night. "what am i to do?" she asked herself. "the elevated station is only two blocks ahead, but he will board the train i take. he will follow me after i get off and there are five desolate blocks to travel to my room." suddenly a solution came to her. just before her was the entrance to the lasalle street railway station. why not walk in there and leave the bag at the checking room? she could return for it in the morning and carry it to the store where she could check it again and leave it until closing time. no sooner thought than done. five minutes later, looking neither to right nor left, she walked demurely out of the station. she did not know what had become of her pursuer, and she did not care. the bag was safe. he could not get it, and aside from that, what did he care for her, an elevator girl going home from work? very evidently he cared nothing at all, for she did not see him again that night. "fooled him," she smiled to herself as she settled herself comfortably in a seat where she might watch the winter whitened city speed past her. "that's the last i'll ever see of him." in coming to this conclusion she overlooked one trifling detail. since the night was cold, she had worn beneath her coat her elevator girl's uniform. the auction room was warm. while there she had unbuttoned her coat, displaying plainly the uniform and the monogrammed buttons on it. the greatest of stores employ few enough elevator girls. to visit each bank of elevators and to get a look at each girl is but the work of an hour or two at most. the man would have no trouble in locating her if he cared to do so. since she had not thought of this she rode home humming in a carefree manner and, after a meal of sandwiches, cocoa and pie, followed by an hour of reading, she went to bed to dream of mysterious treasures taken by the truck load from the depths of a heavy, dark brown travelling bag. she awoke in the morning with a pleasing sense of mystery and anticipation lurking about in the shadowy corners of her brain. leaping from bed, she went through a series of wild calesthenics which set every ounce of blood in her veins racing away with new life. an hour later, with a little suppressed feeling of excitement tugging at her heart and with fingers that trembled slightly, she passed her check over the counter at the depot. she had some slight feeling that it had all been a dream. but no, there it was, her mysterious bag, as big and handsome as ever. it was quite light, but she felt sure it was not empty. what could it contain? she was tempted to draw the key from her pocket then and there and have a peek. but no--to-morrow was christmas. she could wait. so, seizing the bag, she hurried away to her work. once the bag was checked at the store and she back at her lever in the cage that went up and down, up and down all day, she found herself thinking of that other girl, the mysterious double of hers. where was she to-day? had she really gone to work, or had she vanished? what manner of plot had she been mixed up in? what train had gone at eleven-thirty? whose train? was that girl supposed to go? if so, why did she not wish to go? where did she live? who was she anyway? while the elevator went up and down, up and down, these questions, and a score of others, kept revolving themselves in her mind. at last she found herself forming a firm resolve that should she happen upon her mysterious double again she most certainly would keep in touch with her until she found out more about her. she saw her mysterious double shortly after she had gone to work, but under conditions which gave her no opportunity to either study or question her. the girl, dressed in her uniform and apparently ready to go to work, was standing before the bank of elevators on the thirteenth floor. she had been talking in low and excited tones to a tall, square shouldered man who, in spite of the fact that he was on a floor of this great store where only employees are allowed, had in his bearing and walk something that spoke strongly of boats and the sea. "he's been a captain or a mate or something," florence said to herself as she sent her cage speeding downward. "i wonder if that girl belongs to the sea." chapter xvi a great day "the day before christmas! oh joy! joy! joy!" lucile leaped out of bed. throwing off her dream-robe, she went whirling about the room for all the world as if she were playing roll the hoop and she were the hoop. the day before christmas! who cared if room rent was due to-night? who cared if the school term loomed ahead with little enough cash in her stocking to smooth its way? who cared about anything? it was the day before christmas. this day work would be light. tommie had said that. donnie had said it. rennie and all the others of the sales group who stayed from year to year had said it. what was more, for this one day, if never again, lucile had resolved to wear the magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox-skin. and at night, when the day was done, the week ended, the season closed, there was to be a wonderful party. a party! oh joy! a party! laurie, the mysterious laurie seymour, had invited them, just they of his corner--donnie and rennie, tommie, cordie and herself. a grand party it was to be, a supper at henrici's and after that laurie was to take them to a symphony concert! and to this party she would wear the midnight blue cape. for one night, one reckless, joyous night, she would travel in the height of style. and then? "oh, bother the 'and then'! it's the day before christmas!" she went through another series of wild whirls that landed her beneath the shower. when at last she was fully dressed for this last day of work in the book department, lucile drew on the cape. then, having told cordie that she would wait for her outside, she went skipping down the stairs. it was one of those crisp, snappy, frosty mornings of winter that invite you to inhale deeply of its clear, liquid-like air. after taking three deep breaths lucile buried her radiant face in the warm depths of the fox skin. "how gorgeous," she murmured. "oh, that i might own it forever!" even as she said this all the unanswered questions that grouped themselves about the cape--its owner, and the girl's associates at the store--came trooping back to puzzle her. who was the mystery lady? why had she left the cape that night? why did she not return for it later? how had it happened that she was in the store that night at two hours before midnight? who was laurie seymour? why had he given the mystery lady his pass-out? how had he spent that night? what had happened to the vanished author of "blue flames"? who was cordie? was she really the poor, innocent little country girl she had thought her? what was to come of her, once the season had closed? who was the "spirit of christmas"? had she ever seen her? who would get the two hundred in gold? what had she meant by the crimson trail she left behind? who was sam? why was laurie so much afraid to meet him? above all, what were the secrets of the crimson thread and the diamond set iron ring? surely here were problems enough to put wrinkles in any brow. but it was the day before christmas, so, as cordie came dancing down to a place beside her, lucile gripped her arm and led away in a sort of hop-skip-and-jump that brought them up breathless at the station. there was just time to grab a paper before the train came rattling in. having secured a seat, lucile hid herself behind her paper. a moment later she was glad for the paper's protection. had it not been for the paper she felt that half the people on the train might have read her thoughts. the thing she saw in the spirit of christmas column, which daily told of the doings of the lady by that name, was such a startling revelation that she barely escaped a shriek as her eyes fell on it. "you have been wondering," she read in the column devoted to the lady of the "christmas spirit," "what i have been meaning by the crimson trail which i have left behind. perhaps some of you have guessed the secret. if this is true, you have made little use of that knowledge. none of you have found me. not one of the hundreds of thousands who have passed me has paused to grip my hand and to whisper: 'you are the spirit of christmas.' "now i will give you some fresh revelations. it is the day before christmas. at midnight to-night christmas comes. as the clock strikes that magic hour my wanderings cease. if no one has claimed my gold by then, no one will. "i have told you always that hands ofttimes express more than a face. this is true of my hands. they are strange hands. stranger still are the rings i wear upon them. for days now i have worn an iron ring set with a diamond. had someone noticed this, read the secret and whispered: 'you are the spirit of christmas,' not only should my gold have clinked for him, but the diamond should have been his as well." lucile caught her breath as she read this. here indeed was revelation. could it be--there was more. she read on. "as for the crimson trail i have left behind. that is very simple. i marvel that people can be so blind. i have left it everywhere. it is unusual, very unusual, yet i have left it everywhere, in hundreds of places, in newsboys' papers, in shopgirls' books, in curtains, shades, and even in people's garments, yet not one has read the sign. the sign is this: a bit of crimson thread drawn twice through and tied. there is a purple strand in the thread. it is unusual, yet no one has understood; no one has said 'you are the spirit of christmas'." "the crimson thread," lucile breathed. "why, then--then the mystery lady and the spirit of christmas lady are one, and i have seen her many times. i saw her at two hours before midnight. i sold her a book. twice i saw her talking to cordie. i followed her upon the street. had i but known it i might have whispered to her: 'you are the spirit of christmas.' then the gold would have been mine. two hundred in gold!" she breathed. "two hundred in gold! and now it is gone! "but is it? is it quite gone yet? there is yet this day, the day before christmas." again her eyes sought the printed page. and this is what she read: "today i shall not appear before sunset. early in the evening, and again between the hours of ten and midnight, i shall be somewhere on the boulevard. i shall attend the symphony concert in opera hall." "the concert," lucile murmured with great joy. "we, too, are going there to-night. we shall be on the boulevard. there is yet a chance. and the beauty of it all is i shall know her the instant i see her. oh! you glorious bag of gold, please, please do wait for me!" as the car rattled on downtown, her blood cooled and she realized that there was a very slight hope. with these broad hints thrown out to them, all those who had been following the doings of this mysterious lady would be eagerly on the alert. there may have been some, perhaps many, who had found the crimson thread and had marvelled at it. perhaps, like her, they had seen the mystery lady's face and would recognize her if they saw her on the boulevard. there may have been many who had seen and marvelled at the diamond set iron ring. "ah well," lucile whispered to herself, "there is yet hope. 'hope springs eternal--'" at the downtown station she dismissed the subject for matters of more immediate importance, the last great day of sales before christmas. trade until noon was brisk; mostly business men rushing in for "cash and carry." at noon she arranged to have lunch with her old chum, the elevator girl and, because it was the day before christmas, instead of the crowded employees' lunch room, they chose as their meeting place the tea room which was patronized for the most part by customers. here, in a secluded corner, they might talk over old times and relate, with bated breath, the events of the immediate past and the future. enough there was to tell, too. lucile's mystery lady, who had turned so suddenly into the one of the christmas spirit, her laurie seymour, her hoped for $200 in gold, her james, the bundle carrier and last but not least, cordie. and for florence there was her mystifying double and the bewitching bag that contained her christmas surprise. did ever two girls have more to tell in one short noon hour? as florence finished her story; as she spoke of seeing her double talking with the broad shouldered man of the seaman-like bearing, lucile suddenly leaned forward to exclaim: "florence, that man must have been our bundle carrier, james. he has told cordie of his trips upon the sea. there could scarcely be two such men in one store." "it might be true," smiled florence, "but don't forget there are two such persons as i am in this store. you never can tell. i'd as soon believe he was the same man. wouldn't it be thrilling if he should turn out to be a friend of my double's and we should get all mixed up in some sort of affair just because i look exactly like her. oh, lucile!" she whispered excitedly, "the day isn't done yet!" and indeed it was not. "and this man who followed you after you had bought the bag," said lucile thoughtfully. "he sounds an awful lot like the one who tried to carry cordie away. do you suppose----" "now you're dreaming," laughed florence as she reached for her check, then hurried away to her work. chapter xvii an icy plunge florence's opportunity for following her surprising double came sooner than she expected; that very evening, in fact. she had quit work at the regular time, had donned hat and coat, had gone to the checking room to retrieve her christmas bag. she was just leaving by a side door when, ahead of her in the throng, she caught a glimpse of that splendid cross fox which her double had insisted on her wearing the day before. "oh!" she exclaimed. "here's where i solve a mystery." without a thought of what it might lead to, she followed the girl to a surface car and boarded it just behind her. at grand avenue the girl got off and florence followed her again, boarded an eastbound car and, almost before she knew it, found herself following the girl through a blinding swirl of snow that swept in from the lake. the street the girl had taken was covered with untrodden snow. it led to the municipal pier, the great city pier that like some great black pointing finger of destiny reached a full half mile out into the white ice-bound lake. "where--where can she be going?" florence asked herself. "boo! how cold!" she shivered. the next moment she shivered again, but this time it was from fear. having chanced to look about, she was startled to see a man all but upon her heels. and that man--no, there could be no mistake about it--that man was the one of the night before, he of the burning black eyes. not knowing what else to do, the girl redoubled her speed. a half formed hope was in her mind, a hope that she might catch up with the other girl. two were better than one, even if both were girls. hardly had this hope come when it vanished. in the shadows of the three-story brick structure that formed the base of the pier, her double suddenly disappeared and left her, a lone girl on a wind-swept, deserted street that led to an empty pier. and here was a dark-faced, villainous looking man at her heels. she could see but one chance now; that she might find her way out upon the pier and there, amid its labyrinth of board walks, freight rooms and deserted lunch rooms, lose herself from her pursuer. she resolved to try it. the next moment she dashed into the shadows of that great black building. the pier, upon which she had placed hopes of escape, was used in summer as a recreation center. on warm days its board walks and its wind-swept pavilions were thronged. now it was still as a tomb. florence had once been here with the throng, but had taken little notice of things then. the very silence of the place was confusing. she fancied that she heard her own heart beat. which way should she turn? above, two stories up, she remembered was a broad board walk a half mile long. she might race up the stairs to this; but after all it offered no place of hiding. to her right was a hallway which led to a long narrow loading place for trucks. at this place, in summer, ships docked; here their hundreds of tons of fruit, grain, flour, manufactured articles, and a hundred other commodities, were unloaded. she had a vague notion that just back of this loading place, beyond the fast closed doors, was a labyrinth of freight rooms. "if only one of those doors were open," she breathed. "perhaps one is unlocked. it's my best chance." all this thinking consumed less than a moment of time. the next instant she went racing over the cement floor. she was across it and out upon the landing in a moment. this she knew was a perilous position. there was a night watchman about somewhere. here she was in plain view. what would the watchman do if he found her? her pursuer was not far behind. with a trembling hand, she gripped the latch of a door. it lifted, but the door did not open. "locked," she whispered in a tone of despair. "try another," was her next thought. she was away like a shot. again the latch lifted; again the door refused to budge. she thought she saw a dark figure pass from pillar to pillar in the place she had just left. she could not see him, but she caught the thud-thud of his feet on the cement platform. fighting her way against the wind, racing fast, breathing hard, she battled onward. and all the time something within her was whispering: "it's no use, no use, no use." yet, setting her teeth hard, she raced on. the man was gaining, she was sure of that. yes, now as she looked back she saw him, only some fifty yards behind her. this drove her to frantic effort. but to no avail. he continued to gain; a yard, two yards, five, ten, twenty. "it's no use," she panted sobbingly. and then--she could not believe her eyes--before her, to the right, was an open door. like a flash she was inside. grasping the door she attempted to shut it, but the snow blocked it. one glance about her showed great dark bulks on every hand. "freight," she breathed, "piles of freight. here--here is a chance yet." the next instant she was tip-toeing her way softly in and out among the innumerable piles of boxes, bags and crates that extended on and on into the impenetrable darkness. she ran along as softly as she could, yet each time as she paused she fancied that she caught the stealthy footsteps of that horrible man. "what does he want? is it the bag that he wants? whose bag was it? was it his? if so, why did he let it get away from him?" these questions kept racing through her brain. then came another question even more disturbing. perhaps this man had been unfortunate, had been sick or had lost all his property. it might be that he had returned just in time to miss the opportunity of redeeming this lost possession which contained something he prized, perhaps of great value. "in that case he is more to be pitied than feared," she thought. for an instant she contemplated going back to him; yet she dared not. so, in the end, she continued tip-toeing about. round a great pile of sacks, filled with sugar or beans, past boxes of tin cans and in and out among massive pieces of machinery, she wandered, all the time wondering in a vague sort of way what was to be the end of it all. the end to her stay in the store-room came with lightning-like rapidity. she had just tiptoed around a huge steel drum of some sort when all of a sudden there burst upon her ear a deafening roar that shattered the stillness of the place. the next instant a great black dog leaped at her. he was not three feet from her when, with an agility that surprised her, she leaped from box top to box top until she found herself ten feet above the floor. but the dog, who appeared to be an utterly savage beast, could climb too. she could hear him scrambling and scratching his way up, growling as he came. her head was in a whirl. what was to be done? suddenly she realized that just before her, beyond the boxes, was a window. dragging her bag after her, she succeeded in reaching the window. she found it locked. in her desperation she dropped her bag and began kicking at the sash. with a sudden snap the fastenings gave way. she was caught so unawares that she plunged straight out of the window. with a bump that knocked all the wind from her lungs and most of her senses from her head, she landed on something hard. without being able to help herself, she rolled over once, then fell again. this time, to her surprise and consternation, she did not bump; she splashed. she sank. she rose. with all her nerves alert, she swam strongly in the stinging lake water. she had fallen from the narrow pier ledge and had landed in the lake. a white cake of ice loomed up before her. she swam to it and climbed upon it. what was to be done? the thermometer was near zero. she was soaked to the skin, and far from anyone she knew. "got--got to get to shore somehow," she shivered. "i'll freeze here, sure. freeze in no time." she looked back at the place from which she had come. the window was still open. the dog had stopped barking. she wondered in a vague sort of way what had become of her pursuer. "and--and my bag," she chattered. "it--it's in there." she was coming almost to hate that bag. "can't get up there anyway," was her final comment. it was true; between the water line and the surface of the pier landing was a sheer wall of cement, eight feet high and smooth as glass. her gaze swept a broad circle. off to her right was a solid mass of ice which appeared to reach to shore. "one swim and then i can walk to land," she shuddered. two steps forward, a sudden plunge, and again she was in the freezing water. once on the ice she dashed away at top speed. it was a race, a race for her life. already her clothing was freezing stiff. here she leaped a chasm of black water; there she tripped over a hole and fell flat; here dodged a stretch of honeycomb ice and raced across a broad level stretch. almost before she knew it she was alongside a row of steamships tied up in a channel close to shore. then, to her surprise, she caught the gleam of a light in a cabin on the upper deck of the smallest boat tied there. "there's a rope cable hanging over the side," she told herself. "i--i could climb it. there must be someone up there, and--and a fire. a fire! oh, a fire and warmth! i must do it, or i'll freeze. "of course they are strangers--a man, two men, maybe a family, but sea folks are kind people, i'm told. they know what it means to be wet and cold. i--i'll risk it." the next moment, hand over hand, she was making her way up the cable. once on deck, she raced along the side until she came to a stair. up this she sprang, then down the side again until she was at the door of the room where the light still gleamed into the night. without a moment's hesitation she banged on the door. "who--who's there?" came in a distinctly feminine voice. florence's heart gave a great throb of joy. "it's me. only me," she answered. "you don't know me, but let me in. i fell in the lake. i--i'm free--freezing!" at once the door flew open and she was dragged inside. then the door slammed shut. for a fraction of a moment the two girls stood staring at one another, then as in one voice, they burst out: "it's you!" "it's you!" the girl in the ship's cabin was none other than florence's double. there was no time for explaining. the girl began tugging away at her double's frozen garments. ten minutes later, with her clothing on a line behind the glowing stove, florence sat wrapped in a blanket by the fire, sipping a cup of cocoa. for a time she sat looking at the girl who was so marvelously like herself in appearance. then she said quietly: "would you mind telling me about yourself?" "not a bit. guess i ought to. you did me a good turn. my name's meg." "i guessed that much." "how?" "that's what the man and the woman called me." "the man and the woman?" for a moment the girl's face was puzzled. then, "oh yes, i----" she paused for a moment as if about to tell something about the strange man and woman who had told florence that the train left at eleven-thirty. if this had been her intention she thought better of it, for presently she said: "my mother and father are dead. since i was ten years old i've lived with my uncle, mostly on ships." "how--how thrilling!" "well, maybe, but you don't learn much on ships. there's an old saying: 'you can't go to school if you live on a canal boat.' ships are about as bad. i've got through eighth grade, though, and i want to go some more. that day i took your place and you wore my clothes i----" "who--who's that?" florence had heard the movement of feet outside. "no friend of mine; not this time of night. must be yours." "it might be the man!" "what man? your friend?" "no. not my friend; an awful man who wanted the bag." "what bag?" "a bag i bought at an auction. my--my christmas surprise. there--there he is," she whispered tensely as there came a knock at the door. "come in," said meg. "oh, don't!" florence struggled to her feet. "don't let him in!" "why not?" meg had risen. in her hand was an affair resembling a policeman's club, only it was made of iron--a heavy belaying pin. "why not?" she repeated. "if i don't fancy him, he'll let himself out fast enough." at the same time there came a rattle at the door knob. florence sank back into her chair. chapter xviii the mystery lady's new role such a party as it was; that one which was being enjoyed by lucile and her friends of the juvenile book corner. such crisp brown cream biscuits! such breast of turkey with cranberry sauce and dressing! such pudding! even in the days of her childhood at home lucile had never seen a more sumptuous feast. all this, in the midst of the gayest of christmas spirit, made the occasion one long to be remembered by any person whose mind was not too much occupied by bewitching thoughts of other important things. as for lucile, her mind was indeed engaged with dreams that were far from the realm of food and drink. she was thinking of that meeting she had so long dreamed of and which she still had the courage to hope might come to pass, her own meeting with the mystery lady of the christmas spirit. "i shan't fail to recognize her," she assured herself, "though she be dressed like an eskimo or a south sea island maiden." at last the time came for strolling down the boulevard toward the music hall. lucile stared at the passing throngs until laurie teasingly asked her whether she hoped to see in one of them the face of a long lost brother. at last she found herself in the opera chair of the great hall. now, at least, she was in the same room as the mystery lady, or soon must be, for if the mystery lady had not entered she soon would. in ten minutes the first note would be struck. there was a thrill in that. it was to be a truly wonderful program, such a one as the girl had perhaps never listened to before. and she loved music, fairly adored it. as she thought how her interest this night must be divided between the fine music and the mystery lady, she found herself almost wishing that the mystery lady had not brought into her life so much that was unusual, perplexing and mysterious. "perhaps i shall be able to locate her before the music begins," she thought to herself. "then, during a recess, i'll glide up to her and whisper, 'you are the spirit of christmas.'" though she scanned the sea of faces near and far, not one of them all, save those of her own little group, was familiar to her. it was with a little sigh of resignation that she at last settled back in her seat and allowed her program to flutter to her lap. the time for the first number had arrived. the musicians had taken their places. the rows of violinists and cornetists, the standing bass viol player, the conductor with his baton, all were there. like soldiers at attention, they waited for the soloist. mademoiselle patricia diurno, the country's most talented young pianist, was to lead that night in the rendition of three master concertos. there was an expectant lull, then mighty applause. she was coming. at a door to the right she appeared. down a narrow way between rows of musicians she passed, a tall, slim, gracefully beautiful lady. in the center of the stage she paused to bow in recognition of the applause, then again, and yet again. then, turning with such grace as only a trained musician knows, she moved to her place and with a slight nod to the leader, placed her hands upon the keys, then sent them racing over the keys, bringing forth such glorious music as only might be learned beside a rushing brook in the depths of the forest. lucile gripped her seat until her fingers ached. she strove to remain seated while her face went white and then was flushed with color. "it is she," she whispered to herself. "it cannot be, yet it is! the same eyes, the same nose, the same hair. i cannot be mistaken. it is she! patricia diurno, the celebrated, the most wonderful virtuoso, is the mystery lady and the spirit of christmas! and i? how am i to remain in this seat for two mortal hours while before me sits a woman pouring forth bewitching music, a woman who for a handclasp has the power to make me rich, yes, rich? two hundred in gold. how--how can i?" chapter xix meg wields a belaying pin florence started back at sight of the one who opened the door in response to meg's "come in." it was indeed the small man of the burning, hawk-like eyes. his disposition appeared to have been changed by his battle with the storm. it was plain from the first that he was now a man not to be trifled with; at least not by two girls in a lonely ship's cabin at an hour fast approaching midnight. he twisted his face into an ugly grin. his smile was more horrible than a snarl would have been. his white teeth showed like an angry dog's. "the bag!" he said in a tone that was a command. it was evident that he was both angry and desperate. "what bag?" said meg, rising as her companion, wrapping her blanket closer about her, slunk further into the corner. "my bag!" his tone was threatening. he advanced a step. florence could see a deep red stealing up beneath the natural tan of the daughter of the sea as she too advanced a step. meg showed not the slightest fear. "there's no bag here." her hand was behind her, gripping the belaying pin. "no bag at all unless you call that thing a bag." she pointed to a canvas duffel bag that hung in the corner. "that's mine. you can't have it. you can't have anything in this cabin. you can't even touch anything or anybody, so you better get out." "so!" the man's word was more like a hiss than a real expression of the word. at the same time his teeth were so uncovered that one might count them. "so!" he advanced another step. there came a faint click. something bright gleamed in his right hand. a scream came to florence's lips, but she did not utter it; she only sat and stared. "yes," said meg in an even tone, while the red mounted to the roots of her hair. "we get your kind on the ships too. we get all kinds." then, like a tiger in the jungle, she leaped forward. there followed a resounding thwack; a heavy knife went jangling to the floor. the stranger's usually dark face turned a sickly white as, gripping a bruised wrist, he backed out of the room. stepping to the door meg closed it, but did not bother to lock it. stooping, she picked up the knife and examined it carefully. "that," she said in a matter of fact tone, "is a good knife, much better than the one i use for slicing bacon. i shall keep it. "see," she said, holding it close to florence, "it has a six-inch blade that locks when you open it. that's what made it click." florence shrank from the thing. "he had no right to carry it," said meg, closing it and dropping it into a chest. "it's a concealed weapon, and they're against the law. so i'll keep it. now what about this bag?" she asked suddenly. "why, you see," smiled florence, "to-morrow's christmas. since i didn't expect a surprise from anyone, i decided to buy myself one. so i went down to an auction sale and bought a bag with 'contents if any.' i meant to buy a bag anyway, and the 'contents if any' was to be my surprise." "what did you get?" meg asked, leaning forward eagerly. "i didn't look. i meant to keep the bag until to-morrow. it wouldn't be a christmas surprise if i opened it before hand. and now it's gone!" "what--what did you expect to find?" "it might have been anything--silk scarfs, some splendid furs, jewelry, a watch--anything. and then again," her voice lost its enthusiasm, "it might have contained a man's collar and a suit of pajamas. i couldn't tell. maybe it was just nothing at all. it was awful light." "all those things," said meg, her eyes shining, "or any of them. what a pity! what fun you would have had!" for a moment she sat there in silence. then suddenly, "where's it gone?" "i--i lost it on the pier." "where?" meg sat up all alert. florence told her as best she could. "i'll go get it." meg dragged her coat from its hanger. "no! no! don't!" florence exclaimed, springing up. "it's dangerous." "what's to be afraid of?" laughed meg. "don't everybody on the pier know me? even the watch-dog knows me? as for your late friend and follower, i'll just take my belaying pin along. but i guess he's far enough away by now. watch me. i'll be back in half an hour with that bag--you wait and see." with a rush that let in a great gust of cold air and snow, she was out of the cabin and away. the greater part of what she had said to florence was true. she did know the dock as well as any ship on which she had ever sailed. she knew the watchman and his dog. but, without her knowledge, there was one person in authority by the pier that night who did not know her and this the two girls were to learn to their sorrow. * * * * * * * * seeing a heavy dressing gown hanging in the corner, florence rose and, discarding her blanket, put this robe on. then, after feeling of her slowly drying clothes and moving her skirt closer to the stove, she walked to the door and locked it. "meg may not be afraid of that man," she whispered to herself, "but i am." at once, as she began walking the floor of the narrow cabin, her mind went to work on the many unanswered questions stored away in her mind. like some scientist examining specimens, she drew these questions one at a time from their mental pigeon holes. why did this evil looking man with the scar above his eye want her bag so badly? suddenly it occurred to her that he might be a thief, or a safe blower, and this bag might contain some of his valuable loot. she remembered reading of criminals who had locked their booty in trunks or bags and stored them in some public place until the police had gotten off their trail. "in that case," she told herself, "my surprise will be a disappointment. no matter how wonderful the contents may be, i will not keep the least bit of it, but turn it over to the police. "but then," she thought again, "probably meg will not be able to get the bag. she may not be able to get in. probably the watchman heard the dog and closed the door and window. and again, she may find it and that terrible man may take it from her." this last she doubted. meg appeared abundantly able to take care of herself. florence could not but admire her strength and bravery. it had been magnificent, the way she had put that villainous intruder to flight. she thought of what the girl had said about being reared on a steamship and wanting more education. she found herself longing to help her. and why not? she roomed alone. hers was a large bed, large enough for two, and she thought she could get a scholarship for her in the academy connected with the university. anyway, it could be managed somehow. there were elevators in great hotels close to the school that must be run. perhaps she could find her a part time position on one of these. she would talk to her about it as soon as opportunity offered. but who was she, after all? she had been telling her story when that man broke in upon them. would she have told why she asked florence to wear her clothes for a half day and play the role of meg? if she had, what would her reason have been? during the time that these problems had passed in review in her memory she had been walking the cabin floor. now she came to a sudden pause. had she heard footsteps on the deck below? she thought so. yes, there it was again, more plainly now. they were mounting the stairs. who could it be? was it that man? she shuddered. springing to the corner, she put out a hand for meg's belaying pin. it was gone. the door was locked, but the lock looked very weak. what was she to do? it did not seem possible that meg could be back so soon. she had---a hand tried the door. what should she do? should she let the person in? certainly she should, for in meg's unmistakable voice she heard: "let me in." when florence threw open the door she saw at a glance that meg had the bag and that the seal was unbroken. "tell you what," began florence, "you go home with me to-night. to-morrow is christmas. we don't have to get up early. we'll have something hot to drink and some cakes, and we'll talk a little. then, just as the clock strikes twelve, we'll break the seal to the bag. won't that be romantic?" "i should say!" said meg with gleaming eyes. "that would be spiffy! when do we start?" "at once," said florence, pulling her clothing from the line. they were not destined to get away so easily, however. unfortunately for them, there was a person near the entrance to the pier that night whom meg did not know, had in fact never seen. the wharf to which the boats were tied lay a distance of about a block south of the entrance to the pier, and the particular boat on which meg had taken up quarters was tied about two blocks from the end of the pier. in order to reach the car line they were obliged to battle their way against the storm, which had increased in violence, until they were near the entrance to the pier. they had covered these three blocks and had paused to catch their breath and to watch for the light of a street car boring its way through the whirl of snow, when a gruff voice said: "where y' think y'r goin'?" "why, we--" florence hesitated. "what you got in that bag?" florence turned to find herself looking into the face of a young policeman. she flashed a glance at meg. that one glance convinced her that meg did not know him. "where--where's tim?" meg faltered. "tim who?" "tim mccarty. this is his beat." "'t'aint now. it's mine. he's been transferred. what's more," he paused to lay a gloved hand on the travelling bag, "since this is my beat, part of my job's findin' out what comes off them ships at night. what y' got in that bag?" "i--i don't know," florence said the words impulsively, and regretted them the instant they were said. "don't know--" he ceased speaking to stare at her. "say, sister, you're good! don't know what you've got in that bag! in that case all i can do is take you to the station for questioning. "no," he said in a kindlier tone after a moment's thought, "maybe if you'll unlock it and let me see what's inside i'll let you go." open it and let him see what was inside? florence's head was in a whirl. open it? what if her fears proved true? what if it contained stolen goods? why, then she would see the first light of christmas morning behind prison bars. was ever anyone in such a mess? did ever a girl pay so dearly for her own christmas surprise? but meg was speaking: "say, you see here," she said to the young policeman, her voice a low drawl. florence heard them indistinctly against the roar of the storm. so there she stood with her back to the wind, clinging tightly to the handle of her bag and hoping against hope that she would not be obliged to reveal her secret there and then. chapter xx the great moment the revelation that had come to lucile as she sat there listening to the first notes of a great concerto, led by a famous virtuoso, was so unusual, so altogether startling, that she felt tempted to doubt her senses. "surely," she whispered to herself, "i must be mistaken. there is a resemblance, but she is not that woman. imagine a great virtuoso, one of the famous musicians of our land, being in a department store at two hours before midnight! fancy her going up and down streets, in and out of the stores and shops dressed in all manner of absurd costumes, playing the star role in a newspaper stunt to increase circulation! how impossible! how--how utterly absurd!" she paused for reflection and as she paused, as if to join her in quiet thought, the great musician allowed her flying fingers to come to rest on the keyboard while a violin soloist did his part. then, quick as light, but not too swiftly for lucile's keen eyes, she slipped something from her finger, a something that sent off a brilliant flash of light. this she placed on the piano beside the keyboard. to lucile, resting as it did against the black of the ebony piano, this thing stood out like a circle of stars against the deep blackness of night. she felt her lips forming the words: "don't put it there! a hundred people will see it!" that dull gray circle with the flashing spot of light was a ring; cordie's iron ring with its diamond setting. there was no longer a single vestige of doubt in the girl's mind regarding the identity of the mystery lady and the spirit of christmas. they were one and the same, and together they were patricia diurno, the celebrated virtuoso. somehow lucile got through that two hours without screaming or jumping from her seat to hurl herself upon the platform, but she will never quite know just how she did it. at times she drove the whole affair from her mind to think of other unsolved problems--of laurie and the lost author; of cordie, and of sam. at other times she found herself completely absorbed by the wonderful music which poured forth. the majesty of the music grew as the evening passed. when at last the orchestra struck out into that masterpiece, tschaikowsky's concerto in b minor, she forgot all else to lose herself in the marvelous rise and fall of cadent sound that resembled nothing so much as a storm on a rockbound coast. the piano, leading on, called now to the violin to join in, then upon the cello, the bass viols, the cornets, the saxophones, the trombones, the trap-drums, until all together, in perfect unison, they sent forth such a volume of sound as shook the very walls. the great virtuoso, forgetful of all else, gave herself completely to her music. turning first this way, then that, she beckoned the lagging orchestra on until a climax had been reached. then, after a second of such silence as is seldom experienced save after a mighty clap of thunder, as if from somewhere away in a distant forest there came the tinkle, tinkle of the single instrument as her velvet tipped fingers glided across the keys. a single violin joined in, then another and another, then all of them, until again the great chorus swelled to the very dome of the vast auditorium. this was the music that, like the songs of mermaids of old, charm men into forgetfulness; that lifts them and carries them away from all dull care, all sordid affairs of money and all temptation to the mean, the low and the base. it so charmed lucile that for a full moment after the last note had been struck and the last echo of applause had died away, she sat there listening to the reverberations of the matchless music that still sounded in her soul. when she awoke from her revery it was with a mighty start. "where is she?" she exclaimed, leaping from her seat. "who?" said laurie. "patricia diurno! the mystery lady! spirit of christmas! where has she gone?" staring to right and left, she found her way blocked. then with the nimbleness of an obstacle racer, she vaulted over four rows of seats to dash away through the milling crowd toward the platform. "where is she?" she demanded of an attendant. "who, miss?" "the--the mystery lady. no, no! miss diurno, the virtuoso." "most likely in the green room, miss. who--who--is some of her folks dead?" "no, no! but please show me where the green room is, quick!" leading the way, he took her to the back of the stage, through a low door, down a long passage-way to a large room where a number of people stood talking. a glance about the place told her that miss diurno was not there. "is this the green room?" "yes, miss." "then where is she?" "i don't know, miss. you might ask him." he nodded to a large man in an evening suit. "where--where is miss diurno?" she asked timidly. "miss diurno did not stay. she left at once." "gone!" lucile murmured. "and my opportunity gone with it." sinking weakly into a chair, she buried her face in her hands. this lasted but a moment; then she was up and away like the wind. miss diurno, the mystery woman, spirit of christmas, had gone out on the boulevard. she had promised, through the news columns, to be about the boulevard until midnight. there was still a chance. hurrying back to the now almost deserted hall, she found laurie and cordie waiting for her. "well now, what does this mean?" laurie laughingly demanded. "did you recognize in the hands of some violinist the stradivarius that was stolen from your grandfather fifty years ago?" "not quite that," lucile smiled back. "i did discover that someone has vanished, someone i must find. yes, yes, i surely must!" she clenched her hands tight in her tense excitement. "i want you two to promise to walk the boulevard with me until midnight, that is, if i don't find her sooner. will you? promise me!" "'oh promise me,'" laurie hummed. "some contract! what say, cordie? are you in on it?" "it sounds awfully interesting and mysterious. let's do." "all right, we're with you till the clock strikes for christmas morning." lucile led the way out of the hall. they were soon out in the cool, crisp air of night. there had been a storm but now the storm had passed. the night was bright with stars. to promenade the boulevard at this hour on such a night was not an unpleasant task. out from a midnight blue sky the golden moon shone across a broad expanse of snow which covered the park, while to the left of them, as if extending their arms to welcome jolly old st. nicholas, the great buildings loomed toward the starry heavens. the street was gay with light and laughter, for was not this the night of all nights, the night before christmas? chapter xxi the man in gray "i know of an odd old custom which might prove interesting," said laurie as the three of them walked arm in arm along the boulevard. "i've forgotten to what little out of the way corner of the world it belongs, but anyway, in the villages of that land, sometime near to midnight, on christmas eve, friends gather about small tables in their taverns and over the festive board talk of the year that is gone. the strange part is this: just to make it a clearing up time of unsolved problems, each member of the group may select one other member of that group and may ask him three questions. each member is pledged to answer all three questions frankly and truthfully." "oh!" exclaimed cordie. "i'd not like to get caught in a crowd like that." "too bad," sighed laurie. "i was about to propose that a half hour before midnight we get together to celebrate in just that way. i think i can pick up a person or two whose secrets would be of interest to some people i know." "that would be wonderful," exclaimed lucile. "but must we select one person, only one?" "one, that's all." "and ask him just three questions; no more?" "not another one." "eenie-meenie-minie-mo," exclaimed lucile, pointing her finger first at cordie, then at laurie, "catch a monkey by the toe, if he hollers, let him go, eenie-meenie-minie-mo. "laurie, you're my choice," she laughed. "i'll ask three questions of you, though goodness knows i'd like to ask them of cordie." "wait," said laurie holding up a warning finger. "there may be someone there who is more interesting to you than we are." "there's only one such person in the world," exclaimed lucile, "and--and i hope i may meet her before that hour comes." she was a little surprised at the glances laurie and cordie exchanged and greatly puzzled by the fact that they did not ask her who that person was. laurie and cordie gave themselves over to the gaiety of the night. the blazing light, the splendid cars that went gliding down the boulevard, the magnificent furs worn by those who chose to promenade the broad sidewalk, were sights to catch any eye. they did not hold lucile's attention. she had eyes for but one sight, the glimpse of a single face. what that glimpse would mean to her! room rent paid, term bills paid, a warm coat, other needed clothing, a last minute present which she had been too poor to purchase, and a snug little sum in the bank. all these it would mean, and more; two hundred in gold. but the face did not appear. for an hour they walked the boulevard, yet no sight of the mystery lady, she of the christmas spirit, came to them. one matter troubled lucile more and more. often in her search she looked behind her. more than once, four times in fact, she had caught sight of a man who walked always at exactly the same distance behind them. a tall man, it was, with a long gray coat, a high collar turned up and cap pulled low. "it isn't just because he happens to be walking in our direction," she told herself with a little shiver. "twice we have turned and walked back and once we crossed the street. but all the time he has been directly behind us. i wonder what it could mean?" at that moment there came the clatter of hoofs and four mounted policemen, clad in bright uniform, came riding down the boulevard. "it's a big night," exclaimed laurie. "there's a special squad of them out." "oh there--there he is!" exclaimed cordie. "there's dick! that's patrick o'hara riding him! aren't they splendid? and right beside him is tim, good old tim. see! they recognized me. they touched their hats!" "who's tim?" asked lucile. "don't you wish you knew?" taunted cordie. "if only you were going to ask your questions of me you'd be sure to find out." "don't worry," smiled laurie. "i've just decided that you shall be the person to answer my three questions." "you horrid thing! i shan't go! i'm off your old party!" in mock anger, she sprang away from her companions and went racing on ahead of them. then strange and startling things began to happen. a long, low-built blue roadster, which had been creeping along the curb as if looking for someone, came to a grinding stop. a man leaped out. a second later a piercing scream reached the ears of laurie and lucile. "it's cordie!" exclaimed lucile. "some--something terrible! c'mon!" as she said this a gray streak shot past her. even in this wild moment of excitement, she recognized the man who had been dogging their footsteps and she wondered why she had not recognized him sooner. the next second they were in the midst of things. with wildly beating heart lucile stared at the panorama that was enacted before her. powerless to aid, she saw cordie, the innocent country girl, the center of a battle, snatched from hand to hand until it seemed the very life must be torn from her. first she caught a glimpse of her fighting frantically but vainly in the grasp of a man. lucile recognized him instantly. "the hawk-eyed man!" she whispered. "the one who claimed to be her brother! quick!" she exclaimed, gripping laurie's arm until her fingers cut into the very flesh. "quick! they're taking her to the auto. they'll carry her away!" active as he was, laurie was not the first to leap at the hawk-eyed one. a man in gray, the man who had been following them, sprang squarely at the captor's throat. with a howl of rage and fear the villain loosed one hand to strike out at his mysterious assailant. all in vain; the rescuer came straight on. striking the captor squarely in the middle, he bowled him over like a ten-pin. so sudden was this attack that cordie was also thrown to the pavement. finding herself free and unharmed, she sprang to her feet. she felt a hand at her elbow and turned to look into the face of laurie seymour. "ah!" she breathed, "i am safe!" but even as she said this she saw laurie collapse like an empty sack, and the next instant grasped from behind by two clutching hands, she was again whirled toward the kidnapper's car. half blinded by terror, she caught a vision of police blue that hovered above her. "pat! patrick o'hara!" she called. there came the angry crack of an automatic. then the figure in blue came hurtling off the horse to fall at her feet. at the same instant there was a second catapult-like blow of the man in gray. again she was snatched free. "jiggers! beat it! beat it!" she heard in a hoarse whisper. the next instant the door to the blue car slammed shut and its wheels began to move. for three seconds she wavered there, watching the car move away. then catching a glimpse of patrick o'hara lying at her feet, wounded, perhaps dead, a great courage came to her. "they must not escape!" she screamed. "they shall not!" the next instant she leaped into the saddle of the police horse, dick. just as the noble animal dashed away she felt the solid impact of someone mounting behind her. one glance she cast behind her. "oh!" she breathed. it was the man in gray. to dick she whispered: "all right, dick, old dear, go! go fast! for the love of patrick o'hara and laurie seymour; for the love of all that's good and true, go; go as you never went before!" there was no need to talk to dick. he was away like the wind. it was a moment of high suspense and swift action; one of those moments when success or failure hinges on the right move at the right second. chapter xxii the finish dick was no ordinary horse. he was an unusual horse who had very unusual masters. the young policeman had spoken the truth when he said that pat o'hara's horse was the smartest on the force. as dick felt his young mistress in the saddle and the man in gray behind her, he realized that this was not to be a race, but a fight. he seemed to sense that his task was to keep in sight of that racing blue automobile, and not for one instant to lose sight of it. follow it he did, and that at the peril of his own life and the lives of those who rode. now dashing past a low, closed car, now crowding between two black sedans, now all but run down by a great yellow car, he forged straight ahead. he not only followed; he actually gained. leaning far forward in the saddle, cordie kept her eyes upon the fleeing car. now they were but three quarters of a block away, now a half, now a quarter. it was an exciting moment. beads of perspiration stood out upon the tip of cordie's nose. the hand that held the reins trembled. they were gaining, gaining, gaining. through narrow passages impossible to a car, old dick crowded forward like a fleet, sure-footed dog. now a yard he gained, now a rod, and now a long stretch of open. they were gaining, gaining, gaining! what were they to do once the car was overtaken? that cordie could not tell. she only knew one thing clearly--the men in the car must not escape and she was determined to prevent their escape. then, as they neared a cross street, a man stepped out on the running board and flashed an automatic. aiming deliberately, he fired. the next instant, with the din of a hundred sets of brakes screaming in their ears, cordie, the horse and the man in gray were piled all in a heap in the middle of the street. in the midst of all this there came a crash. what was that? dared she hope it was the villains' car? at sound of it the man in gray was up and away like mad. "what's this?" she heard an unfamiliar voice saying. a man from the nearest car behind them had come to the aid of the girl and the horse. * * * * * * * * in the meantime, lucile was passing through experiences quite as strange. laurie seymour had been knocked unconscious by a blow on the head. patrick o'hara had been shot from his horse. how serious were the injuries of these, her friends? to determine this, then to see what might be done for their relief; this appeared to be her duty, even though cordie was in grave danger still. men pressed forward to assist her. they carried the unconscious ones into the lobby of a hotel. there they were stretched out upon davenports and remedies applied by the house physician. lucile was engaged in stopping the flow of blood from patrick o'hara's scalp wound. she chanced to look up and there, at the edge of the davenport, she caught sight of a familiar face. "miss diurno! the mystery lady! spirit of christmas! two hundred in gold!" her mind registered automatically, but her fingers held rigidly to their task. * * * * * * * * as cordie struggled to her feet, after being plunged from the back of the fallen horse, she saw the man in gray leap for the side of an automobile that had crashed into the curb. a thrill ran through her as she realized that this was the blue racer. the next instant, after fairly tearing the door from the hinges, the man in gray dragged a man out of the blue car, threw him to the pavement and held him rigidly there. there came the clatter of horse's hoofs, and then down sprang good old tim, the police sergeant, and his fellow officer. "he's a bad one," growled the one in gray. "if you've got handcuffs, put 'em on him." tim hesitated. how was an officer to know who was in the right? this might be but a christmas eve fight. he had not witnessed the beginning of this affair. a hand tugged at his sleeve. "if you please, tim," came a girlish voice, "it's me, the one who stole patrick o'hara's horse. if you'll believe me you better take his word for it. he's right." "oh, he is, eh?" rumbled tim. "little girl, what you say goes. i'd trust you any time. on they go." the hawk-eyed man, for it was he that had been captured (his accomplice had vanished) made one more desperate effort to escape, but failed. the handcuffs were snapped on and he was led away by the younger officer. "now," said tim in a sterner voice, "tell me how pat o'hara's horse comes to be lyin' there in the street?" "he--he shot him," cordie gulped, pointing away toward the hawk-eyed man. "he did, did he? then he should be hung." "pat--patrick o'hara's sho--shot too," cordie was very near to tears. "if it hadn't been for him," she nodded to the figure in gray, "we--we wouldn't have got him, though dick and i would have done our--our best, for he--he shot our good good friend pat o'hara." at this, cordie's long pent up tears came flooding forth as she hid her face on good old tim's broad breast. "that's all right," he soothed, patting her on the shoulders. "it's not as bad as you think. look! there's old dick getting to his feet now." it was true. the man in gray had walked over to where dick lay, had coaxed the horse to get up, and was now leading him limping to the curb. "it's only a flesh wound in the leg," he explained. "give him a week or ten days and he'll be on the beat again. dick, old boy," he said huskily, "and you too, dear little cordie, i want to thank you for what you've done for me. i--i've had my revenge, if a man has a right to revenge. and it might be they'll find the fox skins among his plunder." the eyes of the man in gray, just now brimming with honest tears, were turned toward cordie. it was james, the seaman and bundle carrier! for a moment he gripped the girl's hand, then turning to tim, said: "you'll look after her? see that she gets safely back to her friends?" "oh sure! sure!" "then i'll be getting over to the police station. they'll be wanting someone to prefer charges." he was turning to go, but cordie called him back. handing him a slip of paper on which she had scribbled a number and an address, she said: "call me on the phone at that number to-morrow, or else at the butler house before midnight. i want to know whether you get those wonderful silver fox skins back. i--might have a customer for them if you do." "it would make a great little old christmas for me if i did," he smiled. "but it's going to be all right anyway." reading the address cordie had given him, james gave a great start. "right on the gold coast!" was his mental comment. "out where there is nothing but palaces and mansions!" chapter xxiii meg's secret and what of florence and meg? they had not fared so badly after all. three minutes after her first meeting with the young policeman, florence was thinking fine things about meg. "this girl meg certainly has a way about her," she thought. "she does things to people." she wondered what meg had done to the young policeman. "surely," she told herself, "she didn't use that iron belaying pin on him the way she did on that terrible man who had been following me. no, she didn't do that, though i suspect she still has it hidden up her sleeve." one thing was sure, she had done something to the young policeman. florence hadn't heard what meg had said, but she did know that one moment he was frightening the very life out of her by demanding that she unlock the bag and show him the contents, which was quite as much unknown to her as to him, and the next he had let out a low chuckling laugh and had told her she might run along. how was she to account for that? she didn't bother much to account for it. she was too much pleased at being able to go on her way, and carrying with her the bag with its secret securely sealed. she would know about meg later. meg had promised to tell. it was only after they had started on that she noticed that the storm had blown itself out and the stars were shining. they were soon aboard a car bound for home. an hour later, in the warmth of her room, and with the bag at their feet, florence and meg sat dreamily thinking their own thoughts. florence was not sure that she did not sleep a little. after the wild experiences of the night, followed by the battle with the storm, this would not be surprising. she did not sleep long, however, and soon they fell to talking in the way girls will when the hour is approaching midnight and the strenuous experiences of an exciting night are all at an end. at an end, did i say? well, not quite. perhaps you might say not at all; for did not the mysterious brown leather traveling bag, which had been wondered about and fought over, rest on the floor at their feet? and was not the seal unbroken? did it not still contain florence's christmas secret? and now it was just twenty-five minutes until midnight, the witching hour when secrets are revealed. "there is just time for you to finish telling me about yourself before the tower clock strikes midnight," said florence, glancing at the small clock on her desk. "oh!" laughed meg with a little shrug of her wonderful shoulders. "there really isn't much to tell. i've already told you that since i was a slip of a child i've lived on ships with my uncle. he's a mate. we've been on a lot of ships because he often drinks too much and can't hold his position. he's a big gruff man, but kind enough in his way." "that man who----" "no, the man who told you about the train was not my uncle. that was tim, a sailor. my uncle sent him. "well, you know," she went on, "at first i was just sort of a ship's mascot and the sailors' plaything. they rode me on their backs and carried me, screaming with delight, to the top of the mast. "that didn't last long. they found i could peel potatoes, so they put me to work. and i've been at work ever since." she spread out her hands and florence saw that they were as seamed and hard as a farmer's wife's. "i don't mind work," meg continued. "i love it. but i like to learn things, too; like to learn them out of books, with folks to tell me what it means. i've gone to school all i could, but it wasn't much. i want to go some more. "uncle has signed up for a sea voyage through the canal to england. he wanted me to go along as cook. it's a lumber ship; sure to be a rough crew. i don't mind 'em much." something suddenly clattered on the floor. it was meg's belaying pin. "i--i guess you sort of get rough when you go on the sea," she apologized, smiling. "that's partly why i didn't want to go. my uncle would have made me go that day you changed places with me, if he'd found me. he likes to have me along because he can get a better berth himself if he can bring along a good cook. good sea cooks are scarce. "i'm not going now. his train's gone and he's gone. he left that day." "so that was what the man and the woman meant by the train leaving at eleven-thirty?" asked florence. "yes. that woman was the matron of the seamen's home. she thought i ought to go. she didn't know everything. she didn't understand. i'm eighteen. my uncle hasn't any right to claim me now, and i owe him nothing. everything that's been done for me i've paid for--paid with hard labor." again she spread her seamed hands out on her lap. "but now," she said after a moment's silence, "now i'm not sure that i know how i'm going to school. it costs a lot, i suppose, and besides i've got to live. they let me stay on that ship. that's something, but it's a long way from any school, and besides----" "wait," florence broke in. "let me tell you----" but just then meg held up a warning finger. loud and clear there rang out over the snow the midnight chimes. "midnight," whispered florence, reaching out a hand for the bewitching bag. chapter xxiv three questions "he's coming round all right." it was the house doctor of the hotel who spoke. lucile was still bending over patrick o'hara. "he's regaining consciousness. it's only a scalp wound. a narrow squeak. an inch to the right, and it would have got him. he'd better go to the hospital for a little extra petting and patching, but he's in no danger--not the least. and as for your friend laurie--he's got a bump on his head that'll do to hang his hat on for a day or two. but outside of perhaps a bit of a headache, he's o. k. your friends are riding under a lucky star, i'd say." "a lucky star," thought lucile. again she was free. had the lady of the spirit of christmas vanished? no. for once fortune was with her. as if fascinated by the scene, the lady still stood there, looking down at patrick o'hara. twenty seconds later this lady felt a tug at her arm as a girl in a low but excited whisper said: "you are the spirit of christmas." "what?" the lady stared at her for a second, then a smile lighted her face. "oh yes, why to be sure! so i am. in the excitement of the moment i had quite forgotten. surely i am. so it is you who win? i am glad, so very, very glad! i do believe you recognized me five minutes ago, and that you've been working over that brave young policeman ever since, when i might easily have slipped away. what wonderful unselfishness! here is the gold!" lucile felt a hard lump of something pressed into her hand and without looking down knew that it was ten double eagles. a warm glow crept over her. "i did see you," she said, after murmuring her thanks, "but you see patrick o'hara was wounded trying to rescue a friend of mine. so how could i desert him for gold?" "yes, yes, how could you? who was your friend?" "cordie." "oh! cordie? was she in danger?" the lady exclaimed excitedly. "where is she? i must go to her at once!" "here! here i am, auntie!" cried an excited and tremulous young voice. the next moment little cordie was enfolded in the arms of the mystery lady, spirit of christmas. and this lady was also miss diurno, the great virtuoso, and cordie had called her auntie! * * * * * * * * at exactly a half hour before midnight on this most exciting christmas eve, four people sat at a round table in the butler house. there was a distinguished looking lady, a young man with a bump on his head that made his hair stand up in a circle, a young lady of college age, and a girl in her teens. they were the mystery lady, laurie seymour, lucile and cordie. ice cream and cakes had been served; coffee was on the way. laurie had finished explaining to miss diurno the ancient custom of some long forgotten land, that of answering, truthfully, three questions round. "but laurie, old dear," she protested, "why should i ask three questions of you? i already know far too much about you for my own good peace of mind; and as for cordie, i fancy i know more about her than she knows about herself. i move we amend the custom a little. how would it do to allow our friend lucile to ask all the questions--three around for each of us?" "oh! that would be darling!" exclaimed lucile, fairly leaping from her chair. "you are all so very, very mysterious. there are so many, many things i'd like to know." "agreed!" exclaimed laurie. "i don't mind," smiled cordie. "good. that's settled," said miss diurno, whose very greatness as a musician so affected lucile that she found it very difficult to be her usual frank and friendly self. "miss lucile, you may have ten minutes for thinking up questions. then, over our coffee, we will answer them. but remember, only three questions, three around." "only three," lucile whispered to herself. "and there is so much i want to know! so much i just _must_ know!" as she sat there, with her head all in a whirl, trying in vain to form the questions she wished to ask, one conviction was borne in upon her. she had been the center of a plot, a very friendly plot, she was sure of that, and one that had been entered into the truest of christmas spirit. cordie had known miss diurno all the time, in fact had only a short time ago called her auntie. miss diurno had called laurie by a familiar name--she had said "old dear." she must have known him a long time. then surely, to be a friend to such an one, he must be something rather great himself. and cordie? she could scarcely be the simple little country girl she had thought her. lucile's mind was in such a daze that when the great pianist tapped her wrist watch and said: "time's up. who's the first?" she had not formed one question. "age before beauty," laughed cordie. "well, that's me?" smiled miss diurno. "i am ready to be questioned." "why--er--" stammered lucile. "why did you, who are such a very great musician, undertake the humble task of assisting in a newspaper stunt?" "dear little girl," said miss diurno, a very mellow note of kindness creeping into her voice, "there are no great people in the world, and there are no truly humble tasks. all people who are truly great are also very humble. tasks called humble by men may be truly great. "but you have asked me a question. the reason i accepted that newspaper task was this: marie caruthers, my very best school chum and lifetime friend, went in for newspaper work. she was to have done the stunt, but just when the time came she was taken to the hospital. so i volunteered to take her place. and it was fun, heaps of it! just imagine having the whole city looking for you and yet to be walking in and out among the people every day and not a single one of them recognizing you at all. "but there were times enough when i got into plenty of trouble. that night in the department store was a scream!" "not so much of a scream for me," grumbled laurie. "i gave you my pass-out. then after knocking nearly all the skin off my hand going down the bundle chute, i had to sleep in the basement, with corrugated paper for mattress and covers." "poor old laurie!" smiled miss diurno. "but you deserved all you got. think of the role you have been playing! think! just think!" laughed the pianist. "you see," she said, turning to lucile to explain her presence in the store that night, "i had promised to be in the store six hours that day. then i allowed myself to become absorbed in some new music, and the first thing i knew it was getting late in the afternoon and my six hours not yet begun. of course there was nothing for it but to remain in the store after closing hours. i hid in that long narrow place, wedged myself between book shelves and stands, then stuck there until the clock struck ten. "i hadn't realized that it would be hard to get out. when i did think of it i was terror-stricken. to think of remaining in that great vault of a store all night! ugh! it gives me the shivers to think of it, even now. i haven't the least notion what i would have done if i hadn't come upon good old laurie. he gave me his pass-out. you saw him do it. i knew this at the time, and i think you were a great little sport not to raise a big rumpus, especially after i took your coat." "why did you take my coat?" asked lucile. "i was afraid i couldn't get out in that fur cape. and besides, i wanted just such a coat as yours for the next day's stunt. so i traded with you. that was fair enough, wasn't it?" "traded? what do you mean?" "just what i said, just traded, and thanked you for the opportunity. and now, my dear, that makes three questions." "three," lucile cried excitedly. "why no, i've only asked one." "leave it to the crowd," beamed the great little lady. "three! three!" agreed laurie and cordie with one voice. "why--why then i shall be obliged to take up someone else." "heads i'm next, tails i'm not," said laurie, tossing a coin in air. "heads! i'm it. do your worst." "who is jefrey farnsworth?" lucile asked. "see!" exclaimed laurie. "see what i get into right away! well, since it is christmas eve, i dare not tell a lie. i am forced to inform you that the only gentleman at this table was given that name at his birth." "you--you are jefrey farnsworth?" "quite right." "be careful," warned cordie, "you've used up two questions already." lucile was silent for a moment, then with a smile she said: "why did you take an assumed name, and who was sam, and did he have anything to do with your selling books, and why were you afraid of him?" "that business of hanging your question on a string is great stuff," laughed laurie. "i recommend that you try it out on cordie." then in a more sober tone, he said: "you see it was this way: my publishers saw that my book was going to go across rather big and, since i was to benefit financially in its success, they thought it would be nice for me to have a part in making it a still greater--um--um, triumph. so they cooked up that idea about my speaking to ladies' clubs. i knew i couldn't do it, but i knew also that sam would make me do it if i stuck around. everyone does what sam wants them to do; that is, they do if they stay where he is. "so i said to myself, 'if i must help sell my books, i'll do it in a straightforward way right over the counter. i'll get a job.' i did. and just so sam couldn't find me and drag me away, i came to this city and took an assumed name. "sam's a sort of salesman for my publishers; that is, he sells books when he isn't promoting authors. when i saw him in the store that time i just naturally had to disappear. "i think, though," he added, "that even sam is satisfied. we sold two thousand copies of 'blue flames,' you and donnie and rennie and all the rest. "as for my knowing the lady of the hour," he smiled, touching the arm of miss diurno, "i've known her for some time. and on some future lovely day in june, when my income has come to be half as much as hers, we're going to move into a certain lovely little vine covered cottage i know about and set up a nest all for ourselves." "good!" exclaimed lucile. "can't i come to see you?" "my dear," said the great musician, "you may come and live with us, both you and cordie, live with us forever." "cordie, your turn to be questioned," said laurie. "oh!" exclaimed cordie, throwing her arms about lucile and hiding her face in the folds of her dress. "i don't want you to ask me questions. i don't! i don't! i just want to confess how mean i have been and what an unkind trick i have played on you." "why cordie!" lucile consoled her. "you've not been mean to me at all. you--you've been the dearest kind of a little pal!" "oh, yes i have! i let you think i was a poor little girl from the country, when i wasn't at all. i allowed you to spend money on me and pay all the room rent when i just knew you thought you were going to have to live on milk toast all next term of school. and i never even offered to do my share at all. "but if you only knew," she raced on, "how good it seemed to have one friend who wasn't one bit selfish, who didn't want a lot of things for herself and who was willing to do things for other people when she really needed just plain ordinary things for herself. if you only knew! if you only did!" cordie's voice rose shrill and high. she seemed about to burst into tears. "there, there, dear little pal!" whispered lucile. "i think i understand. but tell me, why did you take a job as wrapper when you really wasn't poor and didn't need the money?" "money!" laughed cordie, now quite herself again. "i've never had to ask for any in my whole life! my father owns a third of that big store we worked in, and a lot besides." "but dick?" said lucile. "i rode dick on my father's estate. it nearly broke my heart when they sold him. my father gave up his stables." "but you haven't told me why you wanted to work in the store." "well, you see that day, the first day you ever saw me, just for fun i had dressed up in plain old fashioned clothes and had gone downtown for a lark. then i did that foolish fainting stunt. i really, truly fainted. and that man, that hawk-eyed man--" she shuddered, "must have recognized me. he must have known he could get a lot of money from father if only he could carry me away. anyway he tried it and you--saved me!" she paused to give lucile another hug. "you are coming to my house for christmas dinner, and i've kept track of everything in a little book and i'm going to pay you every cent, truly i am, and we'll have the best time. "but i was going to tell you," she paused in her mad ramble, "i was----" "listen!" miss diurno held up a hand for silence, "cordie, someone is paging your name. here! over here!" she called to the bell boy. "telephone," said the boy. the three sat in silence until cordie returned. "what do you think!" she exclaimed as she came bounding toward them. "it was james, my friend the bundle carrier at the phone. they've worked fast. they raided the room of--of the hawk-eyed man and they found james' silver fox skins. and auntie, i'm going to have father buy them as a present for you. won't that be g-grand!" "i should think it might," smiled her aunt, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. "but, my dear, you hadn't finished telling lucile." "oh! that's a short story now. when i saw how good and kind you were," cordie said, turning to lucile, "when i saw the work there was to do and everything, i was fascinated. i just wanted to play i was just what you thought me to be. so i called up my father and made him let me do it. that was all there was to it. "but auntie!" she exclaimed, turning to miss diurno. "why did you steal my badge of serfdom?" "your what?" "my badge of serfdom, the iron ring. in olden days serfs wore iron collars; now it's an iron ring." "oh, your iron ring!" laughed her aunt. "i needed it for my stunt. but here it is; you may have it and welcome, diamond and all." "i shall keep you ever and always," murmured the girl, pressing the ring to her lips. "i shall cherish you in memory of a grand and glorious adventure." "of course you understood," said miss diurno, turning to lucile, "that you are to keep the fur lined cape." "no, i----" "oh yes, you must! it was the one extravagance that i made the paper pay for. i traded with you, and have lost yours, so there is really no other way out. besides," her voice softened, "i want you to accept it as a gift from me, a little token of appreciation for your many kindnesses to my little niece." lucile's head was in a whirl. she found herself unable to think clearly of all her good fortune. a great musician, an author, and a very rich girl for her friends; a magnificent cape of midnight blue and fox skin, and two hundred dollars in gold! merry christmas! what a christmas it would be indeed! "listen," whispered miss diurno. from some distant room there came the slow, sweet chimes of a clock. "striking midnight," she whispered. then from far and near there came the clanging of church bells. "christmas morning!" exclaimed miss diurno, springing to her feet. "merry, merry christmas to all!" "merry christmas! merry christmas!" they chorused in return. chapter xxv what the brown bag held at the precise moment that the four companions in the great city hotel rose to offer each other their christmas greetings, florence and meg stood over the fascinating bag which had cost florence so much worry and trouble. as florence felt in her purse for the key she found herself wondering for the hundredth time what it might contain. "christmas, my christmas secret," she whispered. then, as she felt the key within her grasp, she turned resolutely to the task. although she had looked forward to this hour with pleasure, now it seemed to hold something of a feeling of fear. she was opening a bag which had belonged to another. what might it not contain? with trembling fingers she broke the seal which had so long and faithfully hidden the secret. then, with a steadier hand, she inserted the key. for a full moment after that she stood there in silence. she was saying to herself over and over again: "there is nothing, nothing, nothing in there that i shall care for. nothing, nothing, nothing." thus fortified against disappointment, she at last turned the key, pulled the flap and threw the bag wide open. the first look brought a glimpse of a bit of negligee. nothing so exciting in this. "well anyway," sighed florence, "it--wasn't a man's bag. it could not have belonged to that--that man." "no," said meg, "it couldn't." one by one florence removed the few articles of clothing that had been packed in the bag. these were of fine texture and well made. but beneath these was something to bring an exclamation to her lips. putting out her hand, she lifted to view a roll of silk cloth, of royal blue, and of such thinness and fineness as she had seldom seen in all her life. "yards and yards of it," she breathed, throwing it before her in bright, billowy waves. "and look!" cried meg. "batik!" it was true; beneath the silk was a bolt of batik. this meg took to the light and examined it with great care. "it's genuine," she whispered at last. "not the sham stuff that is made in american factories, but the kind that dark faced women dye with great skill and much labor, dipping again and again in colors such as we know nothing of." florence examined the cloth, then spread it over the back of a chair. then she sat down. there was a puzzled look on her face. "it's very beautiful," she mused. "one could not hope to buy a more perfect present, sight unseen, but i'm wondering why a man should be willing to trace me down at infinite pains and then follow me in the face of danger and in the teeth of a storm for the sake of getting possession of two rolls of cloth. that seems strange." "does seem odd," said meg. "but wait! here's something else." she drew two long pasteboard tubes from the bottom of the bag. "what do you suppose?" whispered florence. inserting one finger in the first tube she twisted it about, then began drawing it out. a roll of papers appeared. "papers," she whispered. "probably important papers; deeds, stocks and bonds, perhaps." imagine her surprise when, having drawn the papers out and partly unrolled them, she found them to be pictures. "pictures!" she exclaimed in disgust. "and only printed pictures at that." "but such wonderful pictures!" exclaimed meg, holding one out to view. it was indeed a wonderful picture, one of those vague, misty things that came out of the great war. this one was of a smoke clouded cannon in the foreground, belching black smoke and fire, and in the midst of the smoke, forming herself out of it, a most beautiful black-haired woman, her eyes burning, her hands clawing, leaping straight at the enemy. "it _is_ a wonderful picture," said florence when they had gazed at it in silence for a time. "but after all, it is only a print, and can't be worth much. i still don't see----" "tell you what," meg broke in, "let's unroll them all and weight them down on the floor with books so we can have a good look." "good idea," said florence, beginning to unroll one. it was truly a remarkable collection of pictures which at length carpeted the floor. war pictures, all of them, and all displaying that strong spiritual interpretation which was so common in pictures of those times. a french airplane falling in flames and beneath it an angel waiting to bear away the soul of the brave aviator; the american flag drifting in the clouds and seen from afar by a french soldier in the trenches; such were the themes. "don't you think they're grand?" said meg. "yes," florence responded, "but after all, they are only prints of the work of some great master. 'veny lecarte'" she read at the bottom of one. "i believe, yes, they're all by the same man." for some time they sat there in silence. they were at last about to rise when there came a light rap at their door. "let me in," came from outside. "i saw the light in the room as i was passing and thought i'd come up to say 'good morning and merry christmas.'" it was lucile. "merry christmas yourself," exclaimed florence, throwing wide the door. "come in." "this is meg, lucile; and meg, that's lucile," she smiled. "but florence, where in the world did you get those marvelous etchings?" exclaimed lucile after she shook hands with meg. "and why do you carpet your floor with them? i nearly stepped on one." "etch--etchings!" stammered florence. "they're mine--at least i bought them." "bought them! you? you bought them!" lucile stared incredulous. then, bending over, she read the name at the bottom of one. after that her eyes roved from picture to picture. "veny lecarte," she murmured as if in a dream. "and she says she bought them!" she dropped weakly into a chair. "florence," she said at last, "do you know who veny lecarte was?" "n-o." "well, i'll tell you. he was one of the most famous artists of france. he made etchings of the war. no one could surpass him. and unlike his fellow artists, who allowed a hundred copies to be made from each plate, he allowed but twenty. then the plates were destroyed. he made these pictures. you have nearly all of them. and then he went away to the war, and was killed. "since that time his etchings have been much prized and have brought fabulous prices. oh, florence, tell me how you got them! surely, surely you didn't buy them!" "i did," said florence unsteadily, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry, "but i bought them in a strange way. i'll tell you about it." then she told lucile the whole story. "and those pictures," she said at the end, "are the reason that man dogged my footsteps. it had not been his bag. he had not owned the pictures, but some way he had learned that the pictures were in this bag. he had meant to buy the bag, but arrived too late." the hour was late. what did that matter? to-morrow was christmas. florence set about brewing some cocoa, and over the cups the girls engaged in such a talk fest as they had not enjoyed for months. everything that had happened to lucile during those eventful weeks, from the first night to the last, had to be told. the wonderful cape, with its white fox collar, must be displayed. the gold coins must be jingled and jangled. meg's story must be told all over again. after that, problems yet unsolved must be discussed. was the hawk-eyed man who had attempted to gain possession of florence's bag the same one who had attempted to kidnap cordie? "that question," said lucile to florence, "can only be settled by you going down to the police station and looking at him." "in that case, it will never be answered," said florence, with a shudder. would a romance spring up between the rich girl cordie and the gallant young policeman, patrick o'hara? who could tell? so the conversation rambled on until early morning. at last lucile hurried away and meg and florence prepared for three winks. as florence, with meg by her side, was drifting off to sleep, she heard meg say: "to-morrow i must go back to the ship." "indeed you'll not," she roused up to protest. "you'll stay right here to-morrow and every day. and you're going to school, too. i need you to guard all my--my treasure." how the pictures came to be in the bag which florence had purchased at the sale, will probably always remain a secret. perhaps the one who left the bag did not realize the value of the etchings. who knows what may have been the reason? but they were truly valuable, and florence learned this for certain on the following monday. later she sold them to a dealer for a good round sum. this money went far, not only to smooth the road to her own education, but to enable her to give meg many a lift along the way. the roy j. snell books mr. snell is a versatile writer who knows how to write stories that will please boys and girls. he has traveled widely, visited many out-of-the-way corners of the earth, and being a keen observer has found material for many thrilling stories. his stories are full of adventure and mystery, yet in the weaving of the story there are little threads upon which are hung lessons in loyalty, honesty, patriotism and right living. mr. snell has created a wide audience among the younger readers of america. boy or girl, you are sure to find a snell book to your liking. his works cover a wide and interesting scope. here are the titles of the snell books: _mystery stories for boys_ 1. triple spies 2. lost in the air 3. panther eye 4. the crimson flash 5. white fire 6. the black schooner 7. the hidden trail 8. the firebug 9. the red lure 10. forbidden cargoes 11. johnny longbow 12. the rope of gold 13. the arrow of fire 14. the gray shadow 15. riddle of the storm 16. the galloping ghost 17. whispers at dawn; or, the eye 18. mystery wings 19. red dynamite 20. the seal of secrecy 21. the shadow passes 22. sign of the green arrow _the radio-phone boys' series_ 1. curlie carson listens in 2. on the yukon trail 3. the desert patrol 4. the seagoing tank 5. the flying sub 6. dark treasure 7. whispering isles 8. invisible wall _adventure stories for girls_ 1. the blue envelope 2. the cruise of the o'moo 3. the secret mark 4. the purple flame 5. the crimson thread 6. the silent alarm 7. the thirteenth ring 8. witches cove 9. the gypsy shawl 10. green eyes 11. the golden circle 12. the magic curtain 13. hour of enchantment 14. the phantom violin 15. gypsy flight 16. the crystal ball 17. a ticket to adventure 18. the third warning * * * * * * * * transcriber's note: --copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is in the public domain in the country of publication. --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment; non-standard spellings and dialect were left unchanged. --promotional material was moved to the end of the book, and the list of books in the three series was completed using other sources. for gold or soul? _the story of a great department store_ by lurana w. sheldon 1900 for gold or soul chapter i. in the superintendent's office. the monster department store of messrs. denton, day & co. was thronged with shoppers, although the morning was still young. scores of pale-faced women and narrow-chested men stood behind the counters, while "cash girls," with waxen cheeks and scrawny figures, darted here and there on their ceaseless errands. on the fifth floor of the building, where the firm's offices were quartered, a score or more of anxious girls and women waited eagerly for an opportunity to enter their applications for service. at last a private door was opened by an elfish-looking boy, and the earliest applicant was allowed to enter, the boy warning her, as she did so, to "be quick about it." "so you are looking for work? well, what can you do? got any references? talk fast, for i have no time to waste on applicants." the speaker was mr. duncan forbes, junior partner, as well as business superintendent of the establishment, and the person spoken to was a beautiful girl, about seventeen years of age, who had called to apply for a position as saleswoman. "i have never worked before, sir," said the young girl, trying to obey and talk as rapidly as possible, "but i am sure i could learn in a very short time, if only you will give me a trial as saleswoman. do please give me a trial!" the keen-eyed superintendent looked over her scrutinizingly. he at once saw that she was a girl unaccustomed to drudgery, and that her clothes were of fine materials, although they were fast growing shabby. her cheeks were rosy from plenty of exercise in the sun and air, her figure was rounded, and her carriage graceful. she did not resemble in the least the sallow-faced specimens of womanhood who swarmed over denton, day & co.'s various departments, but these very differences seemed to influence him against her. he wanted girls with experience, and experience, in their line of business, meant haggard expressions and sallow faces. his answer was as heartless as crisp words could make it. "can't do it! the thing would be ridiculous! we have no time nor inclination to break in green hands, besides, we've got help enough at present; it's almost our dull season." "but i would be a cash girl, anything!" the girl urged, eagerly. "oh, i need work so badly, and i've been all over the city!" the tears had risen to her eyes and were trembling on her lashes. she clasped her hands entreatingly as the superintendent rudely turned his back upon her. "can't do it, i tell you, so there's no use taking up any more of my time! well, what is it, watkins?" the question was addressed to an employee, a pale, slim young man, who had just entered the office. "excuse me, mr. forbes, but there's three clerks absent to-day. they have sent word that they are sick. mr. gibson told me to tell you." "who are they, do you know?" mr. forbes spoke sharply, his face flushing with anger. "miss jennings and miss brown--" began the young man, but his superior stopped him before he could finish. "that miss jennings is faking! she is no more sick than i am! this is the third time this month that she has staid away because of sickness! it's probably an excuse to go on some picnic or other. tell mr. gibson that i say to fine her double the regular amount. we must put a stop to this sham sickness among the women clerks; it's getting too frequent!" "but i am sure miss jennings is sick," began mr. watkins, impetuously. "you should hear her cough! and i know her mother died of consumption." "you know too much for your own good, watkins," broke in the superintendent, sharply. "just keep your knowledge to yourself if you wish to hold your position in this establishment!" a flush rose quickly to the young man's brow. he bit his lips and locked his fingers together nervously. it was plain that another word would have meant his immediate discharge, and there was an invalid mother depending upon him. he was obliged to hold his peace, though the words almost choked him. "then i am to tell mr. gibson to double miss jennings' fine." the superintendent broke in upon him again in his snappiest manner. he had suddenly turned and caught sight of the timid young applicant, who was standing almost motionless in the centre of the office. "no!" he roared out, angrily. "tell him to discharge miss jennings at once! here is a girl he can take on in her place. she's green, but miss fairbanks, the buyer, can train her." "oh! no, sir! not for the world!" it was a cry of almost horror that issued from the young girl's lips. even mr. forbes looked startled, and he was not usually startled at anything. the applicant was standing before him now, with her head held high and her blue eyes flashed like diamonds over his shameful proposition. "oh, no, sir! i beg that you will not dream of doing such a thing. i would starve before i would deprive that poor girl of her position. if you have no place for me, i will go at once. if i were to take her place it would be a cruel injustice!" she looked him fearlessly in the face as she spoke the words. her whole manner had changed. she was timid no longer. mr. forbes stared at her curiously for half a minute. he saw that there was a spirit in her that would make her valuable in business. in an instant his manner changed to a studied indifference. he rubbed his hands together gently, toying with a fine ring upon his finger. "but i shall discharge miss jennings any way, so if you do not accept the position i will give it to some one else," he said. "you can take it or leave it. decide quick; which is it?" for the space of a second the applicant wavered, but in that second she read something in mr. watkins' expression. his look was unmistakable. he was waiting to see if she faltered in her decision. she raised her head and looked mr. forbes squarely in the eyes. "i thank you, sir, for your offer," she said, as calmly as she could, "but i would rather die than do anything i considered wrong, and this act of yours is both wicked and unjust! god will punish you for your cruelty to that poor miss jennings!" she turned and walked toward the door, leaving mr. forbes and mr. watkins both staring after her. chapter ii. a humble beginning. it was the second time that the young girl had succeeded in startling the superintendent, but this time she had accomplished far more than she knew, for her few words fell upon the brain of the business man with a significance that for a moment almost overcame him. under favorable conditions far less thrilling words than these have taken root and yielded a bountiful harvest, but the time for this man's awakening was at hand. his only son, a youth of nineteen, was lying critically ill at home, and, while mr. forbes was worldly, he was also unusually superstitious, and her words, "god will punish you," rang in his ears like a blast from a trumpet. almost involuntarily he took a step forward. he could not explain so unusual an action. "wait!" he said, peremptorily. the young girl paused, with her hand on the door. "i am not so cruel as you think, miss," he said, trying to speak as sternly as ever, "so your speech just now was entirely uncalled for. if you are really in desperate need of work, i can give you a position as packer at three dollars a week. this is the best i can offer. do you care to accept it?" "i will take any position where i am not defrauding any one else, sir," the girl answered, quickly. "but i could not accept what belongs to another. i think that money so earned would prove a curse instead of a blessing." the superintendent stared at her with a puzzled look. "what is your name?" he asked, after this second scrutiny of her features. "faith marvin, sir," replied the applicant, promptly. mr. forbes repeated the name a little absently. miss marvin watched him eagerly. her face had flushed a little. "i've heard that name somewhere, but i can't think where," remarked mr. forbes, with a glance toward mr. watkins, "but it don't matter about the name. come to-morrow morning at seven-thirty, sharp, and i'll set you to work. well, what is it, jackson?" another employee had entered hurriedly. as he stood directly in her way, miss marvin could not leave the office at once, so she was forced to hear the conversation that followed. "there's one of them government inspectors on the first floor, sir," reported the newcomer, "and she's a sharp one, i can tell you! mr. gibson wants to know if you'll come down and see her. it's the lavatories, sir; she's determined to see 'em." the change that came over the superintendent's face at this announcement was astonishing. his naturally florid features grew as red as a blaze, and he actually increased in size as he swelled with indignation. "another of those prying, inquisitive people, hey!" he cried furiously. "another spy to look over the store and report to the board of health that our plumbing is out of order! tell mr. gibson i'll come down at once, and see here, jackson, tell him to keep her on the first floor. i'll send the porter to the basement to open the windows. they shall not get ahead of me, the impudent creatures. the firm of denton, day & co. is not going to waste money on new-fangled sanitary improvements just to please a lot of cranks with sensitive noses!" mr. jackson hurried away at once to report to the manager, mr. gibson, leaving his employer still fuming and growing angrier every minute. he was so terrible in his anger that miss marvin was glad when she was able to slip through the door at last and pick her way through the group of applicants, who were still patiently waiting. mr. forbes took no notice of her departure, as he was pushing back the papers on his desk, preparatory to closing it. suddenly he uttered an exclamation that made mr. watkins jump. he had been looking over a file of letters, but turned quickly to see what was the matter. "quick, watkins, stop her! stop her!" cried the superintendent, sharply. "there were five hundred dollars on my desk ten minutes ago! it's gone, every cent of it. quick, i tell you. stop her!" "stop who?" mr. watkins was over to the door before he asked the question. "faith marvin, that girl that was looking for a job. the money was on the desk while she was here in the office. she's stolen it and gone, and to think, i offered her a position!" mr. forbes ran his hands through his hair and glared at mr. watkins. "well, why don't you go?" he thundered, as the young man stood stock still, staring at him like a dummy. mr. watkins hurried from the office on his disagreeable errand. he would have staked his all that the girl had not touched the money. mr. forbes made a hurried search through his desk while the young man was gone. he was so upset about his loss that he had forgotten the government inspector completely. the five hundred dollars was not to be found and mr. forbes was allowing his temper full vent--through the usual medium of blasphemous profanity. he was so positive that the girl would be caught at once that he almost gasped when mr. watkins came back without her. "she's gone, sir," said the young man, shortly. "the detective here saw her go out. she went down the elevator and out the side entrance. bob's description of her is all right. i am sure it was miss marvin." bob hardy, a store detective, came in while mr. watkins was speaking. "i'm right, sir; couldn't be mistaken. she was out like an arrow," he said, respectfully. "and to think that i was stupid enough not to take her address, but probably she would have lied about it. those creatures are always tricky," snarled the superintendent. the detective took a step forward and removed his hat. "there'll be no trouble in finding her, sir," he said; "i know who she is. i've seen her a dozen times before, and i'm not apt to be mistaken." the superintendent looked at him questioningly, so the officer went on: "she's the daughter of douglass marvin, who used to keep a bookstore in this block. denton, day & co. put him out of business when they opened their book department. he committed suicide soon after he failed. he left a wife and this daughter, and not a penny." "then the deed was deliberate!" cried mr. forbes, almost choking with anger. "the girl is trying to square accounts for what we did to her father!" "nonsense!" mr. watkins uttered the word with extraordinary daring. "she came here to look for a job, and you have offered her one, mr. forbes! mark my words, she'll be on hand to-morrow morning at half-past seven!" "and the money?" the superintendent turned upon the speaker with a perfect thundercloud darkening his face. "perhaps, as you know so much, watkins, you can explain about the money!" before any one could answer the door opened and mr. jackson came in again. "please, mr. forbes, the manager says come down quick, sir!" he cried, with a grin. "he can't keep that government woman out of the basement much longer." chapter iii. a glimpse of the darkness. when faith marvin reached the employees' entrance of denton, day & co.'s department store the next morning at half-past seven, she was shown into a room that was a sort of cloak-room, lunch-room and lavatory combined, in the basement of the building. the place was poorly lighted and badly ventilated, and there were fully two hundred women and girls crowding and jostling each other while they hung up their wraps and put on false sleeves and black aprons. for a while the din was confusing, but faith soon began to see and hear distinctly. she was amazed and then horrified at the snatches of conversation she heard. even a little cash girl used language that was almost profanity, and others made remarks of a most heartless nature. here and there faith saw a face that looked different from the rest. they were mostly pale, pinched faces, bearing deep lines of care, but they all looked stolid, hardened and indifferent. "i suppose it's the hard work and worry," whispered faith, involuntarily. just then she felt some one tapping her smartly on the shoulder. she turned quickly and confronted a woman about her own height, who had the sharpest pair of eyes that faith ever remembered seeing. "is this faith marvin?" the woman spoke softly, but her voice was cold and metallic. "it is," answered faith. "i was told to come this morning. can you give me any information as to where i am to go? i see the others are all hurrying upstairs, but there is no one to direct me." the woman had not taken her eyes from faith's face while the young girl was talking. she seemed to be scanning her features with more than ordinary curiosity. "where do you live?" the question was asked by the woman in a business-like manner, but as faith hesitated before answering the sharp eyes twinkled a little. "am i obliged to give my address?" asked faith very slowly. "certainly--it's the rule of the house." the woman frowned as she answered. faith gave her address in a faltering voice. she had hoped to be able to keep that a secret. the woman wrote down the address on a piece of paper. "a mother and father?" was the next brief question. faith's face was scarlet now, but she answered promptly. "a mother, yes; but my father is dead. he was douglass marvin. he owned a bookstore in this block. when denton, day & co. opened their book department my father was ruined." the woman looked at her enviously as she asked the next question. "how did you happen to come to this store to look for work? don't you resent the injury that was done to your father?" in a second faith marvin's eyes filled with tears. "oh, no!" she cried hastily. "i bear no resentment! i know it is always the weak who must suffer! i came here because i was desperately in need of work. my mother's health is failing and we are penniless." "well, it's lucky you're so forgiving," said the woman with a peculiar stare; "but come, you must report to miss fairbanks, the buyer in the ribbon department! she's on the first floor. i'll take you to her." miss fairbanks looked faith over almost as sharply as the other woman had done. she was short-handed that morning, so there was no time for preliminaries. "ever work in a store before?" was her first business-like question. "no, madam," said faith timidly; "i have had no experience at all, but i am sure i shall learn quickly if you will be so kind as to teach me." she was beginning to tremble a little for fear the woman would not try her. "oh, i guess you'll do if you are not too stuck up," said the buyer carelessly. "girls who have never worked in a store always think they know it all, and that sort of thing doesn't go, not in my department!" she led faith up to one of the gates at the ribbon counter and showed her how to crawl up to the packer's desk above the shelves, where the stock was kept. "now, when one of the saleswomen hands you up a check and some ribbon you must measure the ribbon carefully to see that the firm is not being cheated," she explained in a shrill voice, "and if one of the girls makes a mistake report it to me immediately." faith was up by this time and trying to accommodate herself to the awkward position, while she listened intently to all the buyer's instructions. the packer's desk was so low that it cramped her limbs even in sitting, and faith soon saw that she was older and larger than any other girl in that position on the floor. this fact alone made her feel awkward and uncomfortable, and when she saw one of the clerks looking up at her and tittering she blushed and nearly cried through sheer embarrassment. to add to her nervousness she soon noticed that two men, who were standing in one of the aisles, were watching her every movement for some reason or other. she was thankful when the checks and goods began to come up. it was a relief to keep her eyes on the different packages. faith had never had much experience in doing up parcels, but she managed very nicely after her hands stopped trembling. long before noon she was aching in every muscle. the dust that rose from the floor was irritating her throat and the store was so hot that her head was aching. she looked down at the clerks, who had been on their feet steadily since eight o'clock, and began to understand the callousness of their expressions. a great throb of pity for them, rather than for herself, dimmed her eyes for an instant so that she could not see her packages. during that first few hours faith could not help noticing how often number 89 sent up goods to be wrapped. there were double as many sales to her credit as to any of the others at the counter, and at a leisure moment she leaned over and looked down at her. just as she did so number 89 was seized with a fit of coughing. it was over in a minute, but was extremely severe while it lasted. in spite of herself faith could not resist glancing at her often, and once when she caught her eye she smiled at her pleasantly. the effect was magical. number 89 soon handed up a check and three yards of ribbon, and as their hands met over the goods she caught and squeezed the "packer's" little finger. "i'm sorry you have such a cough!" faith whispered the words quickly. number 89 was about to reply when miss fairbanks, the buyer, passed the counter. "no loitering, miss jennings! don't you see there are customers waiting? forward at once! and you, packer, attend to business! i see you have goods in your hands. wrap them up this minute!" chapter iv. some unpleasant information. faith's face turned scarlet, but she obeyed at once. the next instant the buyer was forgotten. she was thinking of miss jennings. so the superintendent had not carried out his threat after all. he could not have forgotten it, his anger had been too genuine. faith was thankful enough that the poor girl was still at work, although she looked sick enough to be in bed in the care of a doctor. as faith looked at her she could see plainly the stamp of death upon her brow. her cheeks were bloodless and her eyes were sunken. after eleven o'clock the girls took turns in going to their luncheons. some repaired to the basement lunch room, while others who could afford it patronized the nearby restaurants. it was a pleasant surprise to faith when miss jennings joined her in the lunch room. she had a paper bag in her hand, while faith carried a small basket. almost instinctively the two girls drew away from the others. there was a bond of sympathy between them that they could not account for. "do tell me your name," whispered miss jennings at once. "it does sound so 'shoppy' to be always saying 'packer.'" she had opened her bag and taken out a cracker. it was evident that there was no time to be wasted in lunching. "call me faith, if you will. i should like to have you so much! i think it will make me feel a little less strange," was the impulsive answer. "i will if you'll call me mary," replied miss jennings. "i've just been longing to talk to you all the morning, but there's no dodging miss fairbanks' eye; it's always upon you." "are we not supposed to speak at all?" asked faith, who was forgetting to eat her luncheon. "oh, yes, we can speak, but not if there are customers waiting. but, tell me, how do you happen to be a packer? you are too old for that kind of work, and quite too clever, i'm sure," said miss jennings kindly. faith told her how difficult it had been to get any position at all, but she did not dream of telling her how closely her name and work had been connected with the matter. when she spoke of mr. forbes, miss jennings fairly shuddered. "he's a terrible brute," she said in a nervous whisper. "and what do you think, faith; he's a sunday-school teacher!" "oh no, it can't be!" faith caught her breath with a shiver. "i mean, it doesn't seem possible," she added after a minute. "yes, he is," reiterated miss jennings soberly. "i used to go to the same church. now i don't go to any--i have no use for religion!" she started coughing, and this gave faith an opportunity to recover from the shock. when the spasm was over she put her arms affectionately over miss jennings' shoulder. "what has turned you against religion, dear?" she asked very softly. "is it such men as mr. forbes, or just the bitterness from misfortune?" "both," said miss jennings stubbornly and with a little frown on her face. "if god is good, why is there so much misery? if he is just, why are we subjected to such terrible oppression, and if he is merciful, why doesn't he hear us when we pray to him to help us bear our burdens?" there was a ring of defiance in miss jennings' tones. as faith looked at the pinched features her frame became almost convulsed with anguish. "oh, i wish i could answer all your questions, dear!" she cried softly, "and i can, i am sure, if you will just lay aside your bitterness! you are holding black glasses to your own eyes, you poor child, but the light will come; you must keep on praying for it!" "there is no use, faith. i've prayed until i'm tired. but don't mind me, dear. i'm what they call a pessimist. i look on the dark side of everything, i suppose; but listen, do you hear what that cash girl is saying?" faith shook her head. she had heard nothing but her companion's words. "jack forbes is dying! i saw it in the paper. that's why the old bear isn't here to-day, i suppose! it will just serve him right! i'm not a bit sorry!" cash girl number 9 laughed shrilly as she finished her announcement, and in the remarks that followed faith learned who jack forbes was, and that he was a really fine fellow in spite of his gold-loving father. in a second she understood also why miss jennings was still working. no doubt she would be discharged as soon as mr. forbes came back to business. she moved nearer to her companion as this thought flashed through her mind. just then a man stuck his head in the lunch room and looked around. when he saw faith he stared a minute, and then disappeared very suddenly. "hello! wonder who hardy is after?" cried one of the girls. "who was he?" asked faith in a whisper of miss jennings. "i've seen him watching me several times this morning." miss jennings straightened up and looked at her a minute. "he's one of the house detectives," she said slowly, "and you happen to be a new girl. don't bother about him, faith. they are always watching some one." "couldn't hold their jobs if they didn't," chimed in a clerk who had overheard her. "they have to arrest some one regularly about once in so often. i hope some day they'll arrest the wrong person. it would cost old denton a pretty penny!" just then another clerk from the ribbon counter came up and joined them. "did you hear about that inspector coming here yesterday, girls? well, it didn't do any good, for old forbes fooled her completely! she didn't get a peep at this room or a sniff at these odors. he means to poison us all to death with sewer gas before he's done with us, but perhaps it will be just as pleasant a death as any other." faith marvin looked up at the speaker with an expression of horror in her eyes. "do you mean to say that this place is really unhealthy, and that the firm refuses to comply with the law on such matters?" "i mean to say that denton, day & co. comply with no law whatever except their own sweet will, and that is to overwork, underpay and bulldoze their employees and then kick them out at a minute's notice." the girl spoke the words with apparent indifference. only a long-drawn sigh at their conclusion showed the inmost feeling on the subject. faith sprang to her feet with flashing eyes. "then that accounts for the haggard faces of the girls whom i have seen this morning! oh, we must do something at once to alter these conditions! our employers are but men; they must have hearts in their bosoms!" "you don't know them, faith." it was miss jennings who spoke. she was trying her best to conquer another fit of coughing. "our employers look upon us girls as so many machines, created for the sole purpose of filling their coffers, and it is this god whom you respect who allows them to abuse us! to grind us into the dust because we are helpless!" the ring of bitterness in her tones appalled all who heard her except faith, who threw her arms about her tenderly as she answered: "no, no, mary! don't say that! you are mistaken, dear! god is watching over us all with the tenderest love, and from this whirlwind of injustice he will yet reap a harvest of good! i believe it! i know it, and i shall live to see it!" chapter v. the first insult. as the young girl gave utterance to these words of prophecy her beautiful eyes were luminous with the fire of a noble purpose. she drew her graceful form to its full height and her voice rang out like the peal of a bell, carrying the message of hope to all that heard it. before any one could think of answering, two gentlemen suddenly appeared in the doorway of the poorly lighted room. when the saleswomen and cash girls saw them they almost stopped breathing, for the two men were the two senior members of the firm, who, for some reason or others, were going over the store together. both men stared at faith in open amazement. it was plain that they had overheard her words, and were surprised at such sentiments from the lips of a greenhorn "packer." mr. denton, a gray-haired man with a fairly benevolent face, seemed more disturbed than his partner over the extraordinary utterance, but as neither of them had heard what miss jennings had said, their surprise passed quickly and they began talking together. "this is the room that they complain of," said mr. day, with a contemptuous gesture. "those sneaking inspectors seem bent on making us as much trouble and expense as possible." mr. denton peered around the room, and even sniffed a little. "i do not consider it exactly healthy down here," he said, slowly, "but of course you know best, mr. day; you have charge of that department. i should not dream of interfering. i know you will do your duty." "certainly, certainly," said mr. day, promptly. he was a short, stout man, and exceedingly curt and pompous. "i consider it quite healthy enough for our purpose, mr. denton; for what do our salespeople know of modern sanitary improvements?" "that is so," replied mr. denton, with a smile of satisfaction. "what do they know, indeed? why, they are nearly all of them from the garrets of some tenement or other. they have never been accustomed to anything better, nor perhaps half as comfortable." they passed out of the room, leaving faith almost speechless with horror. in her whole life she had never dreamed of such cowardly injustice. "now you know that i am right, faith," miss jennings remarked, with a harsh laugh. "now you have seen for yourself what we have to expect from our employers." "they look on us as a lot of rats from some garret or other," added the clerk who had spoken so bitterly before. "but, time's up; we must go back and take in some more money for the darlings." faith stifled a sob as she took miss jennings' arm and started upstairs. she was pained and disgusted, but by no means discouraged. "there must be some way," she whispered to miss jennings. "it looks very dark, i am willing to admit, but with god all things are possible. i shall not give up. there must be some way of bringing the light into this place. just now it seems lost in a terrible darkness." "if god had wished it to be different he would have changed it long ago," muttered miss jennings. "but he doesn't care, faith. don't tell me that he cares! why, i am dying, dying, yet he cares nothing about it!" she broke out into such a terrible fit of coughing that she had to stop on the stairs. faith kept her arm about her until the spell was over. when they reached the floor they were two minutes late. miss fairbanks met them and scolded them both severely. faith noticed that miss jennings did not offer to explain the delay. she would have explained it herself if her companion had not stopped her in a whisper. "it's no use, faith; she won't believe it, or, if she did, she'd say i had no right to cough. poor devil! she treats the people under her just as forbes treats her. they are a lot of slave drivers and slaves together!" faith crawled up to her desk feeling sick at heart. she was overwhelmed with the knowledge of evil which was being forced upon her. during the afternoon she found time to write a few words on a bit of paper and slip it into miss jennings' hand without the buyer seeing her. "dear mary," she wrote, "don't give up in despair. i am sure that mr. denton is a good man, only weak and indifferent. i shall pray to-night that god will open his eyes--then to-morrow i shall try personally to talk to him, for i believe that prayer and effort should always go together. who knows but that i may be able to brighten things a little? it certainly is worth trying for--to bring the light into dark places." miss jennings watched her chance and handed back her reply. "it's no use, i tell you, faith. his heart is like stone. you'll only lose your place. take my advice and don't do it." faith smiled at her brightly as she read the words. they were characteristic of miss jennings, philosophic but bitter. a few minutes later a dashing young man passed by the counter. the clerks all seemed to know him, and several of the prettiest girls in the department smiled at him openly in a way that faith thought very immodest. as he caught sight of the new packer he stopped abruptly and stared at her. "who the deuce is that?" faith heard him say to one of the saleswomen, a girl whose cheeks were flaming with paint and whose appearance was that of a very vulgar person. "i'm sure i don't know, mr. denton," replied the girl, with a simper. "she's a new packer that was taken on this morning. i haven't heard her name, and i don't know as i want to." "oh, you're jealous of her, are you, mag?" said the young man with a laugh. "well, i don't wonder, for she is a peach. i'm in love with her this minute!" "you're a flirt, all right, mr. denton," said the girl, with a pout. "i think she's as awkward as anything, and her color is abominable." "she's as fresh as a daisy," was the young man's answer. "forbes had an eye for beauty when he hired that lovely creature." "you men have queer taste," snapped the saleswoman, angrily, but the young man had passed on, staring at faith all the way. miss fairbanks greeted him with a bow that was positively servile. "that's old denton's son jim," explained miss jennings to faith as she handed up a check. "he's a regular masher. comes in here every few days, just to flirt with the girls. they say he's very wild and costs his father a lot of money." "he is very bold," was faith's whispered answer. "why, he stared at me as if i were a dummy instead of a lady." "oh, we are none of us ladies: we are only clerks," replied miss jennings, bitterly. "if we were to snub jim denton he would make a lot of trouble for us." "mercy!" cried faith. "it doesn't seem possible! why, there seems to be pitfalls on every side for the girl who earns her own living." miss fairbanks was coming, so the conversation was ended abruptly. miss jennings went back to a customer who had just stopped at the counter. "show me some yellow ribbon, right away, miss," she said, very sharply. "i want to match this sample. here, take a good look at it!" faith glanced down and saw that the customer was an ignorant-looking woman. she had on tawdry clothing and a lot of cheap jewelry. miss jennings took the sample and glanced at it sharply. "do you wish exactly the same shade and width?" she asked, very politely. "of course! what did you suppose i brought the sample for if i don't?" cried the woman. "you must be a dunce to ask such a question!" faith felt her cheeks grow hot at this arrogant insult, but miss jennings replied as quietly as ever, "i cannot give you the same shade nor the same width exactly, madam. this is the nearest i have." she handed her a roll that was a little different from the sample. "but you must have it! look again!" commanded the woman, angrily. "you are just trying to save yourself trouble, you lazy hussy!" miss jennings turned very indifferently and called to another of the saleswomen: "miss jones, have we any number twelve lemon in reserve? here's a sample, and this lady is anxious to match it." miss jones glanced at the sample that miss jennings was holding. "you know very well that we are all out of that," she replied, sharply. "how often have i told you not to bother me with such questions!" miss jennings handed the sample to the customer without the slightest trace of emotion. "the 'head of stock' says we have none. i trust you will believe her, madam." the woman snatched her sample and hurried away, while miss jennings went to another customer as calmly as though nothing had happened. faith drew a long breath. her cheeks were fairly tingling. she glanced about a little to see whether any one else had noticed the transaction. the clerks were all moving about in their automatic way. it was plain that such occurrences as this amounted to nothing. suddenly faith's glance rested on a young man who was standing in the aisle where he could watch her every movement. as their eyes met he raised his hat and smiled at her brazenly. faith gasped for breath. her insulter was young denton. chapter vi. faith discovers a fresh horror. faith dropped her eyes to her desk so that she would not see the fellow, but she could still feel the insulting gaze that was bent upon her. she was glad when a great crowd of shoppers came surging in at the big doors, for the afternoons were always far busier than the mornings at this establishment. faith soon began to wonder if the goods could possibly come up to be wrapped very much faster. her arms as well as her back were aching. the clerks were screaming for cash girls every other minute, for besides the packer above each counter there were a number of others at different points throughout the store and all were as busy as bees through the rush hours. "there's no rest for the weary." it was miss jennings who spoke. she was talking to a customer, a fine-looking old lady. "i expect there isn't, dear," said the lady, pleasantly. "and you do look fagged out--i declare if you don't. i hope you get good pay for standing all day behind this counter!" miss jennings laughed in her harsh, dry way. "i won't shock you by telling you what i get," she said wearily. "but if all my customers were like you it would not matter so much. it's a pleasure to wait upon you! i hope you'll come often." "dear, dear! well, i'm sorry if they are not all kind to you," said the lady. "it is hard to have to work, but there is some good reason for it. it will all come right by and by; but tell me, child, what in the world is the matter?" there was a terrible racket on the floor overhead. as the lady asked the question a perfect bedlam broke loose. the next second the cry of "fire!" was heard all over the building. "quick! come behind the counter, madam!" cried miss jennings, trying to draw the old lady through the gate. "there's a panic on the stairs! the mob will sweep through here directly!" in less than a minute her words came true. there was a fearful rush of feet overhead, then with shrill shrieks of fright great crowds of women and children swept down the stairway. these were swelled by a small army of male and female clerks, until the whole lower floor was filled with a mob of struggling, pushing, human beings. miss jennings succeeded in dragging the kind old lady behind the counter, then she began pulling away her goods as quickly as possible. "quick, girls! get out while you can!" cried a frightened voice. "the second floor is all on fire! the ceiling will fall in a minute!" faith glanced around to see who had spoken. she was surprised to see that it was miss fairbanks, the buyer. in the hour of danger this coarse woman had actually thought to warn her charges, but she vanished in a second without waiting to see who followed. "it will be folly to attempt to get out now," faith cried distinctly. "we would only be trampled to death! wait a minute,--do, until the aisles get clearer!" "remain at your posts and look after your goods!" cried a voice that every one recognized as that of mr. gibson, the manager, "the fire amounts to nothing. it was a false alarm! don't one of you dare to leave your counters!" "do you expect us to stay here and burn up?" cried a woman's voice. "well, i, for one, won't do it! come on, miss jennings!" "not a step!" answered miss jennings in her shrill, weak voice. "you are a fool to trust your life in that howling mob, kate! wait a minute; we'll get out all right if we keep our wits about us." "that's right," called faith, standing erect at her desk. "keep cool, girls; we are perfectly safe as long as we keep behind the counters." "you are a nervy one, miss," said a voice at her ear. faith turned and saw that young denton was standing close behind her. "it is the only thing to do," she said with perfect composure. "those people are all crazy. see how they trample on each other!" she was gazing over the store in a perfectly natural way. there was not a trace of fear or excitement upon her features. "the floor managers are getting them under control, i think," said the young man, who, like faith, was as cool and composed as possible. "there they go--the very last of them--and the floor is deserted. ten to one there's no fire at all. i'll go up and investigate." he sprang off the counter and bounded up the stairs. faith could not help noticing that he was really a very manly fellow. she began to think that she had been mistaken regarding his insulting actions. "there is no fire, i tell you!" called mr. gibson again. "it was only a puff of smoke on the second floor! will people never learn to keep their heads at such times, i wonder!" the most of the clerks were still behind the counters, and as the manager made this remark one of the oldest men in the store raised his head and answered him. "our customers probably know our facilities for fighting a fire," he said sneeringly. "the place is a regular death-trap. no wonder they ran from it!" "keep your news to yourself, block, if you please!" said mr. gibson quickly. some one called him at that instant or his reprimand would probably have been sharper. faith had heard both remarks, and so had the old lady, who was still standing beside miss jennings behind the ribbon counter. "is that true? is the store such a fire-trap?" asked the old lady quickly. "dear, dear, what a place to cage a lot of human beings!" "the fire department has ordered the boss to put in more apparatus a dozen times that i know of," answered miss jennings, promptly, "but the building is insured and so is the stock. what do they care about us! we must take our chances!" "well, i guess the danger is over now, so i'll go," said the lady. "thank you, my dear, for your kindness. i wish i could do something to help you." "you have helped me with your sympathy," said miss jennings, quickly. "you shall see me again," was the old lady's reply. "as a christian woman, i must look into this matter." she went away after shaking hands with miss jennings and smiling up at faith in a friendly manner. the clerks who had rushed down from the second floor at the alarm of fire were coming back slowly with a shamed look on their faces. they trooped back up the stairs to their different departments just as a big sign was posted before the main entrance, stating that there was no fire in the building. it was an exciting half hour, but through it all faith stood erect, ready and calmly waiting for anything that might happen. in the very midst of the commotion her quick eyes detected a fresh horror. she saw a clerk at a neighboring counter grab a handsome piece of jewelry and secrete it in her pocket with the rapidity of lightning. when order was at last restored faith was in a most distressed frame of mind. she was dreading through sheer pity what she knew to be her duty. "all over, faith, and no lives lost," called miss jennings softly. she was as absolutely colorless and apathetic as ever. "oh, mary," whispered faith, "there's something i must tell you." she bent down from her desk after looking about sharply for the buyer. "don't mind about fairbanks, she has bolted!" said miss jennings with a laugh. "you can trust the heads of departments to save their own bacon!" "but, she thought of us, too; you heard her, mary," said faith. "poor thing, she may be irritable, but she isn't bad-hearted." "i ain't so sure about that--but what is it, faith? there will be no customers for some time, probably, so you have a right to talk to me." faith leaned a little lower so she could whisper in her ear. "i just saw one of the clerks steal something," she said, "it was during the excitement. she has it in her pocket." "oh, that's nothing!" miss jennings spoke as indifferently as ever. "why, what do you mean?" faith gasped in astonishment. "you surely do not mean that you approve of stealing!" "approve of it, no!" answered miss jennings slowly. "but it doesn't concern you or me, either, faith. the girl was probably desperate. i do not blame her!" "oh, mary!" faith's words were redolent of bitter anguish. for the first time since they met she drew a little away from her. "you don't understand, faith," said the other quickly. she had noticed the movement, and her tone showed that she was pained by it. "i'm afraid i don't." faith said the words coldly. "i certainly don't understand dishonesty in the very least. i may be wrong, but i cannot excuse it. it is my duty to report that girl, and i shall certainly do it." "you shall not!" miss jennings had lost her apathy and indifference for once. she was locking faith steadily in the eye, her own fairly burning with anger. "see here, faith," she went on, "you have a whole lot to learn, and i guess i am just as well qualified to teach you as any one. what you don't know about dishonesty would fill a whole library of books. promise me that you will say nothing about that matter until to-morrow, at least. promise, faith. it will do no harm. if you are a christian you must have charity." faith gazed at her earnestly for the space of a second. there was something besides anger in her new friend's eagerness. chapter vii. fresh glimpses of evil. "i promise," said faith, after another moment's hesitation. "i will hear what you have to say on the subject, mary, but i am sure i shall still think it right to report that theft to-morrow." miss jennings turned away with a relieved expression. the woman she had called "kate" was just coming back behind the counter. "i've lost my job through my stupidity," she said sullenly. "gibson says i am discharged for being impudent to him." "i'm sorry, but you might have known," replied miss jennings shortly. "still, you haven't lost much; perhaps you'll get something better." "well, i hope so, but there's not much chance at this season," said the woman. "six dollars a week was better than nothing. it's more than i can make by taking in washing." "oh, you surely won't have to do that!" cried faith involuntarily. she had been listening to their conversation without realizing it. the woman glanced up at her and gave a sharp laugh. "that, or worse," she said coarsely. "i can't starve to death, can i?" there was no mistaking what she meant. her words sent a thrill of horror through every fibre of faith's body. "she surely did not mean that," she whispered to miss jennings as soon as the saleswoman had gone. "why not?" asked miss jennings in her bitterest manner. for the second time that day faith drew back with swift motion, but this time her companion did not appear to notice it. "she's got a sick husband and three children," she said sharply; "and it's no fault of hers that she can't earn an honest living. i tell you, faith, that you have lots to learn. i'm sorry you must learn it all in a lump, of course, but the sooner it is learned the sooner you'll get used to it." she breathed a deep sigh as she turned away. for a moment her real feeling showed above her indifference. "get used to it--never!" cried faith, almost hysterically. "and you are not used to it, either, mary; it is killing you this minute!" "perhaps you are right," said miss jennings, slowly, then as the customers were gradually drifting back into the store she went forward to wait upon them with her usual indifference. for the next half hour faith was very busy. the excitement had passed, leaving no trace behind it. at exactly six o'clock a big gong was sounded. faith was so tired and nervous that she almost cried for joy when she heard it. "it has been the hardest day of my life," she said to miss jennings as they reached the cloak-room. "well, you'll have many such if you stay here long," was the reply. "there are nothing but hard days for the slaves of denton, day & co." there was a crowd of women and girls waiting at the lavatory basins, and as faith caught sight of the towels she turned away with a shudder. "you'll have to go home with dirty hands, faith, but you musn't mind that; we wouldn't get out of here until midnight if we waited our turn at those basins." miss jennings was putting on her hat as she spoke, and as faith started to look for hers the clerk whom young denton had called "mag" came slowly up to them. "heard the news, eighty-nine?" she asked miss jennings the question, but she was looking straight at faith. there was a gleam in her eye that was very unpleasant. "what news, maggie?" asked miss jennings, noticing the look at once. she knew the girl's disposition, and almost dreaded what was coming. "old forbes was robbed of five hundred dollars! some one stole it from his desk early yesterday morning. there's pretty good proof already as to who was the thief. i wouldn't stand in her shoes for double the money!" she was still watching faith with her eyes half closed. miss jennings was too shrewd to be deceived a minute as to her actual meaning. "well, you'll save yourself trouble by keeping your mouth shut," she said, crossly, "it dont pay to meddle with such matters as that, maggie, especially if you happen to be living under a cloud yourself. somebody might take a notion to turn the tables on you, you know. i'd as as soon be a thief as some other things i might mention." there was a sneer in her tones that was unmistakable. faith turned just in time to catch its full meaning. "oh, you needn't preach!" cried the other angrily. "any one can see you're fairly green with envy, eighty-nine! you'd give a whole lot to be able to flirt with the boys, but, as jim denton says, you are too pale and skinny!" "for shame!" it was faith who spoke the words. she was facing the brazen-faced girl with her eyes blazing angrily. "how dare you speak like that to a poor, sick girl? have you no heart in your bosom, no decency or conscience! it does not seem possible to me that girls can be so hateful toward each other. are we not all sisters, who have been commanded to love one another?" there was silence for just a second as faith finished speaking, then a loud, coarse laugh broke from maggie brady's lips. "oh, lord! hear her, girls! hear the little preacher in petticoats! isn't she eloquent, the pretty thing! why, she ought to be a corporal in the salvation army!" there was a roar of laughter at the rude girl's words, during which miss jennings caught faith by the arm and half dragged her from the cloak-room. "come, faith, let us go! this is no place for you. that girl is the most brazen hussy in the whole establishment, and that's saying a good deal, as you'll find out later!" they hurried out into the street as quickly as possible. faith was almost crying with indignation when they reached the sidewalk. "now, brace up, dear; it's all over for to-day," said miss jennings. "you'll soon get used to it; that's exactly what every one of us have had to go through with, but the girls are not all like mag; there are lots of nice ones. she wasn't so bad, either, until jim denton noticed her." "is he her sweetheart?" asked faith as soon as she could control her voice. "i heard them talking together and i am sure she loves him." miss jennings gave vent to one of her harshest laughs. "jim denton is a wicked young man," she said very slowly. "he cares no more for maggie than he does for lots of the others, but she's such a fool she can't see it, and that shows, of course, that she's pretty badly gone on him." "you mean that she loves him?" questioned faith, who was not very familiar with shop-girl slang. "well, you can't call it love, exactly," explained miss jennings, "but it's the best she's got. she thinks she loves him." the girls had walked a couple of blocks and were waiting for a car. they were glad to find that they lived near each other. the same street car would land them a short distance from their homes, which were modest flats in the cheapest portion of harlem. as they hailed the car, faith's quick eye caught a glimpse of a man who seemed to be following them. as he sprang on the rear platform of the car she called her companion's attention to him. "it's bob hardy, one of our detectives," said miss jennings, wonderingly. "why, he lives in jersey. he must be following somebody." faith looked at her a moment before she spoke again. "i wonder if there is any truth in what that girl said about the robbery in the office. i've been thinking of it ever since. she looked at me so funny! and see, mary, that detective is watching me, too, he has hardly taken his eyes off me since we entered the car. it can't be possible that they think i took the money, can it? you know i was in the office early yesterday morning." she spoke so timidly that miss jennings gave her a sharp glance. then she turned involuntarily and looked at the detective. "god help you if hardy is after you," she whispered with a shudder. "that fellow is a fiend about making arrests. he'd accuse his own mother of stealing, i believe, if he thought he could win the regard of old forbes by doing it!" chapter viii. a fiendish proposition. when faith left the car bob hardy followed her. he made no attempt to conceal the fact that he was watching her, and when faith had reached the middle of a block of vacant lots he quickened his steps and was soon beside her. "just a minute, miss," he said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. faith wheeled around and confronted him with cold dignity. "well, what do you wish with me, sir?" she asked quietly. "i noticed that you were following me. have you had orders to do so?" "not exactly, miss," said the detective, a little disconcertedly, "but you are in a pretty bad fix over that money affair, and i just thought i'd put you on your guard as a sort of favor." "what?" faith's voice fairly vibrated with indignation. "explain yourself, sir. i do not understand you?" "oh, if you insist," said the detective with a disagreeable leer, "i won't be so unkind as to disappoint a lady." he stepped a little to one side as he spoke, and his eyes wandered scrutinizingly over faith's lovely face and figure. "you see," he continued, "you are badly tangled up in that affair at the office; in fact, to be plain, mr. forbes thinks that you stole the five hundred dollars, and it will go hard with you when he gets back to biz; that's why i wanted to warn you." "indeed!" faith's head towered above the detective's as she spoke. "you are very kind, mr. detective; but, as i have stolen no money, nor anything else, i have no fear of mr. forbes, or any need of your most extraordinary warning. you will please allow me to pass and not follow me any farther. it is no sign because i am working in a store that i am not a lady and entitled to courtesy." she started to pass him, but with a stride the fellow was before her. "not so fast, my fine lady," he cried with a sneer. "you don't know me, i guess. i don't let thieves escape me so easily." "how dare you?" cried faith, her face flaming with anger. "oh, i dare anything," retorted the detective, "especially where my reputation is at stake! i've got orders from forbes to catch that thief, and, as you are the easiest bird to catch, i'm just going to bag you--that's all there is about it. i'll swear that i found this wad of bills in your pocket, see!" he drew a roll of money from his pocket and flourished it before her as he spoke. "oh, you would never be so wicked, so dastardly, as that!" cried faith. "have you no sense of honor, no manliness about you?" her words were so appealing that the detective winced a little. his keen eyes shifted uneasily. he could not face her. "i offered to warn you," he muttered at last. "there's a way out of the fix if you are a mind to take it." "but i am in no fix!" protested faith. "i have done no wrong! how dare you accuse me!" the detective went on as though she had not spoken. "there's a way out of it, miss; you have only to say the word. i know a gent that's in love with you this very minute. he'll fix things with old forbes--he's got lots of dough. just you promise to be agreeable and i'll hush the whole thing up to-morrow." as he made this fiendish suggestion he eyed the girl sharply. each change in her expression seemed to render her more beautiful. for a moment she was dazed and almost powerless to speak, then, as a great wave of color swept up to her very brow, she fairly hissed her answer in a scorching whisper. "you coward! you cur! go at once and leave me! make what accusations you like--i am afraid of you no longer! in god will i place my trust, and he will not forsake me! go, i say, and think well over what you are doing. remember that there is one above you who is watching your evil deeds and as surely as he will punish the wicked so will he protect the innocent!" as she spoke the last words she walked hastily away. bob hardy stared after her stupidly, but did not attempt to follow her. "well, what did she say?" asked a voice at his elbow. a well-dressed man of middle age had walked slowly across the street and stood waiting impatiently for hardy's answer. the detective drew a long breath and shrugged his shoulders a little. "oh, she's a high flyer," he answered, cautiously. "it will take time to clip her wings and tame her, captain, but don't you worry a bit. i'll earn your fifty dollars." "as you have earned several other fifties," said the "captain," smiling. "oh, well, you are in the right place for just such work. it's dead easy for you, hardy. why, those girls would all of them jump at the chance of getting out from behind those counters, but the deuce of it is that it's only the new ones who are pretty." "well, you've picked out the prettiest now, all right," laughed hardy. "but i expect i shall have to scare her a little. she's not only proud as lucifer, but she's chock full of religion. says god will protect her and all that sort of thing." the well-dressed "captain" threw back his head and roared. "god will trouble himself a lot about her, i'm thinking," he said, chuckling. "he is so given to looking after those half-starved creatures! why, the devil is the shop girls' best friend, if they only knew it." "he stands by us pretty well, too, eh! captain?" said hardy. "but i must be getting home, as i live way over in jersey. i'll report to-morrow night at your place downtown. she'll be less religious by that time if she sees that god has gone back on her, i guess." "you mean that you will press the charge against her and have them send her to jail? that's going pretty far, hardy; but i'll leave it to your judgment." "oh, pshaw! she'll be tractable before it comes to that pass, captain. i've seen girls before. i know how to handle 'em." the two men parted, hardy going to his home in jersey, while the man whom he had called "captain" went in the direction of fifth avenue. when he arrived at his magnificent bachelor apartments he let himself in with a latch-key. his colored valet was busy in one of the rooms packing his master's clothing into two traveling bags. "well, dave," said the captain, gayly, "we will have a fine trip south, i fancy; but don't hurry with that packing. let it go for a day. i've decided not to start as soon as i intended." "all right, sah; i'll drop it right quick, sah," said the negro. "yere's a letter, sah, dat was brung 'bout an hour ago. i dun tole de boy dat you would anser it at your leesyur, sah." captain paul deering laughed at his servant's language. dave always used big words and the most extravagant manners when he came in contact with other people's servants. "by jove!" exclaimed the captain, as he opened the letter. "it's from my lawyer, dave, telling me that my sister has been found. she is living here in the city, and is a widow with one daughter." "yo' doan' say so, sah!" dave was standing with his mouth wide open to indicate his interest in the news. he had been with the captain so long that he was very deep in his confidences. "yes, she's here in town, and has been for years, and to think i've been here, too, and didn't know it! you see, dave, i ran away from home when she was only a young girl. when the home was broken up i lost track of her completely. now there's a snug little fortune waiting for her that she should have had five years ago, but perhaps it's just as well it's been accumulating interest all the time." "an' yourn has bin a losin' interes'," replied the negro, grinning. "i neber see money slip troo' a man's fingers so fas' as it do troo' yourn, capting, dat's a fac'." "oh, i get the worth of it as i go along, dave," laughed the captain, "but i suppose i've got to go out again now and call on my new-found sister." he glanced at the address which the lawyer had given him. "pshaw! that's too bad," he said, impatiently. "if i had only known this two hours sooner! why, i've just come from that very locality, and it's way up in harlem." as he reached for his hat there was a sharp ring at his door-bell. "dat's dr. graham, sah; i knows dat ring ob his," said the valet quickly. "dat mean, sah, you doan' call on no sister dis ebenin'." chapter ix. the plea of miss jennings. when faith marvin entered her mother's four-room flat on the top floor of a dingy brick building she was almost out of breath from indignation and rapid walking. she tried to calm herself a little before her mother saw her, for mrs. marvin was on the verge of nervous prostration. when faith looked into the little parlor she saw what she dreaded most, her mother lying on the sofa suffering from a terrible headache. "i must say absolutely nothing," whispered faith to herself; "but what if that fellow should follow me home! oh, it would be terrible! terrible! i am sure it would kill her!" she washed her face and hands and smoothed her hair, then went quietly into the parlor and kissed her mother. "oh, faith," cried the sick woman, sharply. "how did you get along, dear? were they kind to you in that dreadful store, or will they kill my daughter, as they did my husband?" "hush, mother; don't say anything like that, there's a dear," said faith quickly. "don't let your mind dwell so steadily on unpleasant things, and just as soon as your head is better i'll tell you all about it." "tell me now, faith, i insist," cried her mother, irritably. "i must know the truth at once. just think, dear, i have lain here all day worrying about you, my child! it has been the hardest day of your life! i feel it and i can see it." she was gazing at faith with a keen, penetrating glance. it would have been cruel to have kept her in ignorance any longer. "well, then, lie down, dear, and i'll begin at the beginning," said faith gently, "and you must promise not to ask questions until i have finished." she laid her mother back on the sofa and began her tale, but she took care to touch upon some things very lightly and leave others out of her narration altogether. when she had finished her mother still lay silent for a few minutes, then she suddenly sat up straight and stared at her daughter. "it is a thousand times worse than i thought," she said slowly. "although your father told me a great deal about the evils that exist in business places. why, those men are criminals and nothing less! they are destroying women's souls as well as starving their bodies, and all to swell their own bank accounts and ride in carriages. oh, it is shameful! and to think that nothing can be done to stop it." "but something must be done! something shall be done!" cried faith stoutly. "there is one power alone that can conquer all evil. we must invoke that power upon this dreadful curse, and god has promised that the prayer of faith shall not go unanswered." "oh, child, can you not see how foolish all that is?" asked her mother irritably. "as if prayer was needed for what god can see for himself! if he wished things different he could easily change them. i have no faith in his goodness, his love or his mercy." the tears sprang to faith's eyes, but the words did not surprise her. she laid them to the weakness of her mother's physical condition. "some day you will see it differently, dear little mother," she said, sweetly. "you are still resentful for the injury which you have suffered. when that spirit has been conquered your faith will return. 'all things work together for good to them that love him.'" "do you mean that your dear father's death was intended for my good?" her mother almost screamed. "do you see mercy, child, in such cruel injustice, injustice that allows the rich to prosper in their evil ways and puts the knife of poverty to the throat of the deserving? no! a thousand times no! i will not believe it! your father was an honest man doing a legitimate business. those sharks opened their store and put in a book department. they undercut his figures even when it was a loss to do so, knowing that in the end they would ruin him and drive him out of their path forever! what followed? you know only too well, my poor, fatherless daughter. in a fit of despondency he killed himself; the man who had done no wrong--except to lose his courage, and they, denton, day & co., have accumulated millions. they have his blood on their hands as they have the blood of many others!" the poor woman was rocking herself back and forth as she talked, while faith could only bury her head in the sofa pillows and pray silently for wisdom. she knew that the frenzy would wear away soon. her mother's strength could not stand the strain of such agony many minutes. "i can understand that girl stealing the jewelry, faith," she went on more calmly, "it was a terrible thing to do, but she doubtless justified herself in doing it. and the woman who is going from bad is worse--oh, she has my sympathy, poor wretch! she is hopeless, discouraged; she does not know what she is doing." faith got up silently and went out into the kitchen. in a few moments she came back with a cup of tea for her mother. in a second her action had reaped its results. the mother instinct asserted itself. mrs marvin suddenly remembered that faith had had no supper. "i am to have a visitor soon, mother," said faith with a smile, while her mother was getting the supper, "miss jennings is coming in later. she lives only two blocks from the corner." "she is a consumptive, i think you said. i shall be glad to see her," said mrs. marvin, "and i'll try, faith, to calm my nerves, and not force my bitterness on another." faith smiled very sadly at her mother's words. "miss jennings is far more bitter than you can ever be, mother dear," she said slowly. "she is almost callous, while you are still smarting with anguish." for the next half-hour faith busied herself with their frugal supper. before the meal was over she was pleased to see that her mother was becoming more composed and natural. when miss jennings came in both ladies greeted her warmly. there was a hectic glow in her cheeks, and she coughed almost constantly. mrs. marvin left the two girls together at an early hour. she had kept her promise and been remarkably cheerful. "now, faith, to business," said miss jennings, as soon as they were alone. "i want to tell you why you must not report that clerk's theft to-morrow." faith drew her chair a little nearer and prepared to listen. she was beginning to understand her friend's character a little better. "in the first place," began miss jennings, "we will consider the girl. i know her well. you need not describe her. what i know about her is this: she is the daughter of a criminal. her father was a pickpocket, he died in prison. now i ask you, faith, what can you expect from this girl? according to your bible are not 'the iniquities' of the fathers visited upon the children, and are the innocents to blame for their undesirable inheritance? furthermore, that girl's mother was what we call an outcast. can you reasonably look for morality of any sort in the offspring of such an infamous union? you do not answer, because you cannot! i defy any of your christians to straighten out this matter. the viciousness of most children is their only endowment, unless we add the poverty, the diseases and the hopelessness that go with it. now to consider her environments and her temptations in that store. she is working for thieves, why should she not steal? she is working for successful people, why should she not take example of their methods. these things seem harsh and hard to you, faith, but they are actual facts, just as you will surely see them. if you report that girl what will be the result? listen, here it is, the outcome in a nutshell. you will be reporting to robbers that they are being robbed, not of their lives, their liberties and their honors, as they rob us, but of a paltry piece of jewelry, which they have bought out of their enormous profits. you will, no doubt, lose for the girl a position which has the semblance of respectability, and like poor kate travers, she will go from bad to worse, only, unlike kate, she will have no pure motive. then, lastly, to consider your own position in the matter, from that standpoint which you choose to call your christian duty--" she stopped to cough, and faith broke in upon her. "i know what you would say. you think by reporting her crime i will only be driving her to more vicious depths, whereas, by protecting her from the punishment she deserves i may be able to influence her toward a better life. oh, mary, i thank you! you have shown me my error. say no more to me to-night about censuring any one for their wrongdoing! it grows more wonderful every moment that the girls are as good as they are. god help them, they are innocent! it is all the fault of conditions! if we could only strike at the root of it all, mary." "we would have to go back many years and generations, i'm afraid," whispered miss jennings. "but at present we need go no further than the heads of that firm--for denton, day & forbes are the roots in this case, from which emanate the evils which are destroying us soul and body." chapter x. a startling suggestion. the gossip in the cloak-room was at its height the next morning when faith entered promptly at half-past seven. she looked around for miss jennings, but did not see her. the next moment her attention was attracted by a short conversation between two of the saleswomen. "well, jack forbes is dead at last, poor fellow," said one of them, "and they say that his father is all broke up over it. jack was his ideal always. it's sure to go hard with him." "he deserves his trouble if ever any one did," was the indifferent answer. "he's made life miserable for lots of young men who were just as worthy as jack ever was and just as much beloved by their mothers and fathers." "well, he's being punished now all right. they say he looks like a ghost. wonder if he'll have the good taste to close the store! or will he keep open that day to make funeral expenses?" there was a shout of laughter after this remark, and faith was surprised to see how many of the girls joined in it. "oh, here you are," said a voice at her side. she turned and was delighted to see miss jennings. "how pale you look, mary! did you tire yourself too much last night?" she asked quickly. "really dear, you should have stayed at home. you are sick abed this very minute!" "that would mean a dollar, my dear faith," said miss jennings sharply. "i've lost three already this month so far and as i'm liable to need a coffin soon i must keep at work and earn it!" "don't, mary!" cried faith, in genuine distress. "don't joke about such things, dear. i can't bear to hear you." "as well laugh as cry," said miss jennings shortly; "but i hear that jack forbes is dead. i'm in hopes the firm will show proper decency by giving us a holiday." "oh, they'll do that all right, if it is only for the looks of the thing," cried one of the girls who had overheard her. "you can trust them to keep up appearances before the public, even if they dock us a day's pay in order to square it." "they would never do that!" cried faith in dismay. "they'd do it if they dared," was the answer; "they are not above it." "there is mr. gibson now," whispered another girl as the form of the manager appeared in the doorway. "the store will be closed to-morrow," he said, shortly, "so you girls want to be smart and make all the sales you can to-day. remember that you are expected to do your best in such emergencies." as he went away the clerks all looked at each other. "that sounded just like forbes himself," giggled one of the girls. "i'll bet ten dollars he sent down that message." "well, we all get a day off anyway," said another, "and for my part i'm glad to laugh once while old forbes is crying. the shoe is on the other foot generally and we girls do the weeping." "i wonder if that detective will annoy me to-day," whispered faith to her friend. she had already told her of the proposition which hardy had made to her. "i wonder who the fellow is who has got his eye on you," said miss jennings, soberly. "it's the same old story. they think because we are poor that we are to be bought and sold like puppets. you'd be surprised, faith, to know how men look upon us girls, but never mind about it, dear; hardy can't do anything until the superintendent comes back, and by that time mr. watkins may have found the money." "who is mr. watkins?" asked faith, who had quite forgotten the young man. "he's the superintendent's lackey, but they call him an assistant," said miss jennings, with a slight blush. "he's a remarkably fine young man who would be honest if he could, but, poor soul, he's like the rest of us--tied hand and foot! if he expresses an honest opinion, out he goes into the street, and that means that not only himself but his mother would starve." "i remember him now," said faith; "he was in the superintendent's office when i applied for my position. i liked his looks; he seemed refined and honest. i wish i could help him, but--oh, mary, what's the matter?" miss jennings had suddenly put her handkerchief to her lips. when she took it down there were blood stains upon it. "nothing, dear," she said as soon as she could speak, "only the last end of a hemorrhage that i had this morning." "but do you have to work to-day? is it really necessary?" urged faith. miss jennings turned to her quickly and opened her pocket-book. there were seventeen cents and a small photograph in the purse. faith had just time to recognize the picture as that of mr. watkins when miss jennings closed the book with a flush of annoyance. "that's all i've got to last out the week, faith," she said between her coughs, "and i have a crippled brother at home, a last legacy from my parents." she hurried up the stairs, with faith close behind her. in five minutes the work of the day had begun; goods were being taken deftly from the shelves and displayed upon the counters. miss fairbanks was on hand and as cross as ever. she went around like a virago and scolded nearly every one in her department. when maggie brady came in she looked weary and jaded, and the paint on her face made her more conspicuous than ever. during a lull in the business faith heard her speaking to miss fairbanks in a tone that showed plainly that she was very confidential with the buyer. "jim denton took me to the theatre last night and we had an elegant supper after. it cost him a pile, i tell you, for i just laid myself out to be expensive. it's the only way i have of getting square with the firm. what the old man makes his son blows in; that's right, ain't it, fairbanks?" she winked at the woman as she finished. "sure," replied miss fairbanks in a lower tone; "but look out for him, mag, there's a new star in the heavens. i wouldn't trust jim denton around the corner, and you wouldn't either if you were wiser." "oh, i'm not afraid of that, if that's what you mean," said the girl. she nodded her head in faith's direction, but did not deign to look at her. "she's a beauty all right," was the buyer's reply, "and she doesn't have to improve on nature a little bit, eh, maggie?" "she won't keep that color long in this store," sneered miss brady. "she'll fade like all the rest of us, and it won't take long either." "miss fairbanks," gasped miss jennings from behind the counter, "i can't stand up any longer. you will have to excuse me." "well, you do look sick, so i suppose you can go. but as it is only ten o'clock i shall have to call it a full day, miss jennings." "call it anything you like," whispered miss jennings hoarsely; "only let me lie down, on the floor or anywhere." faith sprang down from her high perch without an instant of hesitation. "let me take her to the cloak-room, please, miss fairbanks," she begged. "miss jennings is my friend--do, please, let me take her." "nonsense! get back to your desk this instant, packer! if she is too sick to go alone one of the cash girls can take her. come, hurry along; there are customers coming." faith gave a despairing sob as she climbed back to her seat. miss jennings was desperately ill--she was sure of it. suddenly it occurred to her what a really brave fellow mr. watkins was. she had heard mr. forbes tell him to have miss jennings discharged, yet for two days he had disregarded the order. that, and the picture of the young man in miss jennings' purse told faith a story as plain as words could have done. the two were lovers, she was positive of it, she began to wonder if mr. watkins knew of his sweetheart's condition. "move faster there, packer!" called miss fairbanks crossly. "can't you see the lady is waiting for her parcel while you are loitering?" "oh, i am in no hurry at all, madam," said a calm, lady-like voice. "do not hurry the poor girl, please. she is probably tired." "she has no right to be tired at this time in the morning"--miss fairbanks was trying to be polite, but her voice was still snappy. "are you never tired at this hour?" asked the lady, calmly. "i frequently wake tired, and from no especial reason. in this case i should think it surprising if she ever felt rested." "oh, they get used to it--we all do," said miss fairbanks, stammering. "or, at least, we must do our work just the same. we are not supposed to have feelings." "pray, tell me who are your judges, madam?" the lady spoke more sharply. "who dares to say that human beings who earn their living have no feelings?" "well, if they don't say so out loud that is what they think," replied the buyer. "why, we'd be discharged before night if we were to complain of too much work. they want machines in these stores, and we are the nearest substitutes." "well, why don't you all rebel and force your employers to think differently? mind, i don't tell you to do it. i am just asking for information." "it would do no good; we would simply lose our places, and for each one of us there would be ten applicants to-morrow." miss fairbanks spoke the truth, and she spoke it sadly. for the second time faith was inclined to think that the woman was not bad-hearted. "the law should step in and regulate such matters," said the lady. "so much authority should not be allowed to a few human beings. a few arrests for manslaughter would not be amiss. i have just seen one woman who is being killed by this slavery, and there are plenty more behind these counters." "but no jury could convict our employers, if that is what you mean." miss fairbanks was gasping over the startling suggestion. "i'm not so sure," said the lady thoughtfully. "if they could see what i have just seen they might possibly do it there is a young woman dying this minute down in that villainous cloak-room." with a smothered groan faith sprang swiftly to the floor. "it is mary--my friend," she cried out in agony. "no, miss fairbanks, you shall not stop me! i will go to miss jennings!" chapter xi. a death in the cloak-room. when faith reached the cloak-room she found a scene of the wildest confusion. a number of clerks and cash girls were surrounding miss jennings, who lay on the floor upon a pile of wraps which they had hurriedly thrown down for her. mr. gibson, the manager, was bending over her with a glass of water in his hand, and was giving orders right and left in an excited manner. "go for a doctor, some one!" he cried. "no, get an ambulance--that will be better! the officer on the corner will call one for you. it will never do to have her die here! the newspapers would all get it, and goodness only knows what they would say about us." he raised his head as he spoke and found himself face to face with the new packer in the ribbon department. she was as white as chalk and her eyes were flaming with anger. "how dare you send her to a hospital when she is so ill?" she whispered, sharply. "get a physician here at once, sir, and a glass of wine instead of water." she pushed her way through the group of frightened girls and looked upon her friend, whom she saw at once was unconscious from weakness. "stand back a little, girls, and give her air," she cried, firmly. "there is none too much ventilation in this place, mr. gibson; quick--lower the windows if you can, sir." without dreaming of disobeying, mr. gibson sprang to the window. there was something so commanding in her manner that she fairly over-awed him. the next moment he had dispatched cash girls for a doctor and some wine, even taking the money out of his own pocket to pay for the cordial. faith had succeeded in clearing a circle about the fainting girl, and was just looking for something with which to fan her, when two people--a man and a woman--entered the door of the cloak-room, and stopped short when they saw the unusual spectacle. "it is just as i thought--she is dying," said the woman, softly. faith recognized the voice at once. it was the lady whom she had just left talking to miss fairbanks at the ribbon counter. "you see, mr. denton, my words have come true! you are killing these young women by overwork and bad air, yet you dare to resent any interference in the matter." faith was kneeling by miss jennings now and had raised her head to her lap. there was a quiver of the girl's eyelids. when the wine came at last she was able to swallow it. "this is dreadful!" said mr. denton, in a tone of genuine distress. "here, mr. gibson, do all you possibly can for that young woman, and for heaven's sake, try to keep this out of the newspapers." "can i help you, dear?" said the lady, going over to where faith sat by her friend, "or am i merely exhausting the air that the poor child should be breathing? you were a brave girl to come to her rescue as you did. if any trouble results from it, be sure and let me know it." she dropped her card into faith's lap, and left the place with mr. denton. the doctor was just entering and there was no spare room. she had seen at a glance that faith could do all that was needed. a few minutes later miss jennings opened her eyes. when she saw faith bending over her she smiled very happily. "you are better, dear, aren't you?" whispered faith, as she tried to return the smile. miss jennings shook her head gently. "i am satisfied," was her low answer. "but i want you to be happy, mary," cried faith, who saw death in the poor girl's face. "look up, dear; there is one who loves you. can you not believe it?" "i trust it is so," said the dying girl, faintly, "i have not believed, but i may have been mistaken." "you were indeed, mary, but you were not to blame! poor child, yours has been a sad lot, but there is happiness coming." there were stifled sobs from many of the girls who were standing in frightened groups about the room. the hush upon each lip spoke only too plainly of death's presence. "poor dick!" sighed miss jennings. "if it were not for dick--" dick was the crippled brother who was her only charge. "i will take him to live with me, mary," whispered faith, nobly. "my mother will love him and so will i--but what is it, dear?" miss jennings was trying to say something more. her voice was so low that only faith could hear it. "will he forgive indifference, rebellion, distrust?" "though your sins are as scarlet, he shall wash them white, dear mary. as we forgive our enemies, so he will forgive us." the dying girl raised her eyes. strangely enough their gaze rested upon the face of mr. denton. he had come back to the scene only a moment before, and for perhaps the first time in his life, pangs of remorse were seizing him. "i--forgive--" murmured the poor girl, still gazing at mr. denton. her eyes closed slowly as she spoke. with a fearful groan, mr. denton fled from the place. the physician had done what he could, but his efforts were useless. another life had gone out at the very dawning of its day; crushed out by the injustice and the greed of fellow-beings. faith choked back her sobs as well as she could, and looked on in amazement at what followed the tragedy. an undertaker was called and placed in charge of the body, and the utmost concern seemed to be felt about all the arrangements, especially by mr. gibson, who had been put in charge of the matter by the firm. faith would not have understood such a sudden "change of heart" if she had not been enlightened by one of the other women. "they know it's bound to get into the papers," she whispered, "so they are making a big bluff, you know. they don't really care about miss jennings." faith put on her hat without waiting to hear more; such hypocrisy as this completely overcame her. miss fairbanks was not consulted regarding her movements now, for the young girl quite forgot the rules and regulations of the establishment. as quick as she could she started to go up-town in search of the humble rooms where she knew she would find the crippled boy whom she had taken under her protection. as she left the store a young man joined her. she gave a sharp glance at his face. it was mr. watkins. involuntarily the young girl extended her hand, and in that sympathetic clasp both knew that their love for the dead girl was mutual, and that forever after between them would be the firmest friendship. mr. watkins insisted upon accompanying faith on her errand of mercy, and as he seemed to need her tender consolation and sympathy, faith was glad to allow him to share her mission. he had heard of his sweetheart's death only through the gossip of the store, so faith told him of mary's calm resignation, and her belief that she died happy in the faith of a true christian. the crippled boy, dick, was a sweet little fellow of six years, and in spite of the added expense, mrs. marvin was glad to have him with her. he would give her something to think of, she said, in the long days to come, when faith would be away at business. she set about to comfort the little fellow at once. faith was too disturbed to go back to the store that day, and as it was to be closed the next day on account of the funeral of young mr. forbes, she had time to think over the outlook for the future. "i am sure mr. denton is not a bad man, mother," she said, as they sat with mr. watkins in the little parlor. "his face showed the deepest agony. i am sure he has a heart. oh, if only i could reach it, perhaps things would be different." "but you say that lady, the government inspector, was with him at the time. his distress may have been feigned," answered her mother, suspiciously. "i don't think so, mother, for there were tears in his eyes. i think he is merely neglectful. he leaves the consideration for employees entirely to his partners." "many business men are that way," remarked her mother, after a minute. "they are so concerned about their financial matters that they ignore what is more sacred--their duty toward their fellow-beings. by the way, i have just read of two more failures, one a shoe store and the other a grocery store, and both because of the department store evil! how can small dealers, with only a few hundred dollars behind them, expect to compete with firms whose capitals reach the millions? they are only the poor little fishes in the sea, while the department stores are sharks, sharp-toothed monsters of destruction!" "i have heard of one department store in philadelphia, i think, where the proprietor gave situations to a lot of men after he had bought them out or completely ruined their business. that is better than nothing," said mr. watkins thoughtfully. "it is the only recompense possible in such an unjust transaction." "they do not think it unjust; they call it simply business,'" said faith bitterly. "the one who sells the most goods is considered the smartest. it is a case where might makes right--the survival of the fittest." "in other words," replied mrs. marvin, "a rich corporation justifies its methods on the grounds that it has a right to transact business on a scale corresponding to its pecuniary ability--there is no question of morality involved. every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. yet there are people who believe that there is no future punishment for these malefactors." "god will punish them according to his judgment, mother. it may be here and it may be hereafter. we have nothing to do with their wrongdoing. we must suffer and be brave--that is our duty and our mission." "and do you see no injustice in that?" cried mr. watkins sharply. "was it right that poor mary should be born to poverty and disease and wear her young life out in agony, while so many of the wicked are flourishing? oh, i have tried not to question or even to think, but the promise of salvation grows daily more dull in my ears. i doubt the mercy of god and i cannot help it!" chapter xii. a complication of troubles. faith could think of no words then to comfort mr. watkins. his grief was too poignant. she changed the subject. when he left the house to go home, she put on her hat. there was something she wished to say to him that she could not say before her mother. there was an errand at the grocery that gave her an excuse, and as the hour was not late, faith welcomed the opportunity. as soon as they were in the street she told him her experience with the store detective and asked his advice in case she should be annoyed in the future. before the words were fairly out of her mouth she wished she had not spoken. there was confusion and shame upon her companion's face, and his lips trembled strangely when he tried to answer her. for a moment faith could hardly believe her senses. she stared at him stupidly, while her limbs trembled beneath her. instantly a suspicion darted through her brain. she remembered that he, too, had been in the superintendent's office that evening, and that it was possible, even probable, that he knew something about the money. "oh, miss marvin, this is dreadful!" he managed to say at last. "i did not dream that they would settle upon you! i thought, that is, i hoped, that they had dropped the matter!" "then you knew of it," said faith, her voice sounding faint and far away. "i knew it, yes," said mr. watkins. "in fact, i was sent by mr. forbes to stop you, but you had gotten out of the building." "is it possible?" faith was coming back to her senses now. "tell me all you know of the matter, mr. watkins," she said, sternly, "and tell me the exact truth. don't attempt to hide anything!" mr. watkins controlled himself and told her the whole story--how the superintendent had suspected her of stealing the money and sent to have her brought back at once and had been disappointed. "an hour later," he continued, "he got a telegram from his wife. his son was dying and he had to go home. since then there had nothing been done about the robbery." faith drew a long breath after the young man finished. "so appearances are against me," she said, with a sigh. "i am at the mercy of a rascal like that detective, hardy." mr. watkins said nothing, but he was as pale as death. when he tried to comfort her the words nearly choked him. faith saw it and pitied him even while she wondered. a few moments later she bade him a cordial "good-night." if there was any suspicion in her heart it did not show in her manner. she was walking slowly home from the grocery, plunged in the most serious thought, when a well-dressed man of middle age appeared suddenly before her. "i beg pardon, miss," he said, raising his hat, "but i am a stranger in this neighborhood and am looking for a certain number. if you live about here perhaps you will kindly direct me." "i will, with pleasure, sir. what number do you wish?" asked faith. as she spoke she paused directly in the glare of a gas lamp. as the light fell on her face the stranger stopped abruptly. "by jove! what luck!" he cried, gayly. "the very angel i was thinking of!" "what do you mean, sir!" cried faith, who was now thoroughly frightened. "if you wish me to direct you, state the number that you seek at once! i am not in the habit of being addressed by strangers!" "my dear child, don't get angry. i shall not harm you," said the man, politely, "but you surprised me out of myself. i did not dream of meeting you." as faith still stood staring at him he continued, speaking hurriedly, and his manner became so chivalrous that the young girl soon accused herself mentally of rudeness. "you see, it is this way, miss. i was thinking of the sweetest little girl in the whole big world, and when i saw your face you were so much like her that to save my soul i could not help that exclamation. you will pardon me, i am sure, for i meant no harm whatever! i am old enough to be your father, so you see you have no reason to fear me." "i spoke hastily," said faith, slowly. "i had no wish to be rude, but you must admit that i had cause to feel a little startled." "you did, indeed, and i apologize humbly, but am i not right in thinking that i have seen you somewhere before? are you not employed in the department store of denton, day & co.?" faith looked at him in surprise. "i have worked there two days," she began, a little hastily. "and i have seen you twice," replied the stranger, promptly. "your face is a sweet one. i could not forget it." the words were spoken so quietly that faith could not resent them. she was moving slowly toward her home now, feeling a little bit nervous. "that is a dreadful life for a girl," went on the man, very quietly. "it is agony for the poor things, both of mind and body!" "you are right, sir," cried faith, who had thought instantly of miss jennings. "the shop girls' life is one continuous drudgery. she is the slave of circumstances and the victim of conditions." "i am surprised that so many enter the life. there are surely other vocations. they choose the hardest one possible." "but do they choose?" asked faith, who had become interested in spite, of herself. "are they not driven this way or that, according to their opportunities? in my case there was no choice. i had tried everything else. hard as it is, i am thankful for my present employment." the man looked at her sharply. there was genuine sympathy in his face. almost involuntarily he broke out in violent sentences. "you girls are to blame in great measure for all this, and where the fault is not yours it lies with your parents! instead of cultivating your graces you bedraggle them with labor! instead of marketing your smiles you trade in blood and sinew! every day in that store means a year off of your life; every anxious moment means an inroad into your rightful happiness! why will you not see the folly of your ways? why can you not understand that it is a false morality which is killing you? why, if i were a girl"--his voice had dropped to the most persuasive cadence--"i should value my beauty too highly to hide it behind a counter, and my subsistence should be the boundless reward of affection, rather than the niggardly recompense for wasted tissues! of course, i shock you, because you have done no thinking for yourself. a lot of narrow souled ancestors have done thinking for you. they have brought you here to let you shift for yourself, but woe to you if you offend one of their petty notions of honor. see, child! i have money, i have constant ease. could you blame me for offering to share it with youth and beauty?" as he breathed these words he gazed at faith eagerly. the soul in the man had vanished. he was dangerously in earnest. the thrill that flowed through faith's veins as he spoke was not of fear, for, child that she was, she understood his meaning, and his words stirred the deepest channels of her soul--she was more grieved than shocked at the man's distorted reasoning. "you are all wrong," she said, sadly. "you cannot understand! there are some things more precious than gold to us, more precious even than comfort or affection. not for the world would i lose this 'something' which i possess! it is the haven of my soul at the hour of every trial. it is the one solace of my life in the desperate condition that i have reached. you, a man of years, should not argue so wrongfully. it is wicked to place temptations before the young and wretched." she had regained her composure as she finished speaking, and a tinge of righteous indignation made her voice vibrate strangely. "is it wrong to do good?" asked the man, a trifle sullenly. "surely comfort, ease, health are the best a man can offer. nature did not create you girls for a life of toil. you were made for love, for homage and adoration. yet when one offers you these you turn to your nameless 'something' and, like the martyrs of old, suffer torture and death rather than accept what is your due. it is incomprehensible, truly!" "hush! your words are an insult! i will not hear them. it is true that my knowledge of the world is limited, but this much i know: the god of righteousness has placed me here for a purpose, and that purpose is not to play the coward in time of trouble or to prove traitor to the highest, holiest instincts which permeate my being! working girl i am and may always be, but my lot is a queen's beside what you suggest! god pity the poor women who have not the wisdom to see it." she was standing before him now like a beautiful statue, one arm uplifted to emphasize her utterances. "my god! you are superb! magnificent!" muttered the man involuntarily. "i would give my life to be worthy of such a woman!" faith's arm dropped suddenly, and she drew away with a gasp. there was a look in the man's face that frightened her for a moment. "you have taught me a lesson," he said, almost hoarsely. "i thank you, child, and i bid you good-evening." "but the number," cried faith, as he was turning away. "you wished me to direct you to a certain number." "never mind it now. i can find it," was the answer. he was walking swiftly away in the darkness of the street, when a figure approached him from the opposite direction. the two met directly under the gas lamp where faith had been standing a moment before, and as they met faith heard a sharp exclamation. her sharp eyes recognized the newcomer at once. it was no other than bob hardy, the store detective. chapter xiii. a heavenly inspector. when faith marvin reached home after her unpleasant interview with the well-dressed stranger, she was in a state of nervousness that nearly bordered upon hysterics. the fact that bob hardy was a witness to what she had supposed was a mere accidental meeting gave her an instinctive clue to the identity of the man, and her cheeks flushed with shame as she connected him in her thoughts with that insulting proposition of the detective. she had tried to compose herself, as usual, before going into her mother's presence, and succeeded so well that when they retired mrs. marvin had no suspicion of the interview. neither did faith acquaint her with the extraordinary suspicions against mr. watkins, which she now felt ashamed to think she had harbored for a second. she was much troubled in mind about the latter, for while she felt in her heart that mr. watkins was innocent she could not help thinking that he, too, was shielding a thief. she wondered if it was because he felt the same on the subject as had his sweetheart, miss jennings. she said her prayers quietly and felt more tranquil after. there was a balm in religion for her trusting heart, which she begged with all her soul to share with others. it was during this hour that she thought of mr. forbes, whom she knew was to bury his only son on the morrow. suddenly the thought flitted through her head that perhaps employees were somewhat to blame for not expressing more sympathy for their employers in all serious matters. "perhaps they think us as heartless as we think them," she whispered to herself; then the impulse came over her to write mr. forbes a letter. she rose quietly, so as not to wake her mother, and penned him the note. it came straight from her heart. she told him she was sorry for his sorrow. early the next morning she went out and mailed it. little dick went with her, hobbling along on clumsy crutches. the child had fallen in love with her at once, and, although he often cried for his sister, faith could always cheer him and change his tears to laughter. late in the afternoon she rode down to the undertaker's. she had not become reconciled yet to parting with miss jennings. as she reached the door two women were just leaving; they were miss fairbanks, the buyer, and maggie brady. faith was startled for a minute, for she could not understand their interest. neither one of them had ever shown the faintest liking for the dead girl, but now she noticed with surprise that they had both been crying. "truly, every cloud has a silver lining," she murmured to herself, "and who knows but what this is the first glimpse of the lining! oh, i do hope it will soon show itself to poor mr. watkins." the two women had passed her with a mere nod of the head. she opened the door of the establishment and confronted mr. watkins. "oh, what is it?" she cried, involuntarily, as she saw his face. "don't, dear mr. watkins; don't take it so badly." mr. watkins put his hand on her arm as she spoke. he was so faint and weak that he seemed obliged to lean on something. "i--i have explained that matter about the money," he whispered, hoarsely. "hardy will not annoy you any longer. the thief has been discovered." he looked so wretched that the tears sprang to faith's eyes. "i am glad it is explained," she answered, hastily, "but you are ill, mr. watkins. you should go home this minute." "home--home!" repeated mr. watkins in a vacant manner. then with a fearful groan of agony he collapsed completely. as he fell to the floor several of the undertaker's clerks rushed forward and lifted him up. "another victim of conditions, of greed and avarice," said a voice in faith's ear. she turned quickly and recognized miss alma dean, the woman inspector, whose card she had in her pocket. without waiting for faith to answer, the lady went on speaking. the men were laying mr. watkins on a sofa not twenty feet away from the body of his dead sweetheart. "that poor fellow was a picture of health two years ago, before he entered the employ of denton, day & co. i know his mother well; she is a lovely woman, and he has a younger brother who is also in that store, and liable to follow in this poor chap's footsteps. i just came in to look at that poor girl. i want to stamp her face indelibly upon my memory. thank fortune i am in a position to remedy some of the evils in this world. as government inspector i can do considerable, but i must learn the length and breadth of the evil before i am fit to attack it." faith listened breathlessly to every word. the proprietor of the place was also listening, and as she finished, he nodded his head as though he quite agreed with her. mr. watkins was rapidly reviving under the kind care bestowed upon him, but before he was fairly alive to his surroundings miss dean took faith's hand and led her out on to the sidewalk. "they will take him home--they are very kind people," said the lady, sadly, "but now, dear, you and i are confronted with a problem. how are we to prevent the repetition of this horror?" as miss dean asked the question she did not really seem to expect an answer from faith; it was more like a spoken expression of thoughts that were vexing her, made to one whom she knew was thoroughly sympathetic. "this is the saddest demonstration of injustice that i have ever witnessed," she went on, slowly, "yet i know it is mild in comparison with others. it lacks the hideousness of exposure, so far as you see. we only know that one more crime has been added to the list, yet the details of that crime have been carefully spared us." faith knew that she referred to poor mary's death, but she could find no words with which to manifest the depth of her sorrow. "the fear of the law is our only hope, i guess," went on miss dean. "they must be forced to comply with certain regulations. many of the stores are doing so, under no compulsion whatever, but these people seem deaf to everything but the jingle of their dollars." "but the law cannot change their hearts," muttered faith, at last, "so the cure that it effects must of necessity be superficial. oh, if only the fear of the lord could be instilled into their system. if they could only be made to feel that to him they are accountable!" she spoke with enthusiasm, her eyes and cheeks brightening. "you are a good ally," said miss dean, watching her, "but, my dear, the day of miracles is ended." "but with god all things are possible! it would be no miracle for him! i did not mean to infer that i or any human being could reach their hearts, still our words and our prayers, are they not noble weapons?" "i am not so sure," said the inspector, gravely. "i think, dear, i am better fitted to experiment on a purely worldly basis. for instance, i have already reported the condition of that cloak-room, the drainage, ventilation and unsuitable location. then i have mentioned the inadequate fire appliances in the building as well as the long hours you girls are obliged to stand and the short time which you are allowed for luncheon. i think that several of these matters will be changed at once, but there are others which will take longer or which may never be accomplished." "it will make them very angry, will it not, when they hear of your report? and the alterations will be expensive, especially when it comes to altering the cloak-room." "oh, well, we inspectors cannot worry over any personal feelings, my dear. our duty is to make right all wrong conditions. we are to look after the health of people, not their money. the only question is how to do this in the quickest possible manner." faith glanced at her sharply. she was a handsome woman. there was a resolution in her face that commanded instant admiration. "i am glad to have seen you to-day," miss dean said as they reached the corner. "i find my sympathies are more and more enlisted through acquaintance with you girls. why, i feel that i would like your employers to spend millions in making your labors a little lighter." she smiled pleasantly as she spoke and offered faith her hand. "good-by, dear," she said brightly, "there's a good time coming." faith watched her as she boarded a car--she was so ambitious, so full of vigor and so nobly intentioned. "if she were only an inspector sent from god, now," she whispered, then a tremor shot over her frame at such a wonderful suggestion. "why should i not be an inspector sent from god," she murmured, "to seek out the dark places and let in the light? if it is only a candle flame it will help a little." she turned abstractedly, almost dazed by her thoughts. the next instant she was brought almost rudely to her senses. some one had called her by name. she turned and faced young denton. chapter xiv. mr. forbes talks on religion. about two hours before the meeting of faith and young denton, duncan forbes returned from burying his son, and sat down disconsolately in the library of his handsome residence. although only the junior partner in the firm of denton, day & co., still his interest, together with his salary as superintendent of the establishment, brought him in every year a princely income. then there were other investments of a varied nature, all of which had proven more than ordinarily successful, yet now in his hour of sorrow he could feel no atom of thankfulness, and every hour of his busy life seemed to him to have been wasted. as he sat staring at the fire he could hardly restrain his feelings, for the words "god will punish you" were ringing in his ears even more clearly now than when he first heard them. he tried to go over the incidents of that morning when a poor applicant in his office had wrought such havoc with his conscience. he remembered the five hundred dollars of which he had been robbed, and he also recalled vaguely the conversation he had with a woman inspector in the store immediately after. then came the message regarding his son's condition, then the death chamber, the grave, and now--desolation. the door opened softly and a servant entered. she bore a tray upon which were laid a number of letters. after she had gone mr. forbes rose and looked them over. he did so listlessly. he had no heart for business. the first three were business letters, referred to him by the firm with a brief note, stating their importance as an apology for the intrusion. the next two letters were letters of condolence from members of his church. the last was a cheap envelope, neatly sealed and addressed modestly. this last he turned over and over between his fingers. there was a vague thought in his brain to which he could give neither shape nor utterance. could it be possible? he asked the question and then sneered in answer. the thing was incredible, that he, duncan forbes, tyrant and slave-driver, should be remembered by his victims, yet the envelope was redolent of sympathetic surprises. he tore it open finally and glanced at the words. for just a moment the flame of appreciation sprang up within him. the note was from faith marvin, the new packer whom he had employed. she was "sorry for him," she said, "in this hour of his affliction." he laid it down with a sigh that ended in a groan. his brow darkened as he looked at it. he was aroused and puzzled. the door opened again and his pastor entered. he came unannounced and in a shrinking manner. mr. forbes turned toward him indifferently and held out his hand. he realized that this call was obligatory. he had been paying for it yearly. as the two men sat down the minister coughed a little, then he folded his hands meekly--his host knew what was coming. "i trust that you have become reconciled to this separation, dear brother forbes," he began solemnly, "and that you can say in your heart 'the lord giveth and the lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the lord.'" duncan forbes did not answer for the space of a minute, during which time his pastor watched him furtively from under his eyebrows. "my son was my all," he muttered finally. "it is for his sake alone that i have lived and labored--that by the sweat of my brow i have accumulated my fortune." the minister sighed with unaffected sympathy. "yet god in his mercy has taken him from you. he who seeth the end from the beginning knew what was best, dear brother, for your soul's salvation." "but of what use is my life now?" questioned mr. forbes sharply. "i am a broken reed with no ambition to lean upon. a man whose heart has been plucked by its roots from my body. is there anything in our religion which can solace me, do you think? is there a recompense for the sufferings of a heartbroken father?" "there is balm for every wound, brother forbes, if we seek it. others have suffered your loss and been able to find it." duncan forbes sat back in his chair and stared straight before him. the words had brought to his mind unpleasant visions. in an instant he was back in his store again, where scores of pale-faced, hollow-eyed youths and maidens were moving about. they all had mothers and fathers or some one who loved them, yet, unlike his jack, they were weighed down by poverty, the millstone of disease was about their necks, and he, duncan forbes, was relentlessly grinding the very spirit out of their frail bodies. he shuddered involuntarily and that brought him back to his senses. "religion! what is it?" he asked unpleasantly. "has it any practical value in the lives of mortals? i have been a church member for forty years, paying my dues in accordance with the terms of that institution and shirking none of its responsibilities. now, at the hour of sorrow, i find myself facing my grief alone; there is no power in the church that can help me to bear it. what is religion, i say? is it a mere mummery of speech? i have been religious all my life; now i find nothing in it!" "the fault is in you," said his caller, gravely. both men had risen and stood facing each other. "you have been too occupied with other things, brother--too busy, you might say, with worldly matters to search for the spirit that pervades what you call 'mummery.' surely in your love for jack you appreciate something of the love of christ for man; in your dealings with men and women you can realize his interest in humanity, and through your wealth you have the power to reap a harvest of good, yet how have you improved these opportunities?" mr. forbes looked surprised, as well he might. they were the first words of a personal application of belief that his ears had listened to since he could remember. "but religion has no part in worldly affairs," he said sullenly. "to be born for heaven is to be lost for earth; surely we should take each condition in the order that it comes--wealth, position first; prayer and praise hereafter; earth for the body and heaven for the soul; goods and chattels now, faith our stock in trade for the future. this is practical, is it not? this is good, sound reasoning. you are a minister of the gospel, yet you can't deny it!" "i can and do!" cried the minister bravely. "a belief that does not shape the life of the believer is not religion! faith that does not light the path of the present is not the inspiration of heaven! the spirit of christ is an ever-present reagent, neutralizing every rancor of human strife and blending all grief into harmonious concord. every human act should be weighed in the balance of a man's belief. if he sacrifice divine faith to worldly ambition, he is in need of the chastening rod, and god will surely punish him!" "you do not preach that from your pulpit, dr. villard," he said slowly, "and there is hardly a man in your congregation who does not need it." dr. villard's thin face turned to a sickly pallor. it was a just retribution. he accepted it meekly. "we ministers are but human," he began, softly. there was a rap on the door. it came as a welcome interruption. when mr. forbes opened the door he saw his assistant, mr. watkins. the young man's face was the color of a corpse, and his hollow eyes were red from weeping. "i must see you, if only for a minute, sir," he said hastily, then as he caught sight of the visitor a flush spread over his features. true to his nature, duncan forbes scowled heavily for a moment. he would have sent mr. watkins away if his guest had not prevented it. "as you would be done by, brother forbes," he whispered quickly. the next moment he was gone and mr. watkins had entered. chapter xv. a plain truth from mr. watkins. duncan forbes roused himself to hear his second visitor's errand. he knew that it must be something important, yet he felt bored and disinterested. business matters were far from his thoughts to-day, yet for forty years they had consumed his entire attention. mr. watkins seemed to be struggling for words--he looked pained and embarrassed. he shifted his hat from one hand to the other, and his thin face reddened and paled alternately. for the first time in his life duncan forbes looked upon his assistant as another man's son--the loved and loving child of another father. it was a queer sensation; he could not get used to it; then came a memory of jack, and his emotion conquered for the moment. "you are excited, watkins; sit down," he said huskily. "something else has gone wrong at the store, i suppose. well, let it go; it can wait until to-morrow." "no, sir, it can't wait!" blurted out mr. watkins. "if it could i should not have come, knowing as i did of your dreadful sorrow!" again the thrill of surprise shook the man's every fibre. another of his victims had remembered that it was his day of grief, and the very tones spoke of sympathy for his affliction. "well, then, what is it?" he spoke with some of his old sternness. "speak out, watkins; you know my habits. i always expect promptness in these errands." "but this is purely personal, sir!" answered mr. watkins, sadly. "i have come to see you about that five hundred dollars that was taken from your desk last monday morning." "what of it?" asked mr. forbes with much of his old interest returning. he had been too long a slave to money to loose the bondage immediately. mr. watkins was trembling now so that he could hardly speak. in his weak condition of health the recent deluge of trouble was telling upon him. "she took it, i suppose, that girl that i employed that morning," said mr. forbes, trying to hurry matters. "has anything been done? i told hardy to look after it." he picked up faith's letter again and glanced at it absently. when he saw the name he dropped it as if it had stung him. a great wave of color purpled his heavy face, and instantly he was the same old tyrant, raging furiously at the creatures whom fate had made his victims. "see here, watkins! here's her letter! can you believe such deceit! she not only cursed me that morning with her religious cant, but she stole my money as well; now she mocks my sorrow with a letter like that--she is 'sorry' for me! do you hear, watkins? she is 'sorry!'" the great veins were standing out like cords upon his forehead, and he began pacing the floor in a perfect frenzy of anger. "tell hardy to arrest her and have her locked up at once! i'll make an example of her before the whole store! the idea of her daring to write me a letter!" "but, mr. forbes, please listen!" cried mr. watkins at last. this injustice to faith had brought him to his senses. "it was not miss marvin who stole the money! she is a good girl, sir, the best i ever knew, and she is sorry for you, sir; if she wasn't she would not say so!" "but the money!" roared mr. forbes. "who took the money? if it wasn't the girl, why didn't you say so?" "i couldn't, sir, at first, but i will say it now; but for pity's sake be merciful, sir. the thief was my own poor brother!" "what! the boy who tends door?" asked mr. forbes in great astonishment. "yes, sir; poor sam took it! he stole it for our mother!" mr. forbes stared at him some time before he spoke again. "and the girl," he asked finally. "has hardy been following her?" "he has indeed," said mr. watkins quickly, "but i dare not report his actions; i have no proofs to offer. hardy would doubtless deny all that she could say of him, for a girl is helpless in the hands of a villain like hardy." "i have found him a good detective," said mr. forbes, slowly, "but if you knew who took the money why didn't you tell him?" "how could i, sir?" mr. watkins had begun to tremble again. "the knowledge of his sin is already killing my mother; if it becomes public she will die. i was waiting for you to come back to business." "well, the boy must be punished!" said mr, forbes decidedly. "i cannot be accountable for what may follow." "do you mean that you will arrest my brother?" cried mr. watkins, "when you know that by doing so you will blast his character forever and drive a poor woman to her grave who has never wronged you?" "the boy should have thought of that," answered mr. forbes, grimly. "i deal with my employees, not with their futures or their mothers." "but if i return the money! see, i have a part of it here!" mr. watkins almost cried with agony as he held out two hundred dollars. mr. forbes took the money and counted it carefully. "let's see, watkins, your salary is twelve dollars a week," he said slowly. "if i deduct five dollars a week to cover the balance of this, it will be just sixty weeks before i could get my money." "if i could only find the rest," said mr. watkins, groaning; "but sam says he lost it, and i think he tells the truth. if he hadn't lost it he would have given it all to mother." mr. forbes was drumming lightly on a table by his side. it was evident that two emotions were struggling within him. "here is the evening paper, sir," said a maid at the door. mr. watkins moved automatically and handed it to his employer. "hey! what is this! a death at our store yesterday, watkins?" mr. forbes had caught sight of a headline half across the paper. mr. watkins bowed; he could not speak. his employer opened the paper and scanned it hastily. "ah! that's right! that's right! gibson is a clever man! he makes the thing sound right before the public! denton, day & co. will pay for miss jennings' funeral, yet they say there is no heart, soul nor conscience in a big corporation!" he almost laughed as he ran his eye down the columns of the paper, and for a moment his manner became almost confidential. "that's one of the tricks of our trade, watkins," he said with a chuckle. "we cater to the weaknesses and foibles of the public, and there's nothing that appeals to them like a report of generosity. of course, they never stop to think that the poor creatures are much better off dead than alive, and that they really have no hold on the sympathies of others. it's a fad among rich people to weep over the poor! some of them will probably send flowers to the funeral of that woman, and think themselves angels of light for doing it! i tell you, religion is a trade mark in all lines of business, and i've decided in the last few days that that's about all it's good for!" he laid the paper down with a smile of satisfaction, then turned toward mr. watkins to resume the former conversation. but a look at the young man's face checked the words upon his lips. the scorn in those hollow eyes burned even through his callous nature. for a moment he saw himself much as his assistant saw him, a man whose greed of gold never reached its limit, even though lives were sacrificed in his service. he could not speak although he tried to repeatedly, for the glare of his assistant's eye transfixed him like a magnet. with one hand upon the door, mr. watkins paused to answer: "the papers don't know it all, mr. forbes," he whispered shrilly; "or, if they do, they don't dare to tell what they know. if they did they would add that it was the least you could do--to pay for her funeral after your firm has killed her!" chapter xvi. faith's talk with young denton. "miss marvin, i beg that you will excuse this intrusion," said james denton as he joined her on the street after her call at the undertaker's, "but there is something i wish very particularly to say to you; it is something regarding that poor girl, miss jennings." he had raised his hat politely and stood regarding the young girl in a most courteous manner. as faith studied his face she could see that he meant no disrespect, but was painfully in earnest. "i shall be glad to hear anything that you have to say about poor mary," she answered sadly, "for she was my very dear friend, although our acquaintance was a brief one." "let us walk a little, miss marvin, please. i can talk better when i'm walking. the fact is, i'm horribly upset, and i don't know why i should be, either." faith looked at him sharply. he had removed his hat again and was passing his hand over his brow in a thoughtful manner. she discovered in that glance that he was a remarkably handsome fellow, for youth, even in its hour of sorrow, cannot help being attracted to all that is gracious and beautiful. his eyes would have been fine had their glance been a little more steady, but he shifted his gaze constantly, like one who possesses an undecided nature. "what i have to say is this," he began very bluntly. "i think the firm should arrange to let all you girls attend the funeral of miss jennings, and i don't exactly know how to go to work to get them to do it." "oh, what a lovely idea!" exclaimed faith, impulsively, "and it is so kind of you think of it, mr. denton," she added. the young man blushed a little at her enthusiastic words, but went on talking as calmly as possible. "i've been doing a little thinking since miss jennings died; i don't know why, for the death of a clerk doesn't usually affect me." "perhaps it was because it occurred in the store," suggested faith, gently. "you have probably not known the details of any other such sad occurrence." "that is doubtless it," said mr. denton promptly, "but another thing is this: i knew mr. watkins before he went to work for my father. his folks used to be rich, you know, and fred was always a good fellow. he was in love with the girl, and i can't help feeling sorry for him, though, as i said before, i don't quite understand why i'm interested." "poor fellow! he needs all our sympathy," cried faith. "he is lying at the undertaker's now in a terrible condition!" "is that so!" exclaimed mr. denton. "why, i met him not more than an hour ago; he was just coming from mr. forbes, the superintendent. his face was positively ghastly when i saw him. no doubt old forbes had been giving him the devil!" "surely not at this time!" cried faith in dismay. "he could not be so cruel--so utterly heartless!" "forbes has no heart; he is a machine!" said young denton. "he is simply a human octopus for pulling in money. not that i object to money," he added, with a laugh, "but i hate to see men make it through such inhuman methods!" faith was utterly astonished at the young man's words. she had been led to believe that he was a thoroughly unscrupulous person, but here he was expressing her own sentiments exactly. in an instant the young man noticed her look of surprise. "you are puzzled," he said quickly. "you thought i was nothing but a brainless young scamp! no doubt you have heard my character from the girls in your department!" "oh, no!" said faith quickly. "i have not heard that, indeed! but you will pardon me, mr. denton, i did think you were unprincipled, else why should you come in the store and try to make fools of all the young women?" "not all of them, only the prettiest!" laughed young denton, gayly. "surely a man can flirt a little without doing any harm, and the girls all like it--why shouldn't they, miss marvin?" "but do you ever think what this flirting means?" persisted faith, who had lost all her timidity and was plunging into the subject in earnest. "it means a good time and a lot of money spent," said the young fellow, still laughing. "but why not spend it on the girls? don't they help the governor to make it?" "oh, mr. denton!" cried faith, who was now thoroughly shocked. "is it possible that you are speaking now of your own father?" "i certainly was," was the unabashed answer. "i did not mean to be disrespectful; that is only a habit." "a very bad habit," said faith, reprovingly, "but to return to the subject of poor mary's funeral. do you think if we asked for a day we would get it? you know, the store is closed to-day; they might not like to lose another." "of course, they wouldn't like it, but that don't make any difference," said young denton, grandly. "what was jack forbes's funeral to you clerks, anyway? the closing to-day was only a bluff--one of the bluffs that all stores put up to keep the good opinion of the public. now, this affair is entirely different. this girl was one of you, and you ought to be allowed to attend her funeral!" "have you spoken to your father?" asked faith, after a minute. "not yet, but i'm going to. now this is my plan: you get up a petition and get the clerks to sign it and then you go yourself to old forbes to-morrow. he'll be worse than a brute if he dares to refuse you! meanwhile i'll see my father at home to-night. he's a little soft on me yet, even if he is a hard-headed old sinner!" "oh, mr. denton, don't say such things!" cried faith, "i will never talk to you again if you persist in speaking so of your father!" the young man threw back his head and had a hearty laugh. "you're the most innocent little kitten i ever saw," he said softly; "it's a deuced shame that you have to work for a living!" faith's eyes blazed angrily before he had hardly spoken the words. "i am glad to be able to earn my living!" she said sternly; "it is ever so much nobler than to be living on one's parents!" the flush that mantled the young man's brow showed that her words had struck home, but he tried to turn it off with a neatly put compliment. "i'm a sad beggar, i know, miss marvin, but i'm going to reform! i never wanted to be different until, well, until now--to be honest." "you are not serious, mr. denton; i see laughter in your eyes," said faith, smiling. "but i will get up the petition at once, as you suggest, and i shall pray that our appeal may not be in vain." she had paused at a street corner and was extending her hand to say good-by to the young man when a woman passed them and jostled faith rudely. it was maggie brady, the girl who loved jim denton. as she faced them for a second both saw that her eyes gleamed dangerously. without even stopping she made a remark to faith--the words were hissed between her teeth with the venom of a serpent. "you'll be sorry for this, you little hypocrite! i thought you were too pious to be altogether healthy!" faith turned as pale as death as the woman strode on; james denton was smiling in a half-hearted manner. "that is the result of your flirting," faith managed to say at last. "oh, mr. denton, can't you see what you've done? you've made that woman love you, and now she is going straight to destruction!" chapter xvii. the partners do a little talking. mr. forbes was at his office in the store early the next morning after his interview with mr. watkins. he would have been glad to stay away for another day, but there were many details of the business that needed his attention. sam watkins, his office boy, was not waiting for him as usual, but mr. forbes was confident that he could find him when he wanted him. he looked around for his assistant, but he was absent also. this fact was more annoying, because it aroused his suspicions. "bolted!" he muttered with an angry frown. "ten to one he's run away and i'll never get my money." then he smiled a little, for he knew that watkins had no funds with which to make his escape, but even if he had there were many ways of catching him. as he seated himself at his desk both of his partners entered, and there were expressions of condolence offered in a punctilious manner. "sometimes i think that we fathers are all wrong," remarked mr. denton, after the condolences were over. "we bind ourselves hand and foot in the bondage of business, and all for what--our wives and children! if they needed such a sacrifice we would not begrudge it, but the more they have the more they want, until the head of the family is a mere automaton--a machine to pamper useless folly." this was a lengthy speech for the senior partner to make, as he was naturally a reticent man, who allowed others to do the talking. "you may be right," remarked mr. day pompously, "still, you must admit that wealth brings advantages even to us who slave--we can drop business cares and go abroad now and then--our time is our own beyond a certain figure." "i have never reached that figure," said mr. forbes, very dryly, "and further, when i drop the reins the horses run wild, for be as careful as you may in the choice of employees there is never one who will not take advantage of your absence--the exceptions are so rare that they are scarcely worth mentioning." "well, i for one am getting discouraged," said mr. denton. "there's that boy of mine, jim; how is he repaying my efforts?" there was no answer to his question, but he did not expect one. after a moment's silence he finished his observations. "if that boy had a million he would spend it in a month, yet no one has ever yet accused him of being vicious. i've set him up in business and everything else--he's had money and an example, but with it all, what is he?" "perhaps you are not strict enough," suggested mr. day, who was thanking his stars at that moment that he had no children. "it will take something besides discipline to make a man of jim." mr. denton sighed as if he was very unhappy. "oh, he'll marry and settle down some day," said mr. day, laughing. "when he has a family to support he'll take life more seriously." "i wish he had one," said mr. denton, speaking quickly, "but i hope he'll marry a working girl and not a 'society lady.'" both of his partners looked up in unfeigned surprise, but it was evident that the words had been said deliberately. "there's a girl, a packer, down in the ribbon department. i've only seen her once, but she's a perfect beauty. that's the kind of a girl that would make a good wife; she's not afraid of work and she's honestly religious." mr. forbes and mr. day were almost gasping now, but mr. denton went right on as though his words were not extraordinary. "when that miss jennings died this girl held her in her arms. she's not over seventeen, yet death did not even frighten her. in that poor girl's last hour she was her only comfort, and if i ever saw an angel i saw one at that moment." some one tapped on the door, but no one rose to open it. mr. denton waited a moment and then went on with his subject. "i don't remember how i happened to be in the basement that day. oh, yes, i do. mr. forbes was away, and mr. gibson sent for me. i was waylaid on the first floor by one of those government inspectors; she went with me to the cloak-room. i simply couldn't stop her! when i got there that girl, miss jennings, was dying, and what do you think, with her very last breath she looked me in the face, and said she 'forgave' me." "what!" mr. day leaned forward with astonishment on his features. mr. forbes half arose from his chair, and then fell back heavily. before he spoke again mr. denton began pacing the office floor. he was becoming more and more disturbed as he continued his recital. "they tell me that girl has been with us six years, and that she has never lost a day except from sickness. she was a consumptive always--inherited it from her mother--but in spite of it, she had to work to support herself and a brother. she was getting ten dollars a week at the time she died, yet the cashier tells me that her checks for one hour alone have frequently amounted to twenty dollars. i tell you, this bit of information has set me to thinking, and the outcome of my thoughts is a simple question: 'are we men or brutes?' that is what i want to know, and as it concerns you two as well as me, i'm going to ask you to answer it!" there was the silence of death in the superintendent's office. even mr. denton stood perfectly still as he asked his question. suddenly mr. day raised his head with a little jerk. his cheeks became inflated as he tried to assume his usual bearing. "it is possible we have been a little thoughtless," he said sweetly, "but our subordinates should attend to these matters; that is what they are paid for." mr. forbes wheeled around in his chair and faced the speaker. "i have hired no subordinates on that basis," he said distinctly. "my orders have been to get all the work possible out of a clerk, and when they were incompetent or in any way useless, turn them out and get new ones, and i believe that i have acted with the full consent of my partners." mr. day looked crestfallen for about a minute. "oh, if you put it that way, why, of course, mr. forbes. we could not expect to sell our goods with a lot of dummies behind our counters." "we've had worse than 'dummies,'" spoke up mr. denton. "we've had skeletons and lunatics and almost corpses! just go down and look at them, men, women and children! there's not ten healthy human beings on any floor in the building; yet they came to us, many of them, glowing with health, like miss marvin." "are they worse than at other stores?" asked mr. day, sullenly. "i don't know," was the answer; "but that doesn't matter." "they get their pay regularly," said mr. forbes. "further, we do not solicit their services, nor compel them to stay with us." "no; we merely take advantage of their wretched conditions to secure their services cheap," said mr. denton bitterly; "then instead of bettering their lot we grind them lower and lower, until at last they die either forgiving or cursing us." there was another silence more oppressive than the first; then mr. day rose slowly and started to leave the office. "we are exciting ourselves foolishly, i think," he said loftily; "neither you nor i, my partners, can hope to remedy the conditions of labor." he closed the door softly, and was free from the unpleasant atmosphere of the office. as he did so, a young girl stepped out of the elevator and walked directly to the door which he had just closed behind him. he turned and looked at her--she was as a saint. almost instinctively it came to him what his partner had said, that she was "not afraid of work and was honestly religious." "pshaw! what nonsense!" he muttered. "think of our patterning after a saint! it is strange how death will upset some men, but they'll get over it when they hear the money jingling!" he opened the door to his private office just as a boy came upstairs with a message from mr. gibson. "mr. watkins was taken to the hospital last night," it read; "are we expected to do anything? there's a reporter from the _herald_." "i'll send down the answer in a moment," he said to the boy, "or, wait; tell mr. gibson to say that we are looking into the case, and if our employee is found to be deserving he will be cared for by the firm. the reporter can call again if he wishes anything further." with the note in his hand he went back to the superintendent's office. chapter xviii. faith becomes an object of jealousy. as mr. day opened the office door with the message in his hand, he hesitated for a moment, in something like bewilderment. faith marvin was standing before his partners with a paper in her hand, and just as he entered she was speaking eagerly. "we would be so thankful if you would do this, gentlemen--even for half a day, if you cannot spare a whole one. you see, poor miss jennings has no family, only a crippled brother, so we clerks are really her brothers and sisters. she was a dear, good girl; so patient and resigned. if we could lay her in the grave ourselves it would be a sweet and solemn pleasure." she turned from one of the men to the other with her appealing glance, even including mr. day as he stood irresolute upon the threshold. mr. forbes was the first to recover his voice. the girl's appearance and the petition had made them both dumb for a minute. "it can't be done, miss marvin," he said, curtly. "it would be establishing a precedent; isn't it so, mr. denton?" "but surely, mr. forbes, such a precedent would do no harm!" cried faith quickly. "poor mary is the first clerk who has died in the store, you know. it isn't at all likely that there will be any others." mr. forbes stared at her curiously. he was not exactly angry. as she stood supplicatingly before him, she was radiantly beautiful. "why not have it in the evening?" suggested mr. denton. he had found his voice at last, and came to the superintendent's rescue. "the girls are so tired at night," said faith, sighing. "i thought of that--but it did not seem advisable." "we might arrange for a few of you to be away on that day. surely, you were not all miss jennings' friends; there is no excuse for the whole store going into mourning." mr. forbes spoke decidedly and with a little of his old crustiness. the spell of the girl's magnetism was beginning to leave him. "that would mean extra work for the clerks who remained," was faith's desperate answer, "and poor mary would be the first to object to that. their duties are hard enough now. oh, no, sir; i am sure that would not be thought of for a minute. if there is work to be done, we will all stay and do it, but if you only would relieve us for a few hours, we would be deeply grateful." "it wouldn't do at all, mr. forbes!" mr. day spoke, if anything, more pompously than ever. "pardon me, but we have lost one day this week. we can't afford another." "that settles it," said the superintendent, wheeling around in his chair. "you will please return to your duties, miss marvin; we cannot allow your petition." faith walked slowly from the office with the tears springing to her eyes. before she reached the ribbon counter a floor walker stepped up to her. she had never seen him before, but recognized him at once as the mr. gunning whom she had heard the girls say belonged in that department, but was away just then upon a short vacation. "you have been gone more than fifteen minutes, no. 411," he said, sharply. "hurry over to your counter; miss fairbanks wishes to see you." faith looked at him timidly. he was a silly looking young man who wore a flaming red necktie and curled the ends of his mustache. "another tyrant," thought faith, but she only bowed respectfully. already in her short term of service she was getting used to tyrants. "i am going to put you in miss jennings' place for a day or two," was the buyer's greeting. "i am short of girls, so you will have to do. miss jones will tell you what you don't know about the stock, and i hope you'll be very careful in your measurement of the ribbon." "i will do my best," said faith, very sadly. she was soon standing behind the counter, a full-fledged saleswoman. for some reason there had been nothing said about the half day that she had lost, but faith knew only too well that she would be heavily fined for her absence. still, it was better than being discharged. she accepted the alternative thankfully. if bob hardy was in the store he kept out of the ribbon department, for faith looked around for him nervously several times, and was greatly relieved when she did not see him. once she overheard two cash girls talking about the robbery in the office, and as they mentioned the name of watkins she paused involuntarily and listened. "they say he's got brain fever," said one of the girls. "well, i'd think he'd be crazy with all that's happened." "it must be awful," said the other girl. "why, his brother was only a kid, and, to think, he stole five hundred dollars!" faith almost gasped for breath at this information. she tried to speak to the girl, but her lips and tongue seemed palsied. she understood now what poor mr. watkins had suffered, and to think she had distrusted him--even for one brief second! several times during the forenoon she saw maggie brady watching her, and the hatred in her eyes was too plain for faith not to see and understand thoroughly. her first thought was to see maggie and explain her conversation with james denton, but she thought better of it later, and decided to keep silent. miss fairbanks was plainly upset and nervous. she scolded the girls constantly, and seemed irritated beyond measure. whether mr. gunning's presence was responsible for this nervousness faith could not tell, but it was plain that the two were on bad terms with each other. on the other hand, mr. gunning had many friends in the department. miss jones smiled at him frequently, as did several of the others. faith was standing erect behind her counter when a sharp-looking woman came up. she began asking to see ribbons of various widths and colors. faith tried to wait upon her as rapidly as possible, but as she was not familiar with the stock, she got sadly muddled. "how long have you been here?" asked the woman suddenly. "only about two hours at this counter," said faith, sadly. "i am very sorry, but i am afraid i have not waited on you properly." "do you mean that you are a new girl altogether?" asked the woman. faith glanced up innocently, and saw both miss fairbanks and the floorwalker scowling at her. as quick as their eyes met miss fairbanks made a signal. it was as plain as day. faith was to answer no questions. the woman was looking at her with her shrewd, sharp eyes. "well, why don't you answer?" she asked, half smilingly. "i was a packer for two days," said faith very softly. she could see no reason why she should not answer the question. as the woman moved away from the counter every eye in the department followed her, and faith noticed how alert all the girls were to wait upon her. as soon as she disappeared miss fairbanks rushed up to faith. "what did she ask you?" she questioned breathlessly; "and what did you tell her?" faith repeated the conversation in open-eyed wonder. when she had finished miss fairbanks breathed a sigh of relief, but her face was still clouded. "i guess they won't blame me for putting in a green girl," she said slowly. "anyway, there was no one else. i'm awfully short-handed as it is." "we ain't to blame if they don't give us help enough," remarked mr. gunning, savagely. "this firm is too stingy to keep a full force of clerks. still, if one of them is sick or dies, there's always a row about changes." "well, if she feels like it, she'll report, and that will mean trouble," said miss fairbanks, sighing; "but perhaps she won't. there are some good-hearted ones among them." "who was she?" asked faith as soon as she got the opportunity. "only one of denton, day & co.'s spies," was the answer. "they are better known in the business as 'private shoppers.'" faith looked aghast at this information. "didn't you ever hear of them before?" asked miss jones, coming up. "why, every store has them; they are a part of the system." "do explain!" cried faith; "i am still in the dark. do you mean that that woman was a regular detective?" "oh, lord, no; she wasn't a detective at all! she's a spy, i tell you, the genuine article! her principal work is to trot around in other stores and learn all she can about their 'specials' and prices, and get all the information possible in order to keep her employers posted on what their rivals are doing, and besides that she is expected to prowl around this store at irregular intervals, and we are not supposed to know that she isn't a legitimate customer. she asks questions and pumps and finds out all we know; then she makes us take down all our goods and put them all back, just to see if we are in the habit of keeping our tempers. oh, she can make life miserable for us if she chooses! a bit of indifference on our part, and up a report goes, straight to the superintendent, and we get bally-hoo from the buyer shortly after! i tell you, we've got to be saints to keep our jobs in this place, but once in awhile, when we get the chance we let out on some safe party--that's the way we square ourselves. we can't always be angels." "i've got a lot to learn," said faith with a sigh, "but i shall always be civil and attentive to my customers, so i don't think i shall have much to fear from that particular direction." at just that moment a messenger boy came along the aisle. he had come from outside, and was looking for some one. "who is it? what do you want?" asked mr. gunning, going forward. "miss faith marvin," said the boy, loudly. "i have a package for her." faith looked up in surprise, as she heard the words. she signed the boy's ticket automatically, and accepted the package. as she did so, a card dropped from under the cord with which it was tied. maggie brady, who was watching her closely, sprang forward and snatched it up in an instant. as she laid it on the counter she fairly trembled with rage. she had read the words which were written on the card. they were simply: "to miss marvin, with the compliments of jas. t. denton." chapter xix. faith gets acquainted with the thief. it was impossible for any one to see maggie brady's face without reading in it how much she hated the girl who she thought had stolen her lover from her. miss fairbanks turned on her heel and walked away laughing, while several of the clerks began jeering maggie quietly. "you are not the only pebble on the beach; did you think you were, mag? there are others, you see! why, you're not one, two, three in jim denton's good graces!" "off with the old and on with the new! there's no one proves the truth of that proverb oftener than a certain young man i could mention! however, maggie, don't throw up the sponge! you've got the first claim on jim denton--why don't you let him know it?" faith listened to these words in utter amazement. she was distressed beyond measure that this unfortunate thing should have happened. she was glad enough when a number of customers came in. she was beginning to dread these occasional lulls in business. maggie brady had not said a word in reply to any of the taunts, but her face had paled until the two spots of rouge on her cheeks gave her a ghastly look that was positively shocking. faith felt so sorry for the girl that she did not know what to do, but there was no time to waste in thinking, for she was being addressed by a customer. "my dear, can you tell me where that young lady is--number 89, i think, they called her. she waited on me so nicely the other day that i would like to see her again if there is no objection." before she had finished speaking faith had recognized her. it was the kind old lady whom miss jennings had dragged behind the counter during the excitement about the fire. she had said at that time that she would not forget her. faith's ready tears had already sprung into her eyes, but she managed to tell the good woman what had happened. when she finished speaking the lady looked terribly grieved. she could not speak for a moment--she was so shocked and indignant. "that settles my shopping in this place any more," she said finally. "i will not trade in a store where my sister women are so badly treated." faith saw her opportunity, so she hurriedly told her about the petition, and how the house that had closed its doors because a son of the junior partner died would not spare half a day to let its employees attend the funeral of a comrade. "what a shame!" said the lady, carefully lowering her voice. "what a pity that the public should not know of all these things. i am sure it would result in their losing many customers." "if there was only some way to make them more considerate," said faith sadly, "and i am sure there is--i am praying for them daily." "dear, dear, you don't say!" said the lady, a little surprised. "why, it is strange that i did not think of that before, for i am accustomed to going to the lord with everything!" "oh, i am so glad to hear that!" cried faith impetuously. "then you will help me to pray for the firm that employs me! it may be that god will touch their hearts. we must do our best and then be patient." "you are a brave young girl and a wise one," said the lady. "many who are much older than you have not learned that lesson." the customers were beginning to push and crowd about the counter, so the old lady went away to allow faith to wait upon them. as she left the department, mr. gunning bowed to her politely. "one of our best customers," he remarked to miss fairbanks as he passed her. at luncheon time there was none of the usual laughter in the cloak-room. the girls were all thinking of miss jennings and talked almost in whispers. in a very few minutes faith saw a young woman come in. it was the girl who had stolen the piece of jewelry on the day of the fire and for whom miss jennings had pleaded so successfully. when faith saw her she felt a thrill to the very tips of her fingers. it was a thrill of thankfulness that she had not denied the dead girl's request to show mercy to the poor sinner who had been so wronged by her parents. as soon as she could she walked over and stood by the girl. she was a sallow brunette but her features were regular and delicate. "do you mind my talking to you a little?" faith asked softly. "you see, i know almost no one in the store except miss jennings, and now that she is gone i am very lonely." "why, no, i don't mind your talking to me, why should i? i guess it ain't necessary to wait for an introduction. got anything in particular you want to say to me?" the girl's answer was prompt, but not at all unpleasant. "oh, no; that is, not now," said faith very quickly. "i just want to get acquainted. you know i could see you plainly when i was a packer and, well, i liked your looks and that's about all there is to it." while she was speaking, faith was conscious of a change in the girl's face. she was evidently trying to read her to see if there was anything behind this desire for an acquaintance. faith tried to smile brightly as she looked into her eyes. she knew that she must win this girl's friendship if she wished to help her. "let's sit down here," said the young woman shortly. "i like this corner; it's lighter than the others." they both sat down and opened their baskets, and while they hurriedly swallowed their luncheon, they talked a little. "my name is faith marvin and i have miss jennings' place at present at the ribbon counter. i wrote that petition that you signed this morning. isn't it too bad that the firm will not grant us that sacred privilege of accompanying our dead friend to her last resting place?" faith had introduced herself as well as she could, and now waited for her companion to follow her example. "my name is lou willis and i hate funerals," said the girl. "i can't see why in the world you ever wrote that petition." the words startled faith; they were so sharp and unfeeling. "why--you signed the petition," she said after a minute. "oh, of course i signed it, but can't you see why, you ninny? if we get a day off i'll go somewhere on a lark! you don't catch this chicken attending any funerals." faith was so shocked this time that she could not speak, but the girl rattled on without apparently noticing it. "i'm not one of your milk and water sunday school girls! if i ever get religious at all i'll join the salvation army! do you know that's a great scheme, that salvation army? you get six dollars a week and your husband picked out for you. really, that's a great inducement, marvin, when you come to think of it! i'd never be able to pick out a husband myself. i'm what they call too--too--oh--you know--fickle!" faith forgot to eat, she was so astonished. this was a type of woman that she had never dreamed of. was she joking or serious? faith could not decide. as she sat pondering and staring, her companion went on talking calmly. "that maggie brady has it in for you, they tell me--but say, for goodness sake, how did you manage to cut her out with jim denton? why, he's been sweet on mag for at least three months, and that's a long time for jim. i really began to think he was serious." she paused to take a mouthful of bread and butter, so faith attempted to speak. the words came slowly, for she was a little uncertain how to say them. "i am sorry if miss brady does not like me, i am sure. but you are wrong, miss willis. i have not 'cut her out' with mr. denton. on the contrary, i have never spoken to the young man but once, and that was yesterday, when he suggested that i write that petition." "but he sent you a package to-day," said the girl, staring. "he must be badly smitten to be sending presents in such a hurry." "it was only a box of candy," said faith, hastily. "i gave it to one of the cash girls. i don't understand what made him send it." "you must be silly if you don't," said the girl, laughing harshly. at just that instant maggie brady passed close by them, and miss willis seeing her, raised her voice a little. "why, he is in love with you, of course," she said, with one eye on maggie. "if he wasn't he wouldn't be sending you boxes of candy." "hush!" cried faith. "you are cruel! how could you, miss willis!" for answer the girl broke into peals of laughter. "oh, i just love mag brady--that's why i said it i can't you see for yourself how much i love her?" chapter xx. another talk with james denton. poor faith was driven to desperation now. here was a situation far beyond her wisdom. that the girl was a petty thief amounted to almost nothing beside her viciousness and animosity toward her fellow beings. faith was sorely puzzled over what to say, and while she was trying to collect her scattered wits miss willis poured out a little more of her venom. "if there's a girl in this place i hate it's mag brady," she said candidly, "and she knows it, you bet! i haven't tried to conceal it! i'm different from mag, i hit straight out from the shoulder! she's a sneak and a coward; she'll wait till it's dark before she fights you! you see you haven't been out in the world long enough to read people yet, but i have, i'm a regular veteran in the army of evil." she laughed loudly as she finished, as though her words were highly amusing. to be experienced in the ways of evil seemed to her to be the highest possible recommendation. "i hope i shall never know any more about sin than i do now," said faith soberly, "but really, i seem to be learning more and more every day." "it won't hurt you," responded her companion patronizingly. "you've got to hold your own, you know; if you don't you go to the bottom. the world is full of sharks and so is this store. the sooner you find it out the better it will be for you." faith saw that the girl was growing serious now. what she said was intended to be for faith's good; whether it was good advice or not, it was the best she had to offer. "hello!" cried miss willis suddenly. "do my eyes deceive me, or is that really a plumber that i see over in that corner?" she raised her voice so that every one heard her, and a clerk in the opposite corner made haste to answer her: "that's what it is all right, lou, a real, live plumber! the board of health has come to its senses at last, and, thanks to that government inspector, we are going to have some 'modern improvements.'" "i hope we'll have basins enough to go around," cried another voice, "and perhaps there'll be an occasional glimpse of a really clean towel." "oh, you mustn't expect too much," answered the plumber, laughing. "i only got orders to do a little puttering. it's just a bluff they are chucking; it won't cost them much if nothin'." "which means that you can't get rich all at once!" cried miss willis, grinning. "well, i'm sorry you can't squeeze a fairly good sum out of our nice, generous employers." faith went back to her counter, feeling sad at heart. she was beginning to question the wisdom of her mercy toward miss willis. "i don't believe that anything would ever change her heart," she whispered to herself, and then a great wave of shame swept over her as she felt that she had questioned the power of the almighty. she stepped behind the counter just in time to see miss fairbanks changing the prices on a lot of special ribbons, but before she could ask any questions miss jones came up to her. "there's a milliner in this block who is selling those same ribbons for fifty cents a yard," she said, "and of course, denton, day & co. are not going to stand that; they are going to undercut her in everything until they break up her business. you see, if we sell them for thirty-nine cents, she'll have to come down, which will mean that she'll lose a whole lot of money." "but won't denton, day & co. be losing money, too?" asked faith. she was a little too green to quite see the logic of this action. "not a cent," was the somewhat surprising answer. "you see, they buy in such large quantities that they get it cheaper than she does; but even if they didn't, they could still make it up on some other goods, while she, poor soul, has no way of squaring her losses." faith's eyes opened wide as she listened to this explanation. "that is exactly what they did with my father," she said slowly. "they undercut his prices so that he could not sell his books, then when his bills came due he could not pay them. oh, the thing is perfectly horrible, miss jones! that poor, poor milliner! oh, how i pity her!" miss jones had listened with considerable surprise. it was the first she had heard of faith's personal grievance against the company. things moved along quietly after that, and faith was kept very busy, but through the whole afternoon she was thinking of that ribbon. every time a roll of it was sold a weight seemed added to her burdens. when she was obliged to sell it herself she felt that she was personally perpetrating a wrong on the milliner. it was a terrible day, taken altogether, for so much misery and anxiety were crowded into it that she felt ten years older when the gong sounded for closing. "can you tell me what hospital mr. watkins was taken to, dear?" she asked of one of the little cash girls whom she had heard talking in the morning. "don't know," said the child. "i didn't hear. but he's pretty near dead, i guess, and his brother is a thief. he--" "hush, child!" cried faith, quickly. "don't talk about that, please! it can't do any good, and--and perhaps some one has been mistaken! it's better to say nothing! until one knows for sure. poor mr. watkins! he is indeed in sore trouble!" "mr. watkins is resting very comfortably, miss marvin," said a voice just behind her. she turned around quickly and confronted young denton. "oh, have you seen him?" asked faith, in genuine delight. "i just dropped in at the office; they wouldn't let me see him," was the answer; "but i learned that there was a chance for him--he was what they call 'comfortable.'" "i am glad to hear that," said faith, moving slowly away. they had been standing at the head of the stairs which led down to the cloak-room, and she expected every minute that maggie brady would see them. "don't go just yet, miss marvin," urged mr. denton, hastily. "i've just arranged about that funeral; it is to be to-morrow evening." "where?" asked faith softly. "at the undertaker's," was the answer. "he has a private room for just such purposes. he will bury her the next morning." "that will be better than i thought," said faith, very slowly. "i will tell all the girls i know and ask them to tell the others." "here's the programme or whatever you choose to call it," said mr. denton, sneering a little. "the firm got ahead of us this time, miss marvin." he held out an evening paper as he spoke so that faith could see it. with a cry of horror the young girl read the headline. it was a regular "scare head," reaching across two full columns: "denton, day & co.'s generosity to an employee!" "a poor girl's funeral that will cost the firm a large sum of money!" "how's that for hypocrisy?" asked the young man, still sneering. "i say, miss marvin, how would you like to be the child of such a father?" for the first time in her life faith could not rebuke disrespect. in spite of herself she could not help sympathizing with the sentiments of the young fellow. "oh, it is terrible!" she whispered in a heart-broken voice. "poor miss jennings would rather have been buried in 'potter's field,' i really believe, than under such conditions!" "well, i'm mighty disgusted," said young denton, bitterly, "although i'm sure i don't know what's got into me to care about it!" "i guess you never knew just how you felt before," said faith sweetly. "sometimes it takes a shock of some kind to bring us to our senses." "well, i'm shocked all right," said young denton, quickly. "why, when dad told me about that dying girl saying so distinctly that she forgave him, it went through me like a knife! cut me up worse, i believe, than it did the governor!" "did it really disturb your father?" asked faith, very eagerly. "i should say it did!" remarked mr. denton, soberly. "why, the man can't eat nor sleep! i believe her spirit is haunting him!" chapter xxi. a change in mr. denton. "well, hardy what have you found out about the watkins family? something satisfactory, i hope!" mr. forbes spoke to the detective with unusual good nature. but hardy closed the office door and advanced to the desk where the superintendent was sitting. "on the contrary, sir; i have found things very unsatisfactory," was his answer. "watkins is in the hospital, half dead from brain fever, his mother is a feeble old woman without a penny, and as for that young scamp who stole your money, he's among the missing--he's vamoosed entirely!" "well, why don't you find him?" asked mr. forbes, a little less pleasantly. "that's what i told you to do! didn't you understand my orders?" "i haven't had time to find him," muttered the detective, sullenly. "he's been spirited away. i think he's out of the city." "so you see no way of getting back that three hundred dollars. well, there's got to be a way! we can't afford to lose it!" "lose what?" asked mr. denton, coming in just then. mr. forbes hastily repeated the detective's information. "you say the mother is penniless and young watkins critically ill? well, i should think that was trouble enough for one family," said mr. denton slowly. "mr. forbes, it is my wish that you should stop right here! i wish you to drop the matter of the money completely." "what!" mr. forbes wheeled around in his chair and stared at his partner. "i mean it," said mr, denton, "and, what is more, i command it! as senior partner of this firm i expect my orders to be respected!" mr. forbes made a heroic effort at self-control. when he could trust his voice he attempted to answer. "perhaps you have forgotten, mr. denton, that we are drawing on our funds very heavily this week. there are those alterations in the basement to satisfy the board of health and two hundred dollars for that miss jennings' funeral. neither of these expenses would have been incurred if i had not been absent so much of late; but is it wise, do you think, to add to these the three hundred that sam watkins robbed us of?" mr. denton seemed to ignore the last half of the sentence. his mind was dwelling upon the other things mentioned. "what i have not forgotten, mr. forbes, is this," he said, quietly: "that funeral that you speak of has given us one of the biggest free 'ads.' that this firm has ever enjoyed. why, the space it occupies in one paper alone is worth at least a thousand dollars! and, so far as the alterations are concerned--well, i have just ordered them stopped. i'm going to close up that room to employees altogether!" if the sky had fallen mr. forbes could not have been any more surprised. even the hardened detective almost gasped in astonishment. "but you have no right to do this," growled mr. forbes. "you should consult your partners in such matters, mr. denton." mr. denton smiled grimly at the angry man's words. "you are partners, nominally, yes," he said slowly, "but i hardly think it would pay either you or mr. day to oppose me." his words were very true, as mr. forbes well knew. both he and mr. day were deeply indebted to their senior partner. he "owned them body and soul," as many persons would express it. "i have been doing a lot of thinking in the past two days, mr. forbes," went on mr. denton, "but as you would hardly appreciate my sentiments, i will keep my thoughts to myself a little longer. here, hardy, you are excused from the watkins affair! go back to your duties in the store, and see that you are very careful not to annoy any innocent persons." bob hardy made his way out of the office almost in a daze. he had been in the service of the store ever since it was opened, but such instructions as these meant a brand-new departure. "i wonder what the deuce has got into him, anyway," he muttered. "he talks like a man that's got struck with religion!" as he walked slowly down the stairs to the first floor of the building he met a brother detective, who stared at him curiously. "what's the matter, hardy? look's if you'd had a shock! been havin' a set-to with old forbes, i'll bet a dollar!" "you're wrong," was hardy's answer. "it was the old man this time. there's something wrong with the boss. i think he's getting religion!" "get out! you don't mean it!" said the other fellow, contemptuously. "don't i?" said hardy. "well, you just listen to this!" he repeated the conversation that had just taken place in the superintendent's office. "whew! that does sound like it!" said his companion, whose name was ben tyler. "he's off his trolley completely, especially about the money!" "well, that makes two trow-downs i've got this week," said hardy, sourly, "but i got the fifty from that masher that i was telling you about! you remember, the swell that calls himself captain deering?" "yes, i remember," laughed tyler. "so he caught his bird, did he, or, rather, you caught her for him!" "i guess it worked all right," said hardy, slowly. "he met her and talked with her, and that's usually enough. still, he was glum as an oyster when he gave me the money." "mr. hardy," called a voice at the foot of the stairs. "come down, quick; you are wanted! there's a shop-lifter over in the hosiery department!" mr. hardy stopped long enough to hear the words, then he made his way directly to the department mentioned. he paused at the counter and began examining some goods, and as he did so one of the clerks came up to him as though she expected to wait on him. "is this the one?" muttered the detective under his breath, at the same time making a slight motion toward the woman. "can't say," whispered the clerk. "i just missed the goods. there were six pairs of hose--they all went together." hardy glanced again at the woman, whose face was drawn and haggard. she was by far the poorest customer at the counter. "'taint's no use tacklin' them others," he whispered to the clerk, "for if i ever nabbed a rich one she'd make things lively for me--but i guess it's the poor one that's got 'em, anyway." "she looks desperate," answered the clerk, leaning over the counter. "and, you know, she could sell 'em and make a little something." hardy nodded knowingly, with his keen glance still on the woman. as she moved slowly away from the counter he followed her at a distance. five minutes later she had reached the ribbon department. as she stopped at the counter faith went forward to wait on her. "i would like a yard of white ribbon, miss," said the poor woman timidly. "this cheap ribbon, please, for i haven't much money. it's to go on the shroud of a poor dead neighbor." faith measured the ribbon quickly and made out a check. as she turned for the woman's money she smiled at her pleasantly. the next moment bob hardy stepped forward and tapped the woman on the shoulder. "you are wanted in the office, madam," he said, very rudely. "you've been stealing goods in the store, and have got them in your pocket!" with a cry of terror the poor woman looked up into his face. "it is false!" she cried wildly. "i never stole a penny's worth in my life! oh, miss, don't let him touch me! i'm an honest woman!" in a second faith darted from her place behind the counter. when she reached the aisle she threw her arms around the woman. "stand back, bob hardy! don't you dare to touch her!" she cried, sharply. "are you so blinded with wickedness that you can't see she is honest?" chapter xxii. the beginning of the harvest. as faith wrapped her arms around the woman mr. denton appeared in the department. he was just in time to hear her ringing question. there were a dozen or more customers standing around the counters, and they all stood staring in wide-eyed astonishment. mr. denton saw that something must be done at once. it would never do to have a scene like this in the store, for, besides stopping business, it was productive of mischief. in an instant he realized that he had to deal with faith, for the woman was clinging to the girl and imploring her protection. he went forward at once and spoke as calmly as possible. "take her up to the office, miss marvin, and quiet her if you can. she shall not be harmed. i have no doubt she is innocent." "and i know she isn't," blurted out hardy, angrily. he was frantic to think that the woman might escape him. "well, whether she is or not, she will be treated kindly," said mr. denton. "so use your power to make her go quietly, miss marvin." as he said these words he looked straight at faith, and the thankfulness in her eyes repaid him in an instant. "come, my friend," she said sweetly. "come with me to the office. there is nothing to be afraid of. you will only have to prove your innocence." the woman checked her sobs and went willingly. faith's manner had calmed her fears in great measure. mr. hardy followed them to make his accusations, and mr. denton led them all to his own private office. as soon as they were there a woman detective was sent for, and the supposed shop-lifter was taken behind a screen and searched thoroughly. while this was being done faith was bursting with indignation. "just think of an innocent person being subjected to such an outrage!" she cried. "oh, mr. denton, is there not some other way to do this?" "i wish there was," said that gentleman shortly, "for our detective's mistakes have already cost us several thousand dollars." "i don't wonder," said faith. "a woman could hardly forgive such an insult, but your detective is capable of far worse, mr. denton; he is a very wicked man. i think it is my duty to denounce him." if a thunder-bolt had fallen at his feet hardy could hardly have been more astonished. he had not dreamed that the timid girl would dare tell what he had done, particularly as she had acquiesced, as he supposed, in his vile suggestion. mr. denton glanced at her sharply, but she did not quail, although her cheeks were scarlet over the unpleasant remembrance. "eh! what has hardy done? tell me at once, miss marvin. you will never have a better time than when he is present to hear you." "oh, i would never tell it behind his back," said faith. "i always deal fairly and squarely, even with my enemies." as she spoke, she looked hardy steadily in the eye. he saw that she would treat him justly, but with no mercy. it was a difficult matter for faith to tell her tale, but she did it in a way that was absolutely convincing. "and, oh, mr. denton," she cried in conclusion, "is it not enough that we girls have to work so hard without being subjected to such vile, unspeakable horrors?" mr. denton put his hands to his temples and pressed them hard for a moment. the girl's words had overwhelmed him with the full sense of his negligence. to be able to prevent all or many of these evils and then to be indifferent, thoughtless, neglectful. it had all come to him at once--while the girl was speaking, just as the first tinge of remorse had come when miss jennings was dying. hardy was standing like a statue, his face purple with anger. it was useless for him to speak. he was convicted without evidence. mr. denton had not replied when the poor woman was led out. she had been searched thoroughly by the woman detective, but there were no stolen goods about her. "that settles it, hardy. you can go," said mr. denton wearily. "the cashier will pay you. i am done with your services." "oh no!" faith gave utterance to a pitiful cry. hardy turned and glared at her a second and then left the office. "oh, i did not mean to get him discharged," groaned faith. "perhaps a little more mercy would have been far better." "he deserves no mercy," said mr. denton, shortly. there was a decision in his words that was quite contrary to his nature. the poor woman slipped away thankfully with a grateful smile at faith, and she was left alone with mr. denton. it was the moment she had been praying for, and faith did not intend to lose it without a moment's hesitation she spoke softly to her employer. "please, mr. denton, may i say a few words more? they are not busy downstairs. i am sure they'll not need me." "say what you wish," was the answer, and faith hurried on. her very soul was on her lips as the words fell from them. "there are so many things that might be done to improve the conditions for the girls--so much that would add to their happiness and comfort! and it would not take a penny from their sales, either, sir, for surely a clerk that is well and satisfied with her surroundings will be far more courteous to her customers as well as more loyal to her employers. if they could only sit down and rest now and then! it is awful to stand so many long hours. we grow faint and sick, and our backs ache terribly. why, i have only been in the store a few days, yet last night i could not sleep, i was so lame and weary." she paused for breath, and then hurried on. mr. denton had turned his face away, but was listening intently. "there are all sorts and kinds of girls in the store, mr. denton; some are good and pure, while others are reckless and even vicious. poor things, they have nothing behind them but memories of sorrow, and there is nothing ahead of them but hard work and trouble. it seems to me god never meant us to have it so hard--if he had he would have made our nerves and our muscles stronger. i think he meant us to do our share of work in the world, but he made men to protect us from the real drudgery of life, whether they were our fathers, brothers, husbands or employers. of course, i am only a child in years, but it has all been forced upon me by a single week in the store. i have seen more sorrow in three days than i ever dreamed of, and i am praying night and day to be able to relieve it." she came to a dead stop with the tears choking her voice. the next instant mr. denton rose and patted her on the shoulder. "bless you, child, you have shown me my duty at last!" he said, hoarsely. "i have neglected it long enough, but, with the help of god, i will neglect it no longer." faith gave a cry of joy as she heard the words. "oh, my prayers have been answered, dear mr. denton!" she cried. "i have been begging god to let me be his torch-bearer on earth, to carry the light into the dark places where it is so much needed, to banish with its glow all the shadows of evil!" chapter xxiii. miss jennings' funeral. the rest of the day passed very pleasantly to faith. she was so over-joyed at mr. denton's expressions in the morning that it seemed as if nothing could depress her spirits. the "peace that passeth understanding," had come into her heart, and even maggie brady's glances of hatred failed to cause her more than a passing sorrow. that evening she hurried home, and had tea with her mother; then, taking little dick between them, they went to the undertaker's establishment to be present at the funeral of miss jennings. as they reached the place faith was surprised to see mr. day. he was standing on the steps talking to two young men, whose appearance indicated that they were newspaper reporters. both faith and her mother were heavily veiled, and as they mounted the steps it was apparent to faith that she was not recognized by her employer. as they passed she heard him speaking in a most affable manner. there were only a few words, but they made faith shudder. "we hope this sad occurrence will prove beneficial to our employees," he said blandly, "for they are apt to be thoughtless in religious matters." "did you hear that, mother?" faith whispered the question softly. "he's a hypocrite," answered her mother, with a moan of horror. "just think, faith, he is one of the men who ruined your father." the room in which the casket lay was well filled with young women, but not half of their faces were familiar to faith, although she concluded rightfully that they had all known miss jennings. "can you sing, miss?" asked a gentleman in black whom faith saw at once was the undertaker. "i have secured a minister, but they did not allow me for singers." "i'll try," said faith, with a sob in her throat. "i can sing some of the moody and sankey hymns if you think they will be suitable." "one will do," said the gentleman. "sing it right after the prayer. i expect the others will all join in if you select a familiar one." faith nodded her head and looked around the room again. she soon saw miss fairbanks, miss jones and one or two others with whom she had spoken during her brief period of service. mr. gibson came in just then with another reporter. the young man was taking down in shorthand what mr. gibson told him. "it is the first death that has ever occurred in the store, and consequently the firm is much distressed over it," said mr. gibson. "they are remarkably considerate of their employees, and this poor girl was a consumptive; she was ill when we hired her." "do you pay all the expenses?" asked the reporter, without looking up. "certainly, certainly!" said mr. gibson. "the firm is extremely generous in all such matters." the reporter left just as the minister entered. it was apparent that for some reason mr. gibson intended to remain as representative of the firm. poor little dick cried miserably for the first few minutes, but he finally fell asleep on mrs. marvin's bosom. after the clergyman had spoken a few simple words, and offered a fervent prayer, there was a moment of solemn, breathless silence. some one entered softly. it was mr. denton. faith had no opportunity to look at his face, for mr. davis, the undertaker, signaled her that it was time for the hymn. almost without realizing it the young girl rose and went over to the coffin. as she caught sight of the dead girl's face she seemed to receive an inspiration direct from heaven. her voice was a soft, sweet contralto, and had been carefully trained. as she sounded the first note the silence in the room seemed deeper than ever. not a voice joined in to help her with the hymn, for the girls were all spell-bound at such unexpected music. with her eyes bent lovingly on her dead friend's face, faith finished the verse of the hymn she had selected, but as she reached the refrain she raised her eyes beseechingly, and her glance fell directly upon the bowed head of mr. denton. "it profiteth nothing, and fearful the cost to gain the whole world if thy soul shall be lost--" the words rang from her lips like the peal of a bell. there was prayer, supplication, eagerness in every intonation. as the last note died away several of the girls burst out crying, and mr. denton raised his head and looked at her. faith took her seat calmly. the inspiration had not left her. she felt lifted up in soul into a higher atmosphere, where there was no pain or sorrow--only tenderness and rejoicing. the rest followed swiftly. the last farewell to the departed; with poor dick moaning and sobbing, the ladies turned their footsteps homeward. faith caught a glimpse of mr. denton walking rapidly down the street. the next moment she heard her name spoken, and turned to greet miss dean, the store inspector. "am i too late?" asked miss dean, extending her hand cordially. "i was detained at the last moment. i intended being present at the funeral." "i am sorry you were not," said faith sincerely, then, after introducing her mother and little dick, she made an eager communication. "i really believe, miss dean, that poor mary's death has accomplished great things! i am sure that mr. denton has felt it keenly, and that her dying words have awakened his sleeping conscience." miss dean looked surprised, but did not reply, so faith went on to tell why she thought so. after she had related her conversation with mr. denton in the morning, the lady suddenly put her hand on her arm and looked at her searchingly. "if you have accomplished that, you have indeed worked a miracle," she said, decidedly; "but deeds speak louder than words. we shall see how mr. denton puts his conversation into practice." "oh, that's it," said mrs. marvin, quickly. "practice and precept are quite different things. why, those men are all church members, do you know, miss dean; yet see how little their religion is allowed to influence their lives. it seems as if it was kept only for funerals and sundays." "that has been my observation in nearly every instance," said miss dean, slowly. "i have often said that if i could see a conscientious christian i would be willing to give up some of my present theories." "do tell us one of your theories," said mrs. marvin. "i, too, am very bitter against hypocrisy in the church. i shall be glad if some one else feels the same as i do, for my daughter is constantly reproving me for my distrust and bitterness." "well, for one thing," said miss dean, "i think religion impracticable. no person can follow christ and succeed in any line of business." "i agree with you," exclaimed mrs. marvin, promptly. "the principles of christianity oppose success at every turn. to be christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden." "your daughter does not believe that," said miss dean, smiling. faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them. "is there any success greater than this," she asked, eagerly, "to earn those precious words from the lips of our saviour, 'well done, thou good and faithful servant,' and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?" miss dean stared at the young girl in honest admiration. while she questioned her reasoning, she almost envied her. if a simple faith was so satisfying it was certainly worth having, but to natures like hers this simple faith was impossible. chapter xxiv. mr. denton's ultimatum. when mr. denton left that scene of sorrow in which faith marvin had just played so sweet a role, he could not possibly have described his tumultuous feelings. not a night since that sad death in the cloak-room had he been able to sleep peacefully, and even by day his thoughts were sorely disturbed. it was, as his son had said, as though the spirit of miss jennings was haunting him. he was not a bad-hearted man by any means, but, like hundreds of others, he thought only of his own interests and those of his wife and son, who were very dear to him. out of his own station in life he rarely looked, and the question of equal rights never presented itself to him seriously. now, however, something had taken possession of him which he could not understand. he was beginning to meditate upon the rights of others. as he hurried home after those brief moments at the undertaker's, he went over the scenes of the last few days, trying to determine the causes which led to his perturbation of spirit. first and foremost in his mind was the conversation with the government inspector just before the death of miss jennings. she had taken him seriously to task about the condition of the store, and her words had stung him; they were so earnest and truthful. at the very moment of his entrance to the cloak-room he was mentally censuring himself for his almost criminal thoughtlessness for the consideration of others. then came the dying words and the glance of those death-glazed eyes. he shuddered even now when he recalled them so vividly. since then the awakening of his conscience had come, he had seen himself exactly as he was, a traitor to himself, to humanity, and to his god, and the sight filled him with remorse. he was shamed and repentant. what to do next, was the question of his soul. he could not undo the past, but, thank god, there was still a present and a future! he paced the floor of his library long after his wife and son were in bed, but the next morning at breakfast he told them his decision. mrs. denton was a vain woman, who thought of little but the fashions, and whose time was nearly always taken up with what she termed her "social obligations." her husband's serious words had the effect of frightening her badly. she looked at him anxiously, as though she feared he had gone crazy. with young denton it was different. he was thoroughly astonished and amazed. it was the first time in his life that he had ever heard a word from his father's lips that was not freighted with the so-called wisdom of worldliness. "i have been blind to my duties and opportunities at the store," said mr. denton, in conclusion. "i have been too much occupied with the making and saving of money to bestow a thought upon the higher duties that lay directly in my path--the aiding and protecting of my fellow beings." "well, you'll have your hands full, dad, if you help them all," said young denton when he had recovered a little from his surprise. "i think you ought to do many things differently, of course, but you'll bankrupt yourself if you shoulder all their burdens." his father did not answer. he was thinking seriously. an hour later he was at the field of action, filled with the righteous determination to do his duty. mr. day sat in his office when his partner entered. he was busy with one of the "buyers," so mr. denton stood still and listened. a large pile of "ready-made" garments lay upon a convenient table, and as the buyer talked, he held them up for examination. "i find i can get this grade of goods from a man named finckelstein for ten cents less per garment than i have been getting them from goldberg. they are very well made, and the quality is satisfactory. no one will ever guess that they are not exactly what we advertise. i ordered this lot for closer inspection. if they are satisfactory to you, sir, i will give him a stock order." mr. day mused a little before he replied. meanwhile he was fingering the garments in a critical manner. "umph! isn't there a peculiar odor about these garments, smith?" he asked, after a minute. "i am sure there is! really, i wish you hadn't brought them in here!" "i will take them away immediately, sir," said the buyer, apologetically. "they were made in a 'sweatshop,' you see, so it is quite possible they are permeated with unpleasant odors, but i will have them aired before they are put on the counters." "are you sure they are not permeated with disease?" asked mr. denton, suddenly. "i am told that those 'sweat-shops' are disgustingly dirty places." "oh, the board of health looks after that," said the buyer quickly, "and, besides, i saw a good many of finckelstein's hands--they were mostly clean, respectable looking women." "how much do they get apiece for these?" questioned mr. denton again, as he picked up a garment and held it at arm's length to inspect it. "oh, about forty cents, i guess; and they can make two in a day. there's a good deal of work on them," was the buyer's answer. "what do they cost us?" the question was asked rather sharply. mr. smith consulted his notebook before he answered. "fifty cents in gross lots, and sixty by the dozen. we use a great many; it will ruin goldberg to lose us." "and what do we get for them?" mr. denton was reaching for the price tag now. his brow was almost black as he asked the question. mr. smith looked at him anxiously--he could not quite comprehend him. "two dollars, sir," he answered, smiling--"and they sell like hot cakes. it's the grade of goods that yields us the best profit." mr. denton dropped the garment with a look of horror in his face. "take the things away," he said shortly, "and, see here, smith, don't order any more goods from any of those 'sweat-shops!' i won't have another dollar's worth of them in the building!" the buyer looked amazed, while mr. day turned almost purple. "we make an average of three hundred per cent on every garment, and we have contracts with some 'sweat-shops' or other for a dozen grades of clothing!" "we'll buy them off them at a good round sum; then you hear what i say--no more 'sweat-shops,' mr. smith!" was the calm reply. the buyer bundled up his goods and hurried out of the office. his employer's decision nearly took his breath away. "are you crazy, denton?" cried mr. day, as soon as the door was closed. "is it possible that you have lost your senses completely?" "on the contrary, mr. day," was the serious answer. "the truth is, i have only just come to my senses." he went over and put his finger on an electric button. "tell mr. forbes to come in here," he said to the boy who answered, then he drew three chairs close together, and sat down in one of them. when mr. forbes entered the office it was very plain that he was angry. his features were darkened by a frown that was, to say the least, forbidding. without even noticing his expression mr. denton offered him a chair and then started in to make some astonishing statements. "gentlemen," he said, distinctly, "i have a confession to make. i have already made it to my god, and to my family; it is now fitting and necessary that i make it to my partners. to be as brief as possible, my confession is this: while i have succeeded admirably in laying up treasure on earth, i have woefully failed in laying up treasure in heaven. while i have done my duty from a worldly point of view, by my wife and family, i have been persistently injuring many hundreds of my fellow beings, and showing no consideration whatever for their moral or physical welfare. i thank god that at last i have been led to see the error of my ways, and that there is still time for me to undo in some measure what i have done, and to make amends for the past in the present and future. now, what concerns you in this confession, firstly, is this: as senior member and three-fourths owner in the firm of denton, day & co., i am about to assume the responsibility of its business, and to introduce new methods in its various systems which i have every reason to believe will not meet with your approval. to be absolutely fair and square, i will tell you what a few of these changes will be. i cannot tell them all, because that would be impossible. they will develop day by day as the necessity arises and confronts me. if it is possible i shall run this store in future on a christian basis, or, in other words, on the basis of physical and moral justice, and whether the experiment proves disastrous or successful, i shall follow it to the end. i shall sink or swim as the lord permits me." as he finished, he looked calmly at the faces of his two partners. there was no excitement visible in his manner, except that he breathed a little heavier. for a moment only blank consternation reigned, then mr. day drew himself up with a scornful air, while mr. forbes sat staring at him with his head bowed upon his bosom. "and suppose we do not give our consent to these changes that you speak of?" said mr. day, curtly. "do you forget, mr. denton, that this partnership has still several years to run? whether we own much or little of the capital, we are still your partners!" "and as such you are at liberty to oppose my actions," answered mr. denton, quickly; "but in that case i shall resort to the most extreme measures, for my mind is made up, and my decision final!" chapter xxv. mr. denton gives some orders. at this demonstration of firmness on mr. denton's part, mr. forbes still sat speechless with his head bowed sullenly. mr. day, on the contrary, nearly exploded with wrath, but at each angry suggestion he was met with the same firm refusal. "are we to be made laughing stocks for the whole business world to jeer at?" he asked as he paced the office furiously, "or to be bankrupted through methods that border strongly on insanity? for it is nothing else, mr. denton, but raving lunacy! no man in his sober senses would entertain such a plan for the space of a second! why, your orders about those sweat-shops were simply ridiculous! are we to pay more for our goods than they are really worth, and then make a charity organization of ourselves and give them to our customers?" mr. denton smiled sadly. he was not at all surprised. what amused him most was the demeanor of mr. forbes; he had expected vituperations from him at every point of his confession. "you are free to rid yourself of all association with the firm," was mr. denton's only answer. "i will buy you out at your own figure, mr. day; or, as i said before, i will end the thing at once. i will apply at once to have a receiver appointed." "but i don't wish to be bought out, and i don't wish to dissolve partnership. this store is making a fortune for us all. i would be a fool to throw over such a magnificent investment!" "it profiteth nothing, and fearful the cost, to gain the whole world if thy soul shall be lost!" mr. denton quoted the words soberly, almost reverently. as he did so a vision of faith marvin rose suddenly before him. "pshaw! you have lost your senses, denton!" cried mr. day. "am i to be scared into idiocy by the words of some fanatic?" "you have said nothing, mr. forbes," said mr. denton, turning from mr. day quietly. "i have nothing to say," remarked mr. forbes, gruffly. "it is as mr. day says; you have lost your senses." mr. denton sighed heavily. he was a little disappointed. "you can talk the matter over by yourselves," he said, finally, "and remember, i stand ready to deal fairly by my partners. my loss, if i have one, need not be theirs; you have only to state a willingness to comply or settle." he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. a second later he had arrived at the door of his own office. "please, sir, may i see you a minute, sir?" asked a voice just behind him. he turned and recognized sam watkins, the boy who had stolen the five hundred dollars. "come in, sam," he said, kindly. the child looked at him in surprise. the moment the door closed behind him he burst out crying. "come, come, boy, don't cry! i won't scold you," said mr. denton, smiling. he took sam's hand in his own and patted it encouragingly. "i couldn't help it, sir; indeed, i couldn't!" he blurted out. "poor ma was so sick and needed money so dreadful!" "so you took it for your mother," said mr. denton. "now, tell me the truth, sam; what did you do with the other three hundred dollars?" sam watkins looked up into the gentleman's face. his eyes were red from weeping, but they did not waver. "i lost it, sir," he said, simply. "it was in my coat pocket. you see, i divided the wad, sir, so it wouldn't look so bulky!" "and did your mother scold you?" asked mr. denton, still smiling. the boy's glance fell to the floor and he shifted his feet uneasily. "no, sir, she didn't scold--that is, not exactly," he said, sniffing. "she just talked to me, sir, and then she cried something awful!" mr. denton turned his head away for about a minute. there was something in the boy's story that affected him strangely. the poor woman had wept because her boy had stolen some money, yet rich men smiled complacently over what they called "good bargains," but which in reality were little more than thieving. "how is your brother?" he asked, when he could trust himself to speak. the boy's lips trembled and he began crying before he answered. "he's pretty bad, sir; in the hospital," he whispered, brokenly. "they think he'll die! you see, his sweetheart, miss jennings, died the very day after i stole the money, and the two things, with his hard work, knocked poor fred out completely." "was miss jennings his sweetheart?" asked mr. denton in astonishment. this was a phase of that horror that he had not even dreamed of. "oh, yes, they were sweethearts," said the boy, with a hysterical giggle. "they was awfully in love, but they couldn't afford to get married." mr. denton rose from his desk and paced the office floor. the misery in the situation was even blacker than he had realized. "see here, boy!" he said suddenly. "give me your mother's address, and here's a ten-dollar bill for her. now, go home and take care of her." the boy's face flushed crimson as he refused the money. "i wouldn't dare to take it," he muttered sheepishly. "she'd think i stole it." "then i'll send it by mail," said mr. denton quickly, "and i'll tell her at the same time that we don't mind about the three hundred. we can forgive a boy who only stole to help a sick mother." "oh, sir!" cried the boy. but he could get no farther. the next second he was shaking with a storm of sobs. the agony of his repentance had reached its limit. before he left the building the letter had been posted to his mother through the pneumatic mailing tube that opened in mr. denton's office. mr. denton's next duty was to see his buyers. he was still smarting with indignation over that "sweatshop" horror. in less than an hour he had them all assembled in the receiving-room, which was piled from end to end with the products of underpaid labor. his speech to them was short but decidedly to the point. they were to submit the names of the persons or firms whom they bought of, and receive his express commands concerning all further orders. "i cannot have the souls of these poor creatures on my conscience any longer," he said at the conclusion of his statements. "so, if the public still want these goods, we will make them ourselves and pay those poor seamstresses what they are worth, besides letting them work in cleanly surroundings." "but, mr. denton," spoke up one of the buyers who was a privileged character in the establishment, "that will entail endless work for the cashier's department, as well as work-rooms. as it is now, there is but one bill to pay where by your plan there would be a hundred or more, and, besides, we have no work-rooms to spare; we are already overcrowded." "i know it," replied mr. denton, sadly, "and as i am well aware that reformation, like charity, should 'begin at home,' i must wait a little before putting my plan into action." "my girls will never work with those people, i am sure," remarked the foreman of the work-rooms. "you have no idea what sticklers they are for caste. why, as poor as they are, they turn up their noses at those beneath them!" mr. denton smiled grimly at this information. "they share that failing with the whole human family," he said, slowly. "only a few are exempt from this feeling of scorn; they are the few who have learned to love their fellow-beings, however," he went on more cheerfully, "we who have set them this example of thoughtlessness and neglect must try to undo what we have done by patient precept and example." his hearers stared at him, but they were too polite to reply. it was their opinion that the man had suddenly became deranged. they did not doubt for a moment that they would go on as usual. after a few more arguments as to the impracticability of his suggestions, the men dispersed, casting meaning glances at each other. once beyond his hearing, they talked the startling situation over. not one of them had ever heard of a similar occurrence. mr. denton went back to his office to think a little. when he reached it he found mr. day pacing the floor as he waited for him. "so your decision is final," he bellowed, as mr. denton entered. "you have fully decided to make a fool of yourself and wreck the firm, and all because you have not head enough to keep your religion out of business!" mr. denton's face flushed, but he spoke as calmly as ever. "if religion is needed anywhere, it is needed in business," he said quietly. "if i am a fool at all it is because i did not find it out sooner." "very well, then," roared mr. day. "i refuse to submit to such nonsense! furthermore, as mr. forbes will not hear of dissolution, i shall expect you and him to buy me out at once! i will sell my right, title and interest for one hundred thousand dollars." "but that is four times what you put in," said mr. denton, quickly, "and as you have already been paid a large interest on your investment, your price is exorbitant; are you too angry to see it?" "i should have gotten that out of it before the expiration of the partnership. it is that figure or nothing," said mr. day, doggedly, "and, mind, i will fight against dissolution, tooth and nail, mr. denton. i would be as mad as you are if i did not do so!" "then i will pay you that amount at once, mr. day," said the gentleman. "i will give you a check on my personal bank account and acquire your interest as a private investment. your price is too exorbitant to permit my purchasing it for the firm, but we will attend to the details when mr. forbes is present." chapter xxvi. some startling changes. as the days went by the employees of the big department store became gradually aware that something had happened. the first intimation came from the daily papers, in which was given a more or less truthful account of mr. day's withdrawal from the firm on the grounds that he disapproved of his senior partner's new business methods. what these methods were it remained to be seen. the clerks were hopeful of some reforms, but for a while they only wondered and waited. miss fairbanks stopped at faith's counter early one morning, when the store was comparatively empty, and began talking to her in an unusually affable manner. "there's something going to happen here soon," she said, confidently. "and, in my opinion, it's going to be pretty serious. either mr. denton has got religion, or else he's gone crazy, for he's giving us buyers a lot of orders nowadays that will mean the failure of the firm if we are obliged to obey them." "why, what are they, miss fairbanks?" faith asked in surprise. miss jones came up also and listened for the answer. "well, in the first place, we are not to beat down the drummers any more, but are to offer them fair prices on all our orders. then we are to learn, if possible, who makes the goods that we buy, for mr. denton says he does not want to make a profit out of some poor woman's work while she is going half clothed and perhaps sick and starving." "why, the man is stark mad," said miss jones, in amazement. "as if it was any concern of his what other people work for!" "i think he is quite right," remarked faith, very soberly. "i can understand how he feels, and i think he is very brave to give such orders." "then he says," went on miss fairbanks, "that there are to be new arrangements for you girls. you are to be relieved every two hours for about twenty minutes. that means, of course, that he is going to hire a lot of new help, and i, for one, am sorry, for there'll be blunders by the hundred." "oh, perhaps not," said faith, brightly. "i hope not, anyway, for your sake, miss fairbanks. i know just how annoying it is for you, who have so many clerks to look after." miss fairbanks looked at her gratefully, but with a little surprise. it was not often that one of her girls expressed any sympathy for her. "then, there's to be a full hour at luncheon," continued the buyer after a minute, "and the best of all is that we are to have a new lunch-room. no more eating in that rat hole down in the basement." "well, that is good news," said miss jones delightedly. "really, i begin to think that the millennium is coming!" "or the kingdom of god," said faith, very happily. "there is no doubt in my mind but that mr. denton has become a christian." both women stared at her as she spoke, but, for a wonder, neither of them scoffed at her statement. miss fairbanks recovered herself first and asked a very natural question. "what do you mean by saying that he has become a christian? why, mr. denton has been a member of the church ever since i can remember." "alas!" sighed faith sadly. "that doesn't always signify, miss fairbanks. he may have accepted christ but not christ's spirit; but it is plain now that the very essence of godliness is awakening within him. if this is so i can predict that there will be great changes in this store and that every one will be for the comfort of its toilers." a few customers coming in cut short the conversation, and as maggie brady was absent the department was short-handed, as usual, so that there was only an odd minute or two for idling. "i wonder if miss brady is ill?" said faith as she squeezed by miss jones in the narrow space behind the counter. "it will go hard with her if she doesn't show up pretty soon," was the answer, "for between you and me, i believe gunning hates her." "oh, these dreadful hatreds," said faith, with a sigh. "poor miss brady looks so wretched. i don't see how any one can hate her." "well, you see, she was engaged to gunning once, and she might better have married him than to have thrown herself away on jim denton." cash girl number 83 came up as she spoke. she was the girl who had first told faith that mr. watkins was very ill and in the hospital, and it was evident by her manner that she had something else to tell her. "what is it, 83?" asked faith, expectantly. "have you heard any news of mr. watkins' condition?" "yes, and i've heard more'n that," said the little girl quickly, "but i won't spring it all on you at once, for it might shock you, miss marvin." faith was puzzled at her words, but she tried to restrain her eagerness until the girl had given a package to a customer and come back to the counter. "mr. watkins is better--lots better," she said, gayly. "they say the boss has been to see him in his howling swell carriage, and they've fixed up the matter about the money all right; they must have, because sammy watkins is back in his old position." "oh, that is lovely," cried faith, clasping her hands together. "well, the rest ain't so lovely!" said the cash girl, grinning, "for i saw mag brady on the street last night. she was drunk as a toper, and she says she's a-goin' to 'do' you!" "what!" gasped faith, in astonishment as the cash girl finished, "miss brady intoxicated! you surely don't mean it?" "oh, don't i?" said the child, with a worldly leer. "i mean lots more than that, only i'm too nice to say it." she walked away to answer another call while faith stared first at miss fairbanks and then at miss jones. both had heard the words yet they were laughing at her amazement. "you are easily shocked," said miss fairbanks, with a shrug. "why, any one with half an eye could see that mag brady loves whiskey." "that's another thing that jim denton taught her," said miss jones indifferently. "why, i knew mag brady when she was as innocent as you are." "but can nothing be done to reclaim her?" asked faith, eagerly. "you say you knew her when she was different, miss jones; have you ever tried to save her from ruin?" "i mind my own business," said miss jones, haughtily, "and i find that is all i can possibly do. mag brady must save herself if she wants to be saved, but, between you and me, i don't think she wants to." "but you--you are her friend," faith cried, turning to miss fairbanks; "do promise me that you will plead with her; it might do wonders! just think how you would feel if the poor girl was your sister!" miss fairbanks seemed earnest and sincere as she replied: "i will certainly advise her if she gives me the chance. poor girl, i am sorry for her, but i doubt if i can save her." "then we must all pray that god will do so," whispered faith, very soberly. "it is a wrong that we will all be held responsible for; to see her going down to destruction and not try to save her!" miss jones wheeled around and went to a customer, but miss fairbanks paused and looked at faith for a moment. "i would give the world to possess your faith," she said, hesitatingly; "but there's no use--no use--i'm too great a sinner." there was no chance to reply, for she walked away as she spoke. in a second she was talking to a customer in her usual business-like manner. as faith turned to look over her stock she heard some one speak. there was a colored man at her counter holding a letter out toward her. "dis yere lettah fo' you, missy," he said, with a wide grin. "dar ain't no name on it, honey, but i know's yo' face. yo' is num'er fo' eleben. reckin ain't no 'stake 'bout it!" "i am number 411, certainly," said faith, politely, "but i can't imagine who would write me a letter; still, if you are sure it's for me, i suppose i must accept." "oh, it's fo' you all right," said the negro, decidedly, "fo' de capting p'inted yo' out on de street las' ebenin'." faith took the letter and opened it hastily. as she glanced rapidly over the writing she blushed as red as a poppy. "got a mash note?" asked miss jones with a careless glance at the letter. "not exactly," stammered faith, "but it is almost as unpleasant. it is from a man whom bob hardy spoke to me about--a fellow who thinks because i am poor that he can buy my soul with his superfluous money!" chapter xxvii. the poisoned candy. but faith had only read a part of the letter when she made her statement, for, on a closer perusal, she found she was mistaken. if the writer had ever dreamed of tempting her with the lure of proffered luxury he admitted his change of opinion in terms of honest candor. "dear child," the letter read, "since our meeting the other evening i have been thinking constantly how i best could win your esteem and affection. that i should desire the friendship of a pure, young girl would sound strange to the ears of many worldly people, but to you, who are as distant from worldliness as are the angels in heaven, the suggestion can bring only bewildering sensations. to say that i am ashamed does not half express my feelings. to say that i wish to make immediate amends does not convey to you the half of my eagerness in that direction. "will you allow me to call upon you at your home? this is the request of a man who was once a gentleman, but who, through the bitterness of disappointment, had lost faith in all things holy." the letter was signed "cornelius c. deering." faith read it over and over--the signature was in a measure familiar, but just at that time she could not place it. as she tucked the letter in her pocket, mr. gunning approached the counter. he was twirling his mustache with his coarse, blunt fingers, and there was a superciliousness in his manner that was almost disgusting. "perhaps you are not aware, number 411, that we don't allow that sort of thing here," he said in a loud tone. "if you must have such improper notes from men, please see that they are not delivered during business hours. i can't have you wasting time in reading letters!" for a moment the floor seemed sinking beneath faith's feet, but it was not altogether from the effect of his words--it was the shock of finding out that miss jones was treacherous. for a moment it seemed incomprehensible that she should have repeated her remark, but how else could the floor-walker have guessed that her letter was either from a "man" or "improper"? she almost bit her tongue in her effort to keep silent, and at first she was even tempted to show the fellow the letter. "it was not my fault that the letter came to me here," she said finally. "believe me, mr. gunning, it would not have happened if i could have prevented it." "oh, of course, you can't help men writing love letters to you," said the fellow, impudently; "but if i see any more of them i shall report it to mr. gibson! our rules are very strict. there is to be no flirting in the building!" faith would have liked to ask him why he did not stop james denton from flirting in the store, and why the detectives were not punished for their villainous efforts in behalf of outsiders, as well as a dozen more questions, some of which would have included his own department, but she was far too wise to risk such a venture. when mr. gunning walked away, miss jones came up to her. there was a sneer on her face while her eyes twinkled with amusement. "how could you be so mean as to tell him?" faith asked, breathlessly. "you saw how distressed i was; why could you not respect my feelings?" "oh, i guess you didn't feel so bad as you try to make out," said miss jones, snappishly. "girls that make friends with men who keep nigger servants ain't always as green as they look, you know! sometimes they are worse than those who ain't so smooth or so clever!" "you are as insulting as he was," said faith, very gravely. "i am disappointed in you, miss jones. i though you were more friendly." "well, who cares what you thought?" was the heartless answer. "i'm not to blame if you took me for a fool! why, even mag brady could see through your sly actions!" faith looked at her in astonishment, her veins throbbing with indignation. "she understood your little game that day of the fire, when you and jim denton were talking together! he's rich, jim denton is, and he's mighty susceptible! you ain't such an innocent but what you found that out, and now he is meeting you on street corners and sending you candy!" faith had heard all she could bear, so she turned and walked slowly away. she was so confused that for an hour or more she could hardly make out her checks properly. the new packer was a girl about two years her junior, and as faith handed up her goods she could not help thinking of miss jennings. poor mary, with all her bitterness, had been a true, loyal friend. she would have scorned to do a treacherous or dishonest action herself, yet she absolutely refused to condemn such conduct in others. faith remembered her plea for the thief, lou willis, and that led her finally on a new train of thought, so that she was able to almost forget her late conversation. several times during the day there were changes made in the department, and miss fairbanks was kept busy altering the prices on goods, especially on what were known as the "bargain counters." these counters were principally small tables standing here and there in the aisles, and during the rush hours they were always surrounded by customers. finally, to the surprise of the entire department, the tables, themselves, were removed, mr. denton coming down from his office to superintend the transaction. "the fire company has warned him again, i guess," whispered miss fairbanks to faith. "well, that's a hard one on mag brady; she was hired expressly for those bargains." "he will surely make a place for her elsewhere, will he not?" asked faith. "it would be dreadful if the poor girl should lose her work completely!" "she deserves it," said cash number 83, who was standing near. "'tain't as if she was stayin' away 'cause she was sick! she's just on a spree along with some girls and fellers!" "what gets me is how mr. forbes is taking all these changes. he don't seem to be saying a word," continued miss fairbanks, without noticing the cash girl. "oh, he's just saying nothing and sawing wood," said miss jones, knowingly. "he's too foxy to quit the firm as old pomposity did! probably he thinks it won't last, and he's willing to wait till it's over." "well, it will be a great deal safer here now without the tables," said the buyer. "if we have a fire now there won't be so much crowding." "they say he's doing this sort of thing all over the store," said mr. gunning, who had just returned from helping with the tables. "then they tell me, too, that he's having a lunch-room and restaurant for employees built on the sixth floor of the building. all the goods that were stored there are being taken to the basement." "and we cash girls are all to be fired!" spoke up "number 83," sadly, "except those who are healthy and over fourteen. the rest of us that ain't got any parents have got to go to gerry's, or, if we have got parents, they've got to support us--that's what the boss says, but it sounds mighty like a 'pipe dream.'" "it sounds like a sensible arrangement," said faith, seriously, "for it's a shame that such children should have to work! why, you ought to be in school this very minute!" "well, i'd rather be here," said "83" very shortly. "there ain't no fun in a school-room, and what's the good of studyin', anyhow?" "but don't you wish to be able to cipher and to read books?" said faith. "what's the use?" was the answer; "they don't tell you nothin', at least not nothin' about how to earn your livin'!" faith gave up in despair. she was baffled at every turn. the only ray of sunshine that she could see was in mr. denton's rapidly developing improvements. as she mounted the stairs to the sixth floor to eat her luncheon in the new quarters, she was surprised to find sam watkins waiting at the top of the last flight, apparently on the lookout for her. "this is miss marvin, ain't it?" he asked when he saw her, at the same time drawing a package out from under his jacket. "i was told to give you this," he whispered, shyly. "here, take it, quick, while there ain't no one lookin'! them gals would turn green if they knowed you had a whole box of candy!" faith took the box and looked at it sharply. there was no card this time, but she felt sure it was from james denton. "you can have it, sam," she said, without an instant's hesitation. "i really don't care for it; do take it, sam. but, by the way, where did you get it?" "hush!" the boy whispered the word with his fingers on his lips. "there they come now, miss! are you sure you don't want it?" "quite sure, sam," was faith's answer, as she hurried away. she did not wish the clerks to know that she had been the recipient of more presents. sam watkins took the box directly to the men's lunch-room, which was on the same floor at the other end of the building. being a boy, he could not long resist the temptation of candy, but just as he opened the box with a grimace of delight, ben tyler came in carrying a wide-awake, little skye terrier. "i just found him in the store; some lady has lost him, i guess," said tyler, as the others all looked at him. "i was going to send him to the 'found desk,' but he wouldn't have it. he sticks to me as if i was his master." "i'll get him away from you, i'll bet!" said sam, holding out a piece of candy. in a second the dog sprang out of tyler's arms and swallowed the sweetmeat greedily. "there, you can't have any more," said sam, after he had fed him a couple more pieces. "i've got to treat the rest of the crowd, and there won't be enough to go around." "keep your candy, kid; we don't want it," said one of the men good-naturedly, but sam was so interested in watching the lively little dog that, fortunately, he forgot to eat for a few minutes. "hello! what ails the dog?" exclaimed tyler, suddenly. "how queer he acts! i believe the stuff has made him sick already!" all eyes were turned on the poor little creature, and it was soon plain to be seen that he was suffering terribly. "it ought not to hurt him," said one of the men. "not if it's all right," said tyler, going over toward sam. "let me see your candy, my boy; i believe there's something wrong with it." sam dropped the chocolate that he was just conveying to his mouth, and handed the box to the detective with great alacrity. "there's something in it, i'm sure," he said, after a careful scrutiny, "and i'm willing to bet the stuff is poisoned!" a final moan from the poor little dog fully justified him in his decision. "the dog is dead," said one of the clerks in a solemn voice. "so there isn't a shadow of doubt but what the candy is poisoned." chapter xxviii. a painful situation. to say that sam was disappointed would be describing his feelings very mildly, but in an instant the discomfiture was forgotten in a new sensation--he had suddenly thought of miss marvin's good fortune. suppose she had kept the box and eaten the candy! the thought frightened sam out of all further idea of secrecy. in an instant he had related how he came by the candy, and the clerks were looking at each other with questioning glances. "'tain't the first box of candy she's had sent her," said one. "i heard fairbanks say that she got them often from jim denton." "yes, she's cut mag brady out for good in that direction. well, why shouldn't she? she's new and as pretty as a picture!" "but, surely, jim denton didn't send this box," said the detective. "if he's sweet on the girl he wouldn't want to poison her." "well, hardly, tyler," laughed another of the lunchers. "perhaps he intended it for mag," suggested another. "if he's tired of the girl he may be trying to fix her." "pshaw! he doesn't have to resort to such measures as that! what could a poor girl do to injure jim denton? no, tyler, you'll have to look somewhere else for your poisoner, i reckon," said one of the oldest men in the whole establishment. "who gave you the box in the first place?" asked the detective of sam. "i mean, who told you to give it to miss marvin?" sam spoke up promptly, for he had nothing to hide. "a kid gave it to me at the door--a messenger boy--who said he was in a tearing hurry." "did you sign for it?" asked the detective, looking sharply at the boy. "naw, i didn't sign nothin'; he didn't have no ticket." "then he wasn't a messenger at all," was the reply, "and you are a big dunce, sam watkins, that you didn't know it!" "well, i thought it was straight, anyhow," whispered the boy. "how was i to guess that some one was tryin' to pisen miss marvin?" ben tyler took the box carefully and replaced the wrapper; then, telling sam to follow, he went straight to mr. denton's office. "now, sam, tell mr. denton exactly what you have told me," said the detective, after he had stated what had happened. sam repeated his story without the slightest variation. mr. denton cross-questioned him, but there was nothing further to learn. a boy had handed the box to sam and told him to give it to miss faith marvin. after mr. denton and the detective had examined the candy carefully they held a consultation as to what should be done about it. "we must have it analyzed at once," said mr. denton, anxiously. "that is the only way of proving the matter." the detective nodded. he knew that came first, but it needed no analysis to convince him that the candy was poisoned. "has she ever received a similar box that you know of?" asked mr. denton. the detective hesitated for a moment. he hardly knew how to tell him. "i believe she has, sir," he said, after a minute; "but i would advise you to ask the young woman herself, for i can only repeat what may be idle gossip." "you are right," said mr. denton, touching an electric button and sending the boy who answered to the department for miss marvin. in less than five minutes faith entered the office, but before he came the detective slipped a newspaper over the box of poisoned candy, and a nod of the head showed that mr. denton understood and approved of the movement. "miss marvin," said mr. denton, "i wish you to answer a question: are you in the habit of receiving boxes of candy as presents?" with mr. gunning's remarks still burning in her brain, faith could not help blushing at this unexpected question. she finally controlled herself and answered firmly: "i have never received but two boxes since i entered your employ, sir--one a few days ago and the other this morning." "what did you do with the candy?" asked her employer again. "i gave the first box to a cash girl who works in my department, and the other i gave to sam. i didn't even open them." "why did you not open them?" asked the detective, sharply. faith glanced at mr. denton a moment before replying. "yes, why did you not open them? are you not fond of candy, miss marvin?" "i like it, yes, sir," was faith's slow answer; "but the gift was unexpected. in fact, sir, i did not want it, and so i gave away the candy because i objected to the giver." faith's color had risen as she said these words, and she seemed to brace herself mentally for what was coming. should she answer the next question, which she felt sure would follow? it was a moment that taxed all the decision in her nature. mr. denton looked at her smilingly as he prepared for the question. there was not an inkling in his brain of the true situation. "do you object, miss marvin, to telling us who sent it? really, the question is important, or i would not ask it." faith looked from one to the other and clenched her fingers convulsively. it seemed cruel to her to thus wound the feelings of another. "i would rather not tell, please, mr. denton," she began. "then i must insist," said the gentleman, "for, as i said, the matter is serious." "if you insist, i must obey," said faith, in some bewilderment; "but i beg you will forgive me for saying that your son sent me the candy." before the words were fairly out mr. denton was pale with horror. the shock was so great that he shuddered as he looked at her. "my son," he whispered, hoarsely. "is that true, miss marvin? is my son one of the rascals who annoy the young women under my protection? is he--" he could get no farther--his feelings overcame him. "i am afraid he is," said faith, very faintly, "for i have given him no right to be sending me presents." mr. denton leaned back in his chair with one hand to his brow. the detective's ruse in covering the candy had produced results as startling as they were suspicious. if faith had known of the poison in the candy no power could have induced her to tell what she had, but up to the present she was in total ignorance of the matter, and it was now mr. denton's turn to dread the next disclosures. "my dear child," he said at last; "i have something to tell you--something that will shock you even more than your news shocks me; it is this, your box of candy to-day was poisoned." faith stared at him stupidly for the space of a second, then the full situation dawned slowly upon her. "if that is the case, your son did not send it, mr. denton!" she cried in decided accents, "for although he is thoughtless and careless of others, he would shrink from doing such a deed as that, even though he had a motive, which he certainly hasn't!" "i believe you," said mr. denton, in a tone of relief. "whoever sent the candy is making my son the scapegoat! you say there was no writing on the package when you got it, young man, and no message or card when you opened it in the lunch-room?" "i can vouch for that," said tyler, as the boy shook his head. "i was watching the boy when he opened the candy." "have you any enemies in the store that you know of, miss marvin--any one who is aware that my son has sent you candy?" mr. denton had turned toward faith as he asked the question. "more enemies than friends, i am afraid, sir," was the answer, "for although i have tried my best to be friendly with the girls, they all treat me coldly; they are not at all like miss jennings." "it is strange how they dislike and distrust each other," said mr. denton, sadly. "but i suppose it is because they have so little in life, they are constantly filled with envy over the possessions of others." if faith knew this to be a compliment she did not show it. so far it had not seemed to her that the girls were envious of her beauty. "you may go now, sam," said mr. denton, kindly, "and, see here, young man, keep your mouth shut about this matter! not a single word until i give you permission!" sam promised faithfully, and was glad to do so. since he had been restored to his position he had silently worshiped mr. denton. "now, miss marvin, i must caution you as i did sam," said the gentleman. "say nothing until the officer here has ferreted out this matter. a single word might put the criminal on guard, and a single utterance may delay the triumph of justice." he dismissed the young girl with a courteous bow, and was surprised that she still lingered in a pleading manner. "please, mr. denton," she cried, brokenly, "don't try to ferret the matter out! i beg of you, sir, let it drop and keep it a secret! the injury to your son is no greater than to me, so let it go no further, i implore it, mr. denton!" "what, pass an attempted murder by!" exclaimed mr. denton in amazement. "i am astonished, miss marvin, that you should make such a suggestion!" "but i do make it!" cried faith desperately, "and i beg that you will grant it! surely it was i who was to be the victim. i should be allowed to forgive the culprit!" "on what grounds?" asked mr. denton, who was trying to exercise justice. "on the grounds that it will do no good to expose or punish," cried faith eagerly, "for a person who could do a deed like that can be saved by mercy, but not by justice!" mr. denton looked thoughtfully, but he could not accede to her request. he did not believe that even a christian could ignore the laws of man in such a matter. "no, miss marvin," he said, firmly, "the criminal must be exposed. it is the only way to stop a repetition of such cowardly actions!" "it was a woman who did it without doubt!" broke in the detective sharply, "and she'll do it again, sure, if she isn't punished! a woman that hates like that will stop at nothing!" faith glanced at him reproachfully, but did not answer. she did not mean by word or look to betray her suspicions. "i will not ask you to state whom you suspect, miss marvin," said mr. denton, "for i see in your face that you would not tell me; but in regard to my son, i must talk with you later. you are under my protection, and not even my own flesh and blood shall be allowed to annoy you." "i am sure it is not his wish to annoy me," said faith. "he just doesn't understand that some girls are different from others. he has met only the weak ones who could not withstand his flattery, but i can take care of myself, sir, or, if not, god will protect me." "alas! you do not know human nature yet, my child," said mr. denton, gazing at her with an expression of almost fatherly interest, "but pray always that your trust may be as steadfast as now--that it will never be shattered on the rocks of sorrow and misfortune." faith passed out of his presence with a last pleading glance--she seemed to be mutely imploring his mercy toward the guilty. chapter xxix. a visitor at the flat. for the next few days faith heard no more about the box of poisoned candy, but she was not allowed to entirely forget it, for ben tyler, the detective, almost haunted the department. if he was looking for the culprit there he did not show it, for he laughed and chatted with all the girls whenever he had an opportunity. maggie brady had come back to find her "bargain counter" gone, but miss fairbanks had already received orders to put her behind the regular counter. this brought faith and maggie nearer together than ever, and the hatred in maggie's face was very apparent, although she schooled herself to be fairly pleasant. faith treated her as kindly as possible, but for all that she occasionally caught maggie glaring at her between half closed lids in a manner that thrilled her with fresh suspicions. at those times faith felt a nervousness that she could not control. she almost dreaded to turn her back upon the morbid young woman. more than once she thought of lou willis' words that "maggie brady was a sneak and a coward, who waited until dark before attacking the object of her hatred." but this always led her to think of lou willis, herself, and to question over and over her well meant decision to try and help the girl to be honest by not reporting her dishonesty. she met lou often now, and always talked to her cordially, but she could feel that she made slow headway into the young woman's confidence. "you and i are so different," miss willis said one day. "you seem to enjoy playing the proprieties, while i just hate them!" "but i don't think i am altogether proper, as you call it," faith answered. "i do lots of things that are not conventional and lots that are unusual, still i always try to follow my conscience." "conscience, what's that?" asked lou, with a grimace. "they made me without one i guess, and i'm mighty glad of it!" "but surely you wish to do right, don't you, miss willis?" faith's eyes were eager with hope as she asked the question. "oh, what difference does it make whether i do or don't? do what you please and don't get caught, that's my motto!" laughed the girl. "but you surely will get caught some day," said faith soberly. "no one can ignore or break the laws of god and man without being ultimately brought to punishment or repentance." "well, so far as the laws of god go, i'm not worrying," said lou, with a shrug. "he made me as i am and as he wanted me, i suppose. i'm sure i hope he's satisfied with his creation! if he ain't, he can make me over if he's so almighty powerful, but when it comes to the laws of man, why that's a different matter." "and how do you regard those?" asked faith, trying hard not to be shocked. the woman's answer came like a clap of thunder. "i look upon man's laws as my natural enemies," she said sullenly. "they are made by a lot of people who know nothing of misery or starvation, and who are as incompetent to judge my actions as i am to judge theirs. in other words, man's laws are all institutions of the devil! they force you to steal and then punish you for doing so!" after a little of this reasoning faith grew more helpless than ever. it was like trying to melt an iceberg with a sunbeam to thaw that callous nature. only lou's violent temper and intense hatred of her enemies kept the woman from being adamant in matters moral or spiritual. she surprised faith frequently with her outbursts of remorse, the most of which were bestowed in the direction of miss brady. "i saw her smiling at you to-day," she said to faith one night. "look out for her, miss innocent, that's when she's most likely to stab you!" faith trembled for fear that lou would hear in some way of the box of poisoned candy, but strangely enough it had been hushed up for the present. some power, unknown to faith, had stopped every tongue from blabbing. "i expect it is some of mr. denton's good work," she said to her mother one night as they sat at supper with little dick between them. "if he can stop the gossip in the store he will accomplish a great deal, for i believe half of the bad friendships between the clerks are made through idle gossip." "he is doing wonders," sighed mrs. marvin in answer. "at last i am hearing of what looks to be conscientious christianity." "you will hear of much more, i am sure, mother," said faith, "for i am told that mr. forbes intends to remain in the firm, and that looks as if he indorsed mr. denton." "or awaiting the outcome," added her mother quietly. she could never quite accept her daughter's innocent reasoning. while they were still talking, a letter was delivered from mr. watkins. he was "doing nicely at the hospital," he said, and "on the straight road to recovery," but what was better still, mr. denton was coming for his mother and had assured him that his position at the store was still open to him. "mr. forbes must certainly acquiesce to that, mother," said faith again, "for mr. watkins was his office assistant; mr. denton would hardly put him back if his partner was not willing." mrs. marvin was about to reply when their bell rang sharply. both rose from the table and went into the little parlor. a moment later some one tapped at the door, and faith opened it promptly. she confronted an acquaintance; it was the man whom she had met, and who had written her the note signed "cornelius c. deering." for an instant faith was shocked out of every semblance of hospitality. she stood staring at the man as if he were an intruder. like a flash it passed through her mind that she had not answered his letter, and that he had presumed upon that silence to force his presence upon her. the next instant she was brought swiftly back to her senses, for the man was staring back at her as though she were a ghost, and the expression on his face was almost pitiful. "what is it, sir? what has happened?" she asked, taking a step forward. "i think i have made a mistake," said the man, huskily. "i had no idea, i assure you, of intruding upon you." "there are twenty families in the house, so your mistake is natural," said faith coldly. "pray mention the name you wish, as i can probably direct you." "i am looking for a lady and her daughter," said the man distinctly, "the lady is my sister whom i have not seen in twenty years. she is a widow, and her name is mrs. adelaide marvin." with a gasp of horror faith staggered back into the room just as her mother sprang forward with a joyous greeting. "oh, charles, my brother!" she cried, falling on his shoulder. "how i have longed to see you, you naughty boy, every day since you ran away from us in dear old england!" chapter xxx. the unexpected fortune. the next act of faith's was one of noble heroism. in that moment of misery she forced herself to think only of her mother, thus ignoring her own position in the matter entirely. without a word she walked back into the kitchen, leaving brother and sister together, and taking little dick in her lap, tried to think the matter over as calmly as possible. it was an embarrassing position, look at it as she would, but not so much for herself as for the man whom she now knew to be her own uncle. as the moments passed she heard her mother's voice grow more and more pleading, and although she could not hear what was being said, she conjectured rightly that she was urging her brother to accede to something, while he as steadily refused the accession. finally the hall door closed and faith heard him descending the stairs. in an instant she hurried to join her mother in the parlor. "oh, faith!" cried her mother, "can you believe it, dear, it was brother charles, alive and well, when i had given him up for dead over and over again! and, faith, you will never have to work another day, for we are almost rich, dear brother says. he has fifty thousand dollars in trust for me from my father's estate, which has only lately been settled!" "oh, mother, is it possible?" cried faith in surprise; "but why did he leave so soon? you had surely not finished talking!" mrs. marvin shook her head in a very perplexed manner. "he seems sadly changed, faith. i don't know what ails him. i begged him to wait and see my daughter, but he refused almost angrily." "oh, well, never mind!" replied faith blushing. "he will probably come back again. i would not worry about it, mother." "but i can't understand it," said mrs. marvin, sighing. "it seems unnatural that charles should not wish to see my daughter." faith tried to cheer her, but she was almost crying herself. another shock like this would have brought on hysterics. it had been a dreadful trial to her to keep that strange conversation from her mother, but now she was profoundly thankful that she had been able to do so, and almost involuntarily she whispered a prayer that no word of hers might ever disturb her dear mother's confidence in her only brother. the thought of no more work did not once enter her mind. it was with some difficulty that her mother finally got her to talk about their good fortune. "it is not for myself that i am most thankful," said mrs. marvin, "but i am so glad that you can be at home once more! no more wearing out soul and body in the service of others." faith looked at her thoughtfully before she answered. "how soon can we have the money?" she asked. "right away," said mrs. marvin; "it is invested in this city. i have only to be identified at the bank by my brother." "i am very glad, mother," was faith's smiling reply, "for now we can hire a better flat and have a woman to do the work and look after everything, but about my working, dear, please don't think of that just now--really i seem to feel a little bit sorry to think that there is no need of my working." "you mean that you are interested in those poor girls, i suppose." said her mother. "well, there will be other ways to help them now--you need not work among them." "but i am sure that it is the best way to be of use to them," said faith quickly. "if they thought i had money they would not accept me seriously. they would say, as they have said of other rich women, that my interest is a 'fad' and that i could 'afford to talk religion with my pocket full of money.'" "you have learned their arguments quickly," said mrs. marvin with a smile, "but listen, faith! there is some one in the hall! it is possible that charles has returned for something." faith opened the door, nervously, but a look of relief soon crossed her face. the second caller was none other than young mr. denton. "thank goodness, i've found you!" exclaimed the young man coolly. "i've been wandering around these halls for the past half hour, either i'm awfully stupid or the bells are all wrong, for i've rung them all and nobody has answered! you should supply your friends with compasses and charts, miss marvin, so they won't get lost when they come to see you!" faith had to smile, although she was a trifle indignant. she could not imagine what had brought the young man to her apartments. "did you wish to see me about anything?" she asked bluntly as her thoughts flew instinctively to the poisoned candy. "if you do, please come in, and i will be glad to listen." "i do, indeed," responded the young man. "i should not have dreamed of intruding upon you without a very good reason." faith was almost sure it was the candy now, although she had been assured by his father that he had been told nothing about it. as she introduced him to her mother, she was anxious and excited, and one conjecture as to his errand followed swiftly after another. when they were seated mr. denton started at once on his errand, and as he talked he gazed at faith earnestly, as though trying to read her emotion. "my errand is a purely personal one," he began, "and you ladies may think it a selfish one also, but the fact is i have come for a little assistance. i want you, miss marvin, to help me reason with my father." faith made an exclamation of unfeigned surprise. "i don't understand," she said slowly. "what is wrong with your father, mr. denton?" "that's what i'd like to know," was the emphatic answer, "but between you and i, it's my opinion that he's crazy!" mrs. marvin and faith both stared at him curiously, for this time there was more sadness than disrespect in his language. "listen to this," he went on quickly, "and see if i am not right! i will put the situation before you without a particle of exaggeration." "wait!" said mrs. marvin. "what does all this concern us, sir? are you not doing wrong to talk to strangers about your father's business?" a smile passed over the young man's features, and he turned toward faith with a glance of admiration. "i think not," he said shortly, "and for this simple reason--he admires your daughter above any girl that he has met; she has influenced him in the past and can influence him again in the future. and he is sadly in need of influence, i can assure you," he continued, "for, at the present moment, he is on the verge of two things, they are the verge of bankruptcy and the verge of insanity!" mrs. marvin looked shocked, but faith's brow became clearer. it was coming to her now what was troubling young denton. the young man went on with hardly a perceptible pause, his face growing more handsome and manly as he became interested and excited. "my father to-day is worth a million dollars, a large percentage of it having been made in his present business. he is prominent both in social and business circles, and up to the present his ability has never been questioned. to-day he has changed all this as far as it is possible to change it in the short period of a week. he is making arrangements to transact his business on what he calls a 'religious basis,' which means that he intends to transact worldly affairs by heavenly methods, and it does not take much intelligence to see where he will terminate. he will be a bankrupt in five years, if he isn't sooner, for no fortune in the world would float such an enterprise. now, i can't see this go on without making an effort to stop it, but as i have little or no influence with him myself, i have come to miss marvin to ask her to help me." "what do you wish my daughter to do?" mrs. marvin asked the question with a little amusement. "i hardly know," was his honest answer, "but if she could just induce him to think that god did not expect such a sacrifice and that it was only necessary to do good in moderation, it might act as a restraint on his wholesale generosity, put a brake, so to speak, on his downward course to failure." "but i think it an upward course to victory!" said faith with enthusiasm. "and you have no idea how i honor your father for taking it! just think, mr. denton, what good his money can do! why, it is a duty which he owes by right to god, for who else gave him the ability to make all this money?" "do you think god gave it to him?" asked mr. denton, quickly. "well, i should have said that his most successful methods were invented by the devil!" "then it is time to put his ill-gotten wealth to good account! i am astonished, mr. denton, that you should wish him to retain it!" faith's eyes were fairly blazing now, but the look of admiration only deepened upon young denton's features. there was a cry from little dick in the kitchen just then, and mrs. marvin rose hastily and excused herself to go to him. "miss marvin," urged the young man, "don't be harsh in your judgment, please! remember i have been used to luxury all my life. my mother has been used to it--we cannot bear to lose it." he bent toward the young girl as he said the words, and as faith saw the eagerness in his face, a great wave of pity surged up within her. he was thoughtless, even wicked, but he was not altogether to blame. the very luxury that he craved was responsible for it. "i would like to help you if i could," she said very gently, "but you surely would not have me go against my own conscience." "no, i don't know that i would," said young denton slowly, "for if you did you would not be what you are just now, the embodiment of all that is best and sweetest in woman." chapter xxxi. mag brady's arrest. there was no mistaking young denton's words or looks. faith could not have been a woman and not understood their meaning. for a second her lids fell in a tell-tale manner, and her cheeks paled and reddened with each alternating emotion. she knew she must resent the young man's words at once, but her confusion of the moment rendered her powerless to do so. suddenly a thought of maggie brady flitted across her brain. it gave her strength and courage to resist the spell that was upon her. "your words are not sincere, i am afraid, mr. denton," she managed to say. "you only think to flatter me as you have numbers of others." the young man leaned back quickly, and a flush of shame mounted to his brow. "god forbid!" he said, sharply. "no, you wrong me, miss marvin! as wicked as i am, i would not insult you." "but you did once!" said faith, bravely. "the first day i was in the store! you bowed and smiled at me as brazenly as--as though you did not respect me!" it was out at last, and faith's mind was relieved. she had never quite been able to forget that occurrence. "that was because i did not know you," explained young denton, lamely. "i thought you might be willing to flirt a little--no one else ever refused me." "is it possible?" faith asked the question in out and out amazement. she could see by the young man's face that he was not lying. "the other girls were always glad enough to flirt a little," he went on. "you see, they knew i had money, and was willing to spend it--you can't blame them, miss marvin; they were a poverty-stricken lot! it's no wonder that the prospect of a square meal and a little recreation tempted them." "no, i do not blame them," said faith, very decidedly; "but i do blame you, mr. denton; it was wicked of you to tempt them." the young man's face fell, and he shifted his position uneasily. "we can't all be sincere," he said, rather irritably, "and what seems right to one often seems wrong to another. i've been careless, i admit, and perhaps a little wicked, but don't condemn me utterly, miss marvin. why not try to reform me?" faith glanced at him sharply. there was not a trace of mirth in his face. it was evident that he had asked the question in earnest. "i wish i could," she answered, smiling a little; "but if you really wish to reform, you can do it yourself, mr. denton. you have only to pray, and your god will aid you." "but i lack faith," he said, quickly. "i don't see things as you do, and, besides, 'the prayers of the wicked are an abomination unto the lord;' you see, i know that much about the bible, miss marvin!" "but you will be wicked no longer when you go to him in the right spirit," said faith, brightly. "oh, go to him, mr. denton. it will give such pleasure to your father!" "i'm afraid i can't," said young denton, rising. "i have one of those natures that cannot accept the marvelous, and, further, i'm too great a sinner to reform, i guess; but please don't forget me because of that, miss marvin. i would give more than i can tell to have you think well of me." again the admiring glance rested upon the fair girl's face, and it took all faith's composure to reply sedately. "i shall be glad to think well of you," she said, a little shyly; "but you have much to undo, i'm afraid, before that can be accomplished." "you are thinking now of what you have heard of me," said the young man, quickly. "i am thinking of what i have seen," was faith's decided answer, "and i cannot think well of you when i look at poor maggie brady." "don't mention her name!" cried her caller, almost angrily. "it is bad. enough for you to have to work with her, but it is worse to know that you are wasting your thoughts on her!" "mr. denton, i am ashamed of you!" faith's voice rose instinctively. "how dare you speak disrespectfully of one of your own victims?" a half sneer passed over the young man's face. "i thought she'd been telling a lot of tales," he said, fiercely. "no doubt she has blackened my character through and through! i can never hope to overcome your impression of me, miss marvin!" "on the contrary!" said faith, hotly, "she has never spoken of you to me! all that she ever said of you was said on those two occasions in your presence. but she doesn't have to speak, for i can see it in her face. that girl's soul is on your conscience. you are responsible for her, mr. denton!" young denton turned and looked at her searchingly. "so long as you believe that, there is no hope for me," he muttered. the next moment he bowed silently and left the apartment. when he had gone faith stood a moment almost trembling with excitement. she did not even try to explain her many conflicting emotions. this much she knew--she pitied him exceedingly, he was so young, so weak--she could reason no further. when her mother came in she was crying softly. the events of the day had completely unnerved her. mrs. marvin finally succeeded in comforting her a little, and then followed plans for the future, both for themselves and others. they decided to move as soon as possible, so that they could accommodate little dick in a more satisfactory manner, and also have a room for a servant and one for visitors. it was a pleasant programme, and its arrangement cheered mrs. marvin wonderfully. she was one of those women who droop under adversity, but who spring up like a flower at the first gleam of sunshine. contrary to her wishes, faith insisted on going to the store the next morning. she was so decided about the matter that mrs. marvin dared not argue. "i shall say nothing about our fortune," she said, as she started, "until i see exactly how it will affect my position as a helper." the new cloak-room was swarming with girls when she arrived, and as soon as lou willis saw her she shouted to her: "hello! miss marvin! have you heard the news? lightning has struck downstairs, and it is raining surprises!" "it's a pity lightning didn't strike the jewelry counter," called another voice; "but if it did, i suppose it would find lou insulated! you'd go on talking just the same; ain't that so, willis?" "i talk when i have anything to say," was the girl's curt answer, "but at present, if you please, i am addressing miss marvin!" "dear me, how respectful we are to some folks!" was the mocking reply. "how did you manage, lou, to get that handle before the marvin?" "oh, do shut up!" was lou's emphatic reply. "i want to tell my news and you are not giving me the chance! they say that old forbes has gone home sick! he can't stand the racket!" "what do you mean?" asked faith, as she hung up her hat. "why, the boss' religious attack has upset him completely--knocked him out in one round--and i don't much wonder. how on earth could you expect any sane man to look on at the changes in this store and not shake in his shoes if he has money invested in the business?" "what has mr. denton done now?" asked faith, with great interest. "hired a lot of new hands, for one thing," was lou's prompt answer, "and raised the salaries of more than half the clerks in the building!" "is that so, really?" asked a dozen voices. "well, as this happens to be my truthful day, you can depend upon it," said miss willis, laughing. "oh, i tell you, girls, the millennium is coming! i expect he'll provide us soon with private carriages to ride to business!" "well, he has one of his own," remarked miss jones, from the distance. "he might at least hire a stage for us in stormy weather." "an excellent idea!" exclaimed faith, impulsively; "only, as we live so far apart and there are so many of us, i'm afraid the suggestion is a little impracticable." "then let him provide a dozen," cried another girl, laughing. "what is the cost of a dozen stages to a concern worth millions?" "oh, girls!" cried cash girl number 83, as she came bounding in, "what do you think has happened? mag brady has been arrested! they say she's been trying to poison miss marvin!" faith sank down in a heap on one of the new sofas which mr. denton had lately provided for their comfort. it was out at last, in spite of their caution. for a moment she was stunned by the suddenness of it. the clerks all clustered around her and began asking questions, but she was too dazed to even think of answering any of them. "i knew she'd do it!" cried lou willis, exultantly. "i've warned you against her a dozen times, miss marvin, but that's what you get for riling a jealous woman!" "she'll have a chance to get over her jealousy now," said miss jones. "if they can prove that on her they'll send her to prison!" faith staggered to her feet and faced them resolutely. "they shall never prove it, if i can help it," she said, finally, "for i am sorry for miss brady, and i'm going to try and save her!" chapter xxxii. another talk with the inspector. as faith rushed from the cloak-room she came suddenly upon ben tyler, who was standing at the head of the stairs leading down into the private offices. "oh, mr. tyler, do please tell me about poor miss brady!" she cried, eagerly. "i have only just heard that she has been arrested!" the detective smiled grimly at the eagerness in her manner, but he was nothing loath to relate his prowess. "she's arrested all right! i nabbed her last night," he said, promptly, "but she had covered her tracks pretty well. i had a deuce of a time to prove it!" faith was still staring at him speechlessly, but with questioning eyes. she could not help feeling some curiosity about the details of the story. "first, i had to find the boy that brought the candy to the store," went on the detective; "then i traced it step by step until i reached mag brady. her brother is in a drug-store; it was through him she got the poison." "and where is she now?" asked faith, beginning to tremble. "in jail, where she belongs!" was the heartless answer. "mr. denton and i went to court this morning and had her locked up for safe keeping." "oh, i didn't think he would do it!" said faith, almost ready to cry. "it is cruel, mr. tyler! oh, i am so sorry for miss brady!" "well, i wouldn't be sorry for a person who tried to kill me," said the detective, sneeringly; "but, then, i'm no saint like you, miss marvin." faith looked at him quickly and could see a sneer on his face. it was plain that he had no special respect for saintliness. when she reached her department she found every one talking excitedly, and, of course, miss brady's arrest was the topic of conversation. "here she comes!--here comes mag's rival!" cried miss jones, when she saw faith coming. the "head of stock" had got down before her and was beginning to arrange her goods upon the counter. "so she tried to kill you, did she?" asked miss fairbanks, coming up. "well, all i've got to say is, the lord deliver me from any dealings with a jealous woman!" faith set her lips firmly and did not speak. she was determined to shield maggie in every way possible. "i thought your habits would lead you into trouble, miss marvin," said mr. gunning, insolently. he was leaning over the counter, which was as near as he could get to her. still faith did not answer, but went on with her work. there were no customers in yet, so she had no haven of refuge to fly to. "how's the mash with the nigger servant?" asked miss jones, suddenly. "has he got a wife, miss marvin? you'd better look out if he has! you know mag brady isn't the only jealous woman in creation!" faith looked at her steadily before she answered, and for a second the treacherous eyes wavered and miss jones felt decidedly uncomfortable. "neither miss brady nor any other woman has cause to be jealous of me," said faith, plainly. "i have never wronged any human being, and i cannot understand, miss jones, why you insist upon taunting me!" "oh, don't mind her, miss marvin, she can't help it," cried miss fairbanks. "she's been crossed in love, and it makes her spiteful!" there was a shout from every girl that had heard the buyer's words, and for once the tables were turned upon faith's tormentor. at about ten o'clock several new clerks entered the department, miss fairbanks assigning them places and giving them their instructions. "now one of you girls can go to the cloak-room and rest for twenty minutes," she said to miss jones and faith. "it's mr. denton's orders that you are not to be on your feet so steadily." "you go first," said faith, turning to miss jones, pleasantly. the woman blushed a little and left the counter sullenly. "miss fairbanks!" called faith, as soon as she had disposed of several customers, "please come over here a minute; i want to speak to you!" miss fairbanks came over and stood close by the counter. she felt sure that faith was about to confide about miss brady. "miss fairbanks, i want you to help me," the young girl whispered. "i want you to help me get better acquainted with miss brady, and, if possible, show me a way to win her confidence." "for mercy's sake, what for?" asked the buyer, in amazement. "simply to give me a chance to prove my innocence, for one thing; i want her to know that i never even had the desire to see mr. james denton, much less to flirt with him!" "is that true?" asked the buyer, gazing at faith very seriously. the color mounted swiftly to the cheeks and brow of the young girl, but, without turning her eyes, she answered: "it is quite true, miss fairbanks." "that would mean that we'd have to go to jail to see her," said the buyer, slowly, "and i confess i'm not in love with that sort of visiting." "but surely it won't harm us," urged faith, very eagerly. "you go first, miss fairbanks, and tell her that i wish to see her; if i should go first, i'm afraid she wouldn't see me." "very well, i'll do it," said miss fairbanks, after a minute. "i'm sorry for the girl, and i'm not ashamed to admit it." "oh, thank you, miss fairbanks, and do try to make her see me!" cried faith. "i'm sure we can do some good, even if it is only by showing her that we love her." "my goodness! you don't love her, do you, miss marvin? why, from all accounts the girl intended to kill you!" "nevertheless, i love her--in a way," said faith. "i can't forget entirely that she is only an erring sister." "well, you are a good girl, if ever there lived one," said miss fairbanks. "you are teaching me a whole lot about practical christianity." "goodness, that which is not practical--is poor stuff," said faith, bitterly. "i wouldn't be a hypocrite for all the world, and that is exactly what sham goodness amounts to; still, i don't mean to say, miss fairbanks, that i've always lived up to what i knew was my duty! i've made lots of mistakes, but i was always sorry!" she sighed a little as she turned away, but her sadness soon changed to smiles as she saw miss dean standing beside her counter. "how do you do, miss marvin?" asked the lady inspector, cordially. "i am delighted to see you again, for i was afraid i was never going to! business is so very brisk," she said, laughingly, as she saw faith's questioning expression. "why, i'm up to my ears in modern improvements! i'm a carpenter, an engineer and a full-fledged plumber!" "do you have to know a lot about all such things?" asked faith. "well, not a lot, exactly, but just enough. we have to know when stores are lacking in either of the things mentioned." "there have been many changes since you were here," said faith, slyly. "we have a new cloak-room now; you just ought to see it!" "oh, i have seen it, you can be sure!" said the lady, dryly. "i've been up there sniffing around and inspecting every corner, and i'm glad to say that i quite approve of it." they both laughed heartily, but faith was not quite satisfied. "can you see any changes that you did not suggest. miss dean?" she asked, a little timidly. "are there no improvements that look to you like radical reforms, suggested by the divine spirit of love for humanity?" "not one!" said miss dean, promptly. "i see nothing of the sort! there are no changes here that could not have been effected by the law of common decency! i should feel sorry to think that a man could not do what was right without a divine suggestion. it would speak ill of his sense of honor or justice toward humanity." she paused a moment and then began speaking more slowly. there was no resentment in her tones; she was merely reasoning the situation. "i can see that the firm of denton, day & co. has come to a crisis in its business career, owing to the illogical stand recently taken by one of its members. from a paying investment it has turned into a philanthropical institution, and so long as it can live as such it will be a great benefit to hundreds. further than this, i hear that one man has made an unjust fortune by withdrawing from the firm and that another partner is watching like an eagle for an opportunity to swoop down and settle his talons. then, again, i understand from a reliable source that mr. denton's wife is fast going insane from worry, and that his scapegrace son is growing gray-headed over the outlook for his fortune. again, mr. denton himself, who has wrought all these changes, is being looked upon by wise men as a driveling idiot, or, what is about as bad, a religious fanatic, whose sudden determination to be good has sealed the doom of his fortune." as miss dean was speaking she looked steadily at faith. she was watching to see if her words had any effect, or if the girl was really incapable of understanding the situation. there was not a cloud of apprehension upon the fair girl's brow, yet her eye was clear; she had comprehended every syllable. "you approve of all this?" asked miss dean, in despair. faith's answer was merely a verse of scripture, which she repeated so firmly and with such intense eagerness that the low voice fairly vibrated with repressed emotion. "and be ye not conformed to this world; but be ye transformed by the renewing of your souls, that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of god." "i am answered, as i fully expected to be," said miss dean, quietly. "it is positively wonderful, that faith of yours. why, it amounts to actual exaltation of spirit!" she shook hands with faith and said good-by. they were the extremes of goodness, accomplishing the same ends, but each working on a theory incomprehensible to the other. chapter xxxiii. faith visits maggie. the next few days were busy ones for faith, for, besides her work at the store, she helped pack every evening, and tried in every way possible to enter into the spirit of the new arrangements for living, which her mother was planning so enthusiastically. at last they were settled in a handsome flat in a neighborhood where faith was not afraid to let either little dick or her mother go out alone, and this one fact made her very happy. not a word had escaped her at the store about her altered conditions, neither had she spoken again to her mother regarding her uncle. mrs. marvin told her sadly that he had gone abroad immediately after arranging the transfer of the $50,000 and settling all the details of her newly acquired fortune. faith breathed a sigh of relief, although she felt sorry for her mother. it was evident that his humiliation was deep and genuine. she frequently caught herself wondering about his changed name. he was born a courtleigh, yet he had signed himself "deering." she decided at last that it was a purely personal matter. doubtless it was for some reason which she in her innocence would neither understand nor approve. other things which she could understand were claiming her attention, so that there was little time to spend in idle conjectures. she waited eagerly as the days passed by for a word from maggie brady that she was willing to see her. at last it came, and faith hurried down to the jail. she had no difficulty whatever in securing mr. denton's permission. at the first glimpse of maggie behind prison bars she nearly burst into a fit of crying. the girl was so haggard and pale that she hardly knew her. "i suppose you've come to gloat over me," were the prisoner's first words, "but it don't matter to me. you can come if you want to." "oh, miss brady, don't say that," cried faith, with the tears springing to her eyes. "i have come to see you--to try and cheer you. do, please, believe me!" "how do you expect to cheer me?" asked maggie sullenly, as the keeper opened the door of her cell and let her out into the corridor. "i don't know that i can," said faith, very sadly, "but you will let me try, at least, won't you, maggie?" there was a yearning in her voice that the woman could not miss. she stared at faith steadily, as though trying to read her soul, and in a moment her face softened and she spoke more gently. "oh, i have no doubt you are sorry for me, and all that," she said slowly. "that's natural, but, see here; i don't want any sympathy." "but you do want my friendship, don't you, maggie?" said faith; "and that is what i have come to offer you--just my honest friendship." in an instant the fiend in the girl woke again. "do you expect me to believe that?" she hissed in a whisper, "after doing your best to cut me out with jim denton?" she glanced at the girl with a perfect storm of fury in her eyes, but faith's glance did not waver; she only shook her head sadly. "i am sorry you will not believe me, maggie," she said softly, "but it is the truth that i have never flirted with mr. denton, and the only times i ever saw him in my life before this trouble arose were twice, when you saw us together." "i don't believe you," said her listener, sharply. "if you had never flirted with him why did he send you candy?" "i don't know, i am sure," said faith hopelessly. "perhaps he thought i was young and silly, and would not know that he was insulting me." miss brady looked at her with some surprise in her eyes. "did you consider it an insult?" she asked, slowly. "certainly," said faith. "he had no right to do so. he forced it upon me; i did not want it." "and he has never made love to you?" asked the woman eagerly. she was bending forward, staring at faith with a strained expression upon her features. to save her life, faith could not help blushing. hers was a tell-tale face--it portrayed every emotion. "i knew it! i knew it!" cried miss brady sharply. "you would not blush as you are doing if he hadn't done it!" "but he hasn't, i assure you," said faith, as soon as she could speak. "mr. denton has flattered me a little, of course, but i can honestly say that he hasn't made love to me." she was firm enough now, and her voice was very convincing. miss brady gazed at her steadily and seemed impressed with her candor. "well, he hadn't better," she muttered sullenly. "jim denton had better take care--" she stopped suddenly. "i had forgotten," she said bitterly; "i am helpless and in prison." "but i am sure you will soon be free, miss brady," said faith, "for i have utterly refused to appear against you, and--" "what!" exclaimed the woman in a startled whisper. "you have refused to appear against me--and you think me guilty?" "if i knew you were guilty i would still refuse," said faith stoutly, "for if you sent that candy you must have been crazy!" slowly the frown lifted from the poor girl's brow. she kept gazing at faith as though she could hardly credit her senses. "you will not accuse me," she stammered again. "well, that's more mercy than i ever expected on earth or in heaven." "what is more, maggie," continued faith, "i want you to be my friend. as soon as you are out of this place we can see more of each other." this was a little too much for even maggie brady's nature. her lips trembled suspiciously before she answered. "oh, i won't get out; you mark my words. old denton will send me up, or, if he don't, the district attorney will do it." "i don't think so," said faith. "they won't if i can prevent it, and as i am the person most interested, i think i should have some voice in the matter." "you understand, i don't admit that i did it, yet," said miss brady, sullenly. "i have never admitted a thing, not even to the lawyer." "would you not be happier if you did admit it?" asked faith, softly. "i am sure it would relieve you to get it off of your conscience." "oh, it ain't troubling me much!" said the girl indifferently, "but i will say that i'm glad the stuff didn't kill you!" "but it might have killed sam watkins if the dog had not happened to be there. why, miss brady, just think; you might have killed a dozen people!" the woman shuddered and turned away her face. "well, as it didn't kill any one there's some hope for me," she said, "and i want to live long enough to get square with jim denton!" "what has he done to you?" cried faith, impulsively. "i can't think what he could do to make you hate him so bitterly." "hate him!" cried the girl. "me hate jim denton! why, you don't know what you are talking about! would i be jealous if i hated him?" "but you certainly can't love him," said faith, with another blush. "if you did you could not harm him so much as in your thoughts. you would be glad to suffer anything to be able to protect him." "oh, i've protected him all right," said the girl, with a sneer; then she straightened up suddenly and said: "i want to ask you a favor. i want you to bring old denton down here," she said eagerly. "bring him yourself and let fairbanks come with you. come any day you like. i'm not particular." "i will ask mr. denton to come, if you wish," said faith, a little wonderingly, "and i am sure he will come. he is very sorry for you, maggie." "he'll be sorrier, i'm thinking," was the answer. "but my time is up. good-by, miss marvin." "good-by," said faith, sweetly, "and you believe me, miss brady. you know now that i am innocent in regard to young mr. denton?" "bring the old man down, and i'll believe it," was her answer. "if you will do that for me, i shall have some faith in your friendship." when faith got back to the store she went straight to mr. denton, and repeated in as few words as possible her conversation with maggie. mr. denton had found out himself many things about his son, so faith did not hesitate to tell the entire story. "i can't think that my son has really wronged the woman," he said, sadly, "but he has been very reckless, i fear, and it is my fault in great measure." "and you will go to see her, will you not?" asked faith, eagerly. "with pleasure," said mr. denton, "and i trust that with our words and our prayers, miss marvin, that we shall be able to bring the poor sinner to repentance." faith left the private office feeling very hopeful and happy. she was more so when she met mr. watkins just entering the building. there was a hearty hand-clasp and an earnest greeting; then mr. watkins told her briefly of his recovery and his prospects for the future. "i am to have the same position; only a much larger salary," he said, brightly, "which will enable us to live in comfort without sam's working. he can go to day school for at least another year." "everything is shining with hope down here," was faith's answer. "really, mr. watkins, you will be astonished at the changes." as briefly as possible she told him of her own good fortune, and giving him her new address, she cautioned him to keep it secret for the present. "and now i have some news that will astonish you," said mr. watkins. "a rich old lady, whom i once met, wrote me a letter the other day--she knew my poor sweetheart, and wants to adopt her brother." "adopt little dick?" cried faith, in distress. "i can hardly think of it, mr. watkins; yet we must look into it, of course. i must not let my love for him stand in the way of his welfare." "that is what i thought," said mr. watkins, soberly; "but do you chance to know her, miss marvin? her name is mrs. graham." "yes, indeed, she's the sweetest old lady in the world," cried faith. "she used to come in here and shop, and mary and i both loved her." "well, i'm to see her to-night, and hear what she has to say. i will tell you all about it later," he said as they parted. "it will be a better home than we can give him," murmured faith, thoughtfully; "for while we have a few thousands, mrs. graham has millions." chapter xxxiv. mr. forbes reaches a decision. early the next morning mr. denton was in his office. he was almost the first person at the store nowadays, and, as far as he could, he looked after every detail of business. at half-past eight the sample room was thronged with drummers, and each buyer was carefully inspecting the goods which he intended ordering for his special department. more than once mr. denton interrupted some low conversation where he felt sure that a deal was being made which could not be adjusted to his newly awakened conscience. then came the opening of the morning mail. he had always intrusted this to others; now he gave it personal supervision. quite frequently he intercepted letters that he did not understand until he had investigated closely, with the aid of a detective, but in each instance the wrong-doer was treated with mercy, he was reasoned with and cautioned, a repetition would mean discharge on the instant. thus, almost daily he found fresh evidences of dishonesty, either in the firm's dealing with manufacturers or customers, or some treachery of employees, whose opportunity came to them in the form of mail orders. goods were ordered in this way frequently which could not be supplied, and an inferior grade was almost invariably substituted. when this was done the "mail order clerk's" methods were simple--either he or the firm were profiters through the transaction. mr. denton finally thought out the solution of this unpleasant matter, and on this particular morning he summoned the advertising manager for the firm to his office. picking up a daily paper, he pointed to one of their attractive "ads." "bring me a sample of these goods, green," he said, a little sternly; "you can get them of billings, the buyer in that department." "oh, that's only a blind, sir," was the startling answer, "mr. billings has some old goods that he is trying to work off. they are not quite up to the mark, but that 'ad' will sell them." "do you mean by that, green, that we are misrepresenting our goods?" asked mr. denton; "or, in other words, that we are advertising one grade of goods and selling another?" "that's about it," said the manager, looking a little puzzled, "but it's nothing new, sir; we've always done it!" mr. denton looked at him for a moment before he spoke. he could not censure him for what they had "always" done, neither could he blame the man for his own previous indifference on the subject. "don't do it again, green," he said very sadly, "and send mr. billings to me the minute you see him." as mr. green went out mr. denton groaned aloud: "would he ever get to the end of his own dishonesty, or was he to be confronted daily by such contemptible trickery?" just once he tried to justify his past methods, but with a sneer of scorn he put such thoughts from him. as he sat in deep meditation the door opened again. he looked up, and saw that it was mr. forbes who had entered. "i am glad to see you," said mr. denton, quickly, "and i hope you are feeling entirely recovered." mr. forbes bowed slightly, as he dropped into a chair. "mr. forbes," said mr. denton, "i am ashamed of myself! i never knew until to-day that i was such a scoundrel!" he pointed to the paper that he still held in his hand, and in a very few words repeated his late conversation. "that is necessary in business," said mr. forbes shortly, "and it is, to say the least, peculiar that you shouldn't know it!" "well, it's an infamous trick!" was mr. denton's rejoinder. "just think of the poor people whom we have defrauded in that manner!" "i prefer to think of the dollars it has brought into our pockets," said mr. forbes sullenly, "and now that we are on the subject, i may as well say, mr. denton, that i am sick and tired of this whole idiotic business!" "do you wish to sell out?" mr. denton spoke calmly. "if so, name your price while i have the money to pay you." "oh, you do expect to fail, then? you still have sense enough for that!" said mr. forbes quickly. "then, why not give up your fad at once and run the business properly?" "do you mean as we have been running it?" asked mr. denton, with a sharp glance at him. "certainly, with a few modifications, perhaps," was the equally sharp answer. "never!" mr. denton's voice rang out like the blast of a trumpet. "go back to such infamous practices? never!" "very well, then," said mr. forbes, with sudden anger in his voice, "i do wish to sell out! what will you give me for my interest?" mr. denton wheeled around, and looked at him eagerly. "i had hoped you would see things differently," he said at last. "i thought that perhaps you would appreciate my desire, which is to make myself more worthy of the god that made me." mr. forbes shifted uneasily, and finally rose from his chair. he was plainly disturbed over the situation. "i do appreciate your efforts, and i honor them, in a way," he said slowly, "but i have not the courage to make such a sacrifice myself, and i very much doubt if such a sacrifice is demanded. a proper observance of religion is enough; a man need not crucify his worldly ambitions in order to be worthy of heaven." "'let him take up his cross and follow me,'" quoted mr. denton. "my cross is to do exactly as i am doing. it is not easy to bear, but i am happy in bearing it." "but where will it lead to?" asked mr. forbes eagerly. "what proof have you that your reward will come? this may be a delusion that you are following." "i am willing to risk it," said mr. denton, solemnly. "it is the best a man can do to follow his conscience." "but there are duties to one's family that must be considered," urged mr. forbes. "a man cannot rightfully ignore the fact that he is of the earth, earthy, and that there is something tangible needed before we soar into the mysteries." "he must ignore nothing," said mr. denton, gravely, "but, as i said before, he must follow his conscience." "well, i should like to stay with you, but i cannot do it," said mr. forbes, "for, while i sympathize with your feelings in many respects, yet i cannot indorse your unbusiness-like actions. if you think my interest here is worth fifty thousand dollars, you can give me that amount, and i will go--then you will be free to spend your fortune according to any freak of your fancy." "you are more just in your dealings than i expected," said mr. denton, flushing a little. "after my experience with mr. day, i did not look for any mercy." "oh, i have a conscience, too," said mr. forbes, grimly, "and while i did not know it until lately, it has made me very uncomfortable, i can assure you." there was a genuine ring in his voice as he spoke, and as mr. denton detected it, he rose and placed his hand upon his shoulder. "better stay with me, brother, and let us work together," he said gently. "in the vineyard of the master there can be no unrewarded labor." mr. forbes shook his head and turned away. "we can attend to the legal details some other time," he said briefly. "you are busy to-day, so i will not detain you." mr. denton sat down at his desk again, and as the door closed behind his partner he bowed his head upon his bosom. "alone and yet not alone," he whispered softly. "god grant me strength to do my duty, and if my lot is failure, let me accept it bravely. it is all a man can do. he must follow his conscience." the door opened again, and faith marvin entered. she had her hat on, and was ready for the visit to maggie brady. "i wonder what she wishes to see me for?" said her employer, musingly. "is she desirous of upbraiding me, do you think, miss marvin?" "why should she upbraid you?" asked faith, very soberly. "you certainly are not to blame for the actions of your son, and as for her arrest, you simply had to do it." "she may say that i should have protected her from him," he answered. "some way i blame myself continually in that particular direction." "a girl should be able to protect herself," said faith sternly. "i can't quite understand such weakness in women, unless it is, as poor miss jennings used to say, 'the iniquities of the fathers visited upon generations of the innocent.'" "i believe that fully," said mr. denton with a sigh. "it is one reason why i am merciful in my own boy's case--my sins have been perpetuated! can i ever efface them?" they left the building together, going out of one of the side doors. just as they reached the sidewalk a handsome carriage drew up before the entrance. "why, that is my own carriage!" exclaimed mr. denton quickly. the next instant james denton sprang from the carriage and came face to face with faith and his father. chapter xxxv. maggie brady's secret. "what is it? is anything wrong?" asked mr. denton quickly. "mother is worse," was the short answer. "she's gone out of her head completely." mr. denton paused and rubbed his brow perplexedly. "oh, what is it, sir?" asked faith eagerly. "is your wife really ill? i have heard it rumored that she was, but i did not know whether to believe it." "she is, indeed!" exclaimed young denton, looking angrily at his father; "and she has every reason to be. it is only natural." "hush!" exclaimed mr. denton sternly. "you shall not criticise my actions. as your father, i expect and demand your silence. i am responsible to god alone--not to my wife or family." "well, you will have her to answer for, just the same," said the son, sullenly. "she can't see you throwing away your money and keep her senses much longer." "for shame!" cried faith hotly. "can't you see, mr. denton, that your father is sorely distressed? how dare you trample upon his feelings in such a brutal manner?" james denton wheeled around and faced the speaker. "my mother is going crazy," he said, almost gently. "you must pardon me, miss marvin, but i love my mother." mr. denton opened the carriage door and motioned for faith to enter. there was a look in his face that permitted no misunderstanding. "your mother's doctor and nurse are with her, are they not? then i shall not be needed for an hour, and i have an important engagement. i am going to call upon maggie brady, one of my son's unfortunate victims," he added slowly. james denton turned as pale as death as he listened to these words. for a moment it looked as if he were about to spring forward and drag his father from the carriage in order to prevent this visit. in a second they were rattling away from the door. faith's last glance showed the young man still standing motionless and livid. "he fears something from the interview," was her first quick thought. she glanced up at mr. denton. it was plainly to be seen by his face that he shared her suspicions. they were admitted at once to the corridor of the jail, and the keeper allowed miss brady to join them. "how are you to-day, maggie?" asked faith as sweetly as she could. "you see, i have kept my promise. i have brought mr. denton to see you." "my poor child!" said mr. denton, offering miss brady his hand. "i am more than sorry to have been the means of bringing you here; but i had no alternative. i had to do my duty." "oh, i don't lay it up against you," said the girl, almost coldly. she had drawn away from him quickly and put her hands behind her. "i suppose you thought i was a dangerous person to be at large--well, perhaps you were right; there's no telling what a jealous woman will do. did they tell you, mr. denton, that i was jealous of miss marvin?" there was a steely ring to her tones as she said the words, and the glance of her eyes was both cold and cruel. "i heard that it was on account of my son," was mr. denton's sad answer. "i am very sorry indeed, miss brady, if james ever deceived you." "oh, he hasn't deceived me a bit," said the girl quickly. "on the contrary, he took pains to parade his attentions before me." she laughed a harsh, grating laugh as she answered. mr. denton looked puzzled. he could not understand her. "but perhaps you expected too much from his attentions," said mr. denton gently. "young men are often unscrupulous and say more than they mean to young women. perhaps he led you to believe that he cared more for you than he did, and in this way gained your affections and did not appreciate them." "he did all that," said the girl, very coldly; "and i was not the woman to endure such treatment calmly. i'm sorry if i was mistaken in miss marvin's part in the matter. she says she was innocent, and i'm willing to believe her." "well, what can i do for you?" asked mr. denton kindly. "i have already tried to get your case dismissed, and as miss marvin refuses to appear against you i think we shall be successful. but if there is anything that james has done--any wrong that i can right, you have only to say so, and i will try to do my duty." miss brady stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement. she could hardly believe that it was mr. denton who was speaking. as her employer he had always been cold and distant. she had never looked on him as anything more or less than a despot and tyrant. "mr. denton is perfectly sincere, maggie," said faith quickly as she noticed the amazement depicted on her countenance. "but i don't understand," said the girl, still staring. "let me explain," said faith quickly, "and you must try and believe me, maggie. both mr. denton and myself are thinking only of your good. we want to help you to see this awful sin which you have committed in the right light--that is, as a sin not only against yourself and your fellow beings, but against the god who made you and who wishes you to love him." as she spoke she put her arms around the girl in an affectionate manner. maggie did not draw away, but remained silent and passive. "you see, maggie, you are not wronging any one by your bad temper and your stubbornness as much as you are wronging yourself. these sins always react on one's self, you know. they may hurt and grieve others in some degree, but they sear your own heart with the wounds of agony and shut the light of god's tenderness from your soul. can you not see it, maggie, how you have marred your own happiness? do try, dear, to humble your stubborn spirit? ask god to help you forgive those who wrong you. believe me, it will make you far happier than this cowardly revenge." faith's tones were so beseeching that mr. denton was touched beyond expression. he had never seen a more holy sight than this young girl pleading with tears in her eyes with an erring sister. "it's easy for you to talk," muttered maggie finally. "your life has been different from mine. what do you know of trouble?" "a great deal," said faith quickly. "if i did not i could not feel as i do. why, it is through my own experience that i have come to feel this sympathy for others." "but you don't understand," said the woman more bitterly. "by 'trouble' i do not mean just hard luck and poverty." "i think i do understand, maggie," said faith, more softly. "and i can still say sincerely that i am very sorry for you. i believe that you have been more sinned against than any of us realize." "i have, indeed!" cried miss brady, sharply. her lips twitched convulsively and tears trembled on her lashes. "then god will surely pity you," cried faith, almost cheerily. "he will understand the length and breadth of your temptation, maggie, as well as the injustice which you have suffered." the poor girl gazed at faith a moment and then burst out crying. "oh, i have been wronged most fearfully," she whispered between her sobs. "and i could not help it. i could bear the agony no longer!" as she spoke she thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress. in another second she had drawn forth a crumpled paper. "read it!" she said hoarsely, holding it out toward mr. denton. "read it, and tell me if you blame me for doing as i did, and after you have read it say again that you will help me!" with a quick wave of horror coursing through his brain, mr. denton took the paper and quickly unfolded it. only a glance was needed to show him what it was. mr. denton staggered to a chair, his face pale and haggard. "oh, what is it?" asked faith, looking from one to the other. maggie brady gave a short, hoarse laugh as she replied: "only the certificate of my marriage to young james denton!" chapter xxxvi. jim denton's confession. as maggie brady made her startling announcement faith's heart seemed to stop beating. she felt faint and dizzy, and spread out her hands before her as if to ward off something that was fast overcoming her. she tried to speak, but the words died upon her lips. in another moment she lost consciousness entirely and slipped heavily to the floor of the corridor. mr. denton sprang to his feet and attempted to raise her, while maggie brady stood like a statue, with her hands clasped tightly together. "poor girl! your news has shocked her," said mr. denton absently. "she was over-anxious and excited about your welfare." "men are easily deceived," was maggie brady's sad answer. "i can explain her condition more reasonably than that--the girl is in love with your son--my husband! i thought so before, now i am absolutely certain!" one of the jailers came in just then and led maggie to her cell, and as the door closed behind her faith came slowly to her senses. when she had revived completely, mr. denton led her quickly from the jail. he was too shocked and grieved himself to wish to remain another moment. during the ride back to the store there was hardly a word spoken in the carriage, for both mr. denton and faith were in the most distressed condition of mind. in mr. denton's mind two thoughts were uppermost, his son's wickedness in the past and his duty in the future. at any other time he would have known how to act, but now he was sorely puzzled. faith, on the other hand, was hiding her face from almost shame, for she had learned a secret in that brief moment at the jail which was overwhelming her soul in a flood of self-censure. the fair face of james denton was constantly before her. his pleading eyes and glances of admiration haunted her. she felt, what she would not own even admit to herself, that in spite of his wickedness she was deeply in love with him. "it does not seem possible," mr. denton said at last. "i know my son was thoughtless, but i did not believe him wicked." faith could not speak; she was crying softly. the knowledge of her love had completely crushed her. "let me go home, please," she murmured, as her employer helped her from the carriage. "i am afraid i am too nervous to remain at the store." "certainly," said mr. denton, "and i shall soon follow your example, for if my wife is as ill as my son said, it is my duty to neglect everything and remain at her bedside." "but has she really lost her reason?" asked faith, a little timidly. mr. denton sighed heavily before he answered. "she is worrying unnecessarily to a great extent, i think," he said calmly. "she sees in my new methods and actions only the probable financial results; she cannot see that i am honestly trying to do my duty--to share my large fortune with my fellow-beings." "but is it not possible to follow your conscience and still prosper?" asked faith, anxiously. "that is a question that i cannot answer, miss marvin, at this stage of the experiment, but, judging from the present outlook, godliness cannot be profitable from a worldly point of view. but from the spiritual, i am satisfied that it is a success; the consciousness of well-doing is enough for the christian." faith pondered over his words as she hurried home. she was glad that he had awakened a new train of thought, as it enabled her to compose herself from her late excitement. when she reached her mother's home she found both mr. watkins and mrs. graham, who had called to get acquainted with little dick and to tell mrs. marvin their plans for his future. it was hard to part with him, but it was clearly for the best. mrs. graham could give him advantages that would be impossible to mrs. marvin. this transaction permitted faith to regain her composure entirely, so that when they were gone she was able to tell her mother all that had happened at the jail. mrs. marvin was shocked and pained at the recital. "poor child," she said, sorrowfully, "to think she is really his wife. i wonder what could have been their motive for keeping it a secret!" faith shook her head. she did not care to even conjecture. it was a subject that cut her heart like a two-edged sword, for, try as she would, she could not condemn james denton. an hour later the maid brought her in a card. faith could hardly control her feelings as she saw that her caller was no other than young denton. "he must have been following me," she said to her mother, "else how did he know that i was not at the store?" her mother smiled sadly, but did not answer. faith entered the parlor as calmly as she could, but her limbs were trembling and the tears were very near to falling. she knew that she should spurn the coward, whom her whole soul despised, but she could not do it; her strength deserted her. james denton rose suddenly as she entered the door. he looked like a ghost--he was so pale and haggard. before she realized it, faith extended her hand, then she drew it back quickly with a sudden revulsion. "no, don't offer to shake hands with me," said james denton, slowly. "i am not fit to touch the hem of your garment, miss marvin." faith looked at him as he stood there, pale, hollow-eyed and dejected, then with almost a cry she burst out impulsively: "oh, how could you do such a thing, mr. denton? how did you dare to wrong that poor girl as you have? don't you know that in so doing you have branded yourself a coward?" "so she has told you and saved me from doing so?" young denton breathed a sigh of relief. he had come too late with his awful confession. "yes, she told us, your father and me," said faith, faintly. "oh, it is dreadful--dreadful; i can't understand it!" "neither can i," said james denton, with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "i have never understood how i came to do it. i was a fool--an imbecile--a lunatic, miss marvin. i married the girl without even dreaming that i loved her." faith stared at him in surprise as he spoke the words. she was conscious even of a flutter of happiness as she listened to the confession. "then why did you marry her?" she asked at last. she watched eagerly to hear his answer. "it was all done for a lark," began the young man. "we were out with some friends, miss brady and i, and i--i suppose we had all been drinking too much; then some one suggested a wedding, and i was fool enough to play the bridegroom." "and you did not love her?" faith asked the question slowly. "not a bit, miss marvin; i liked her, of course. but she was in love with me; i discovered that later." "why did you not own her as your wife?" faith hardly knew her own voice as she asked this. it hardly seemed possible that she could speak so calmly. mr. denton looked at her sharply before he replied. "you can guess that surely," he said very softly. "rascal that i was, i was ashamed to own her." after a minute he went on with almost desperate calmness, as though he was determined to tell the whole of the distressing secret. "i told her that dad would disown me if he knew that i had married her, but that if she would wait until i was twenty-one, that there would be no more danger of my losing my money. mag likes money, you know, and she consented readily, but when she saw me flirting with the other girls, as i had to, you see, to make every one think that i was still single, her jealousy got the best of her, and you know what happened." "well, you will have to own her now," said faith in almost a whisper. she had been praying silently for strength to say it calmly. "never!" cried young denton with a flash of anger in his eyes. "own a murderess for my wife--never! never! miss marvin!" "then i shall despise you," said faith, with a flush of color in her cheeks. "for it is the only thing you can do to right the wrong that you have done her." "but i can't. indeed, i can't!" cried the young man, wildly. "don't you see, miss marvin, that i have nothing to give her, no love, no respect, not even friendship?" "but you must own her, just the same," said faith, decidedly. "maggie was a good girl once; it is love for you that has ruined her." james denton was even paler than when he entered as he answered her, and there was a tone in his voice that made faith shudder. "two wrongs cannot make one right, miss marvin," he said, firmly, "and to live with maggie would be as great a wrong as the first, for i cannot do so honorably while i love another." faith looked up at him quickly and found his gaze riveted on her face. for a moment she seemed drawn to him as if by a magnet, then the revulsion came again and she raised both hands imploringly. "go, go, mr. denton!" she cried in a sharp whisper. "please go before you say what is in your heart, for your words can only add cruel mockery to dishonor!" chapter xxxvii. the blessing of repentance. a week passed before faith went to the store again. she was too utterly miserable to think of resuming her duties. mr. watkins called on her every night to bring her news of the store, and by this means she kept track of all mr. denton's changes. one night mr. watkins had mentioned a number of things which had benefited the clerks as well as the customers, and in concluding his recital he sighed very heavily, an indication to faith that there was something more behind it. "why do you sigh, mr. watkins?" she asked, abruptly. "it seems to me that these changes should bring nothing but smiles, they are such necessary reforms, yet they have been so long in coming." "i was thinking of mr. denton, i suppose," was the answer. "he's such a good man now that i hate to see him go to the wall completely. why, miss marvin, have you any idea what these reforms have cost? i cannot tell you the figures exactly, of course; but the bills for the past month are enough to frighten one. if he continues his present methods he will not be in business a year longer." "i thought so," said mrs. marvin, quickly. "religion and business cannot be combined. the man who follows his conscience is sure to lose money." "but he gains that which is better," spoke up faith, quickly. "ask mr. denton if this is not true. he has found it so already." "well, his poor wife doesn't share his sentiments," said mr. watkins, "for she has worried so fearfully over his enormous losses already that she is now on the verge of losing her reason." "poor soul," said mrs. marvin; "she must be a very worldly woman, for, while extreme poverty is cruel, still, she will probably never reach that condition." "i am not so sure," replied mr. watkins, "but even moderate comfort would be cruel to her, for she was born and has always lived in the lap of luxury." "i suppose the news of her son's wickedness has distressed her also," said mrs. marvin, slowly. faith's cheeks flushed hotly, and she bent her head over her sewing, "she has tried to get him to have the marriage annulled," was mr. watkins' answer. "it could easily be done, as both parties were intoxicated." "and will not the young man agree?" asked mrs. marvin, mildly. "i should think he would be just the kind to jump at the opportunity." "his father will not hear of it," said mr. watkins, "and of late even the young man himself has shown a willingness to own her." faith raised her head with a light shining in her eyes. "then he is not altogether bad," she said, very quickly. "if he does right to maggie now we ought all to forgive him." she spoke so earnestly that, both her mother and mr. watkins looked at her sharply. if her mother understood her eagerness, she did not betray it, but with mr. watkins it was different. he understood and was nettled. "is mr. day in business again?" asked mrs. marvin, who seemed suddenly to find it necessary to change the conversation. "no, he has gone abroad to spend his money," answered mr. watkins. "he says that he made a small fortune out of another man's religion, and that is far more than he has ever made out of his own, for that was never known to bring him in a penny." "that is a dreadful thing to say," replied mrs. marvin, slowly, "for, while i do not get much comfort out of my belief in god, still, i realize that, it is my own stubbornness that keeps me from it. some day i hope to understand it better." "you certainly will, dear mother," said faith, brightly, "but if you would only stop trying to understand! if you would only accept it as a little child, and then trust to the heavenly father to lead you!" "i will some day, faith--i am sure of it," answered her mother. "i shall be saved, not only through my own faith, but through that of my daughter." "her trust is sublime," said mr. watkins, gently. "i shall never forget how she comforted my poor mary." "she comforts every one," said mrs. marvin, smiling, "i named her rightly--don't you think so, mr. watkins?" "you did, indeed," said the young man, tenderly. "it will be a lucky man, indeed, who can say 'my faith,' and by those words indicate your daughter, mrs. marvin." "oh, don't!" said faith, laughing. "you are mocking, mr. watkins." like her mother, she, too, found it convenient to change the subject. "and how about mr. forbes? have you heard anything of his plans?" she asked, eagerly. "i have heard it rumored that he, too, was trying to follow his conscience." mr. watkins smiled as he answered her question. "he is trying to do what many men have done before him. he is trying to buy his conscience with the money he makes dishonestly, or, in other words, he is a sinner on week-days and a saint on sundays. why, they tell me he has started in business for himself, and with what he can gouge from the just wages of his employees he pays pew rent and gives to the heathen. it is the same old story--hypocrisy and greed! drain the blood of the poor in order to build monuments to their ashes!" mr. watkins spoke bitterly and with a tightening of the lips. he was thinking of miss jennings as he finished his utterance. after he had gone mrs. marvin spoke suddenly to faith. "do you know, dear," she said, simply, "i believe mr. watkins is learning to love you! he is a fine young man. do you think you could care for him?" "oh, no, no, mother! don't ever speak of such a thing!" cried faith, as if the suggestion hurt her. mrs. marvin looked at her keenly. her suspicions were being verified. the next morning faith was well enough to report for duty, and the very atmosphere of the store seemed changed as she entered. miss fairbanks greeted her with honest cordiality. there were tears in her eyes as she spoke to faith of maggie brady. "poor girl," she whispered; "she feels dreadful about her lot. she wishes she had kept silent forever about being jim's wife and allowed him to free himself, which he could have done very easily." "but i thought she loved him," said faith, faintly. "so she does," was the answer; "but she knows it was wrong for her to marry as she did. she says she knew he did not love her, and felt sure that he would never own her." "but he does now," said faith, with a questioning look at the buyer. "yes, i believe he has admitted that she is really his wife, but the poor girl has demanded that the marriage be annulled." faith looked up eagerly, but she could not frame her question. "she has been praying, she tells me," said miss fairbanks, continuing, "and she says it is her duty to give jim up, for to live with him would be wicked when he does not love her." faith heard only the first words that miss fairbanks had spoken. poor maggie had been praying; then her heart was softened. "she is out, you know, and free as air," continued miss fairbanks, "but she is not coming back to the store. mr. denton has made her an allowance." "and you, miss fairbanks?" asked faith, very softly. "are you praying, too, or is it not yet the lord's time? i am anxious for you to be happy in the 'light of his countenance.'" miss fairbanks laid her hand upon the young girl's shoulder. "thank god," she said devoutly; "at last i am praying." as faith moved on toward her counter she saw miss jones waiting for her. there was something in the girl's manner that struck faith as unfamiliar. "miss marvin," she said, the moment faith stepped behind the counter, "i am a rude, treacherous person, and i have wronged you cruelly! have you the grace in your heart to forgive a traitor?" faith grasped her hand, while the tears sprang to her eyes. "there is nothing to forgive, dear miss jones," she said, gently. "we have been sisters from the first, only you did not understand it; but tell me, is it through miss fairbanks that you feel so differently?" "partly through her and partly through mag brady," was the honest answer. "mag has told me how you talked to her, and she also told me what her husband said, that it was through your influence that he was now willing to own her." "did mr. denton say that?" asked faith, speaking slowly. "he did," said miss jones, promptly, "and mag just blesses you for it." if faith had felt one misgiving over that particular action, it vanished now like a bit of vapor. mag "blessed" her for the words that had hurt her so to speak. surely there was balm for all wounds, even those which burned the deepest. faith's morning was the happiest she had ever known in the store and at the luncheon hour, as she went to the cloak-room, she had but one wish in her heart, and that was for the conversion of wicked lou willis. chapter xxxviii. lou is caught at last. as faith passed mr. denton's office on the way to the cloak-room she heard a woman's voice raised to a very high pitch, and immediately recognized it as belonging to miss willis. she had hardly had time to wonder what had occurred, when the door flew open and she had a good look right straight into the office. ben tyler, the detective, was standing with his hand on the door and a very ugly expression on his face, while a few feet further back stood mr. denton, apparently trying to reason with the infuriated woman. one glance was enough to tell faith what had happened. lou had been stealing again, and the detective had caught her. for a moment the young girl hardly knew what to do, and in that momentary hesitation she heard what lou was saying. "he's a sneak and a liar!" she screamed, pointing at the detective. "he can't prove that i stole anything! i defy him to do it!" "but the goods were found in your pocket," said mr. denton, firmly. "oh, that doesn't prove anything," was the girl's quick answer. "it's very easy for any one to put stolen goods in my pocket; it's been done before, and both of you know it!" "but i saw you take the watch," said the detective, angrily. "so what's the use of denying it any longer!" faith was hurrying away now as fast as she could go. she knew it was not her place to interfere in such matters. "a month ago i might have done so," she whispered to herself, "but now that mr. denton is a christian, he will deal mercifully with her." when she reached the cloak-room the utmost excitement prevailed, and the first words that faith heard distinctly were spoken by the "head of stock" in the jewelry department. "i've suspected her for a long time," she said, a little viciously. "she's a good-for-nothing, anyway, who isn't above stealing!" "they say her father was a thief; so it runs in the family, i guess," said another voice; "and then, her mother was a bad character; so lou comes by it honestly!" "oh, girls! don't!" cried faith, who could endure it no longer. "please don't say such cruel things! it is dreadful to bear them!" "well, they are true, so why shouldn't we say them?" asked one. "she's been caught 'dead to rights,' so what's the use of mincing matters?" said another. "but does it do any good to bring up all these things?" asked faith. "if the poor girl 'comes honestly by them,' should we not be charitable even in speaking of her?" "there is something in that," spoke up a woman that faith did not know, "it's another case of the 'sins of the fathers being visited upon the children.' if there was nothing else in the world to keep me from believing in a god, that verse in the bible would surely do it!" "well, i don't need that verse," said another voice, "for the misery and injustice on earth are enough to prove that no god of love or mercy could possibly have ordained it." "but don't we make a great deal of the injustice and misery for ourselves?" asked faith, very soberly; "for instance, hasn't lou just made a lot of misery for herself? she knew she could not go on stealing forever without being punished." "she probably couldn't help it," was the hesitating answer. "perhaps she is a kleptomaniac--you know there are such people." "oh, but they are always rich people, who can afford to pay the judge for letting them off easy!" said one of the girls, laughing. "when a poor woman steals she's an out-and-out thief; but when a rich woman steals she's a kleptomaniac." a laugh followed this explanation, but faith could not join in it. her thoughts were too full of the fate which had overtaken lou, and which she knew was only a natural consequence. suddenly there was a scream from the direction of mr. denton's office, then another, and another, each more shrill and vibrating. without a moment's hesitation every girl in the cloak-room started for the stairs. when they got there they saw a sight that made them pale with horror. lou willis was struggling like a maniac between two officers, who were trying to snap a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. they were both powerful men, but the girl was resisting them fiercely. she slapped and scratched their faces, all the time shrieking her vituperations. they finally succeeded in locking the "bracelets" and forcing her into a chair--she was too thoroughly exhausted to hold out much longer. "do you mean to say that she isn't crazy?" whispered one of the girls on the stairs. the tears flowed down faith's cheeks, but she answered the whisper. "poor lou! poor lou! she must be crazy! no woman could act or even feel like that and be in her right senses!" the door of the office was suddenly closed, and, as lou was silent now, the girls trooped slowly back to the cloak-room. "they'll take her away as soon as she's quiet," said one, "and that will mean at least six months on blackwell's island." "she's been there before, i think," spoke up a cash girl. "you know, she was caught stealing in another store, but denton, day & co. didn't know it." "did you know it when she came here?" it was miss jones who asked the question. she had come in just in time to hear the last of the conversation. "of course i knew it, but what of that? suppose i was going to prevent the girl from earning her living?" "but didn't you think she'd be apt to steal again?" the girl laughed coarsely before she answered. "well, to tell you the truth, i hoped she would!" she said, glibly. "i would like to have seen her get away with the whole establishment! what were denton, day & co. doing about that time, i'd like to know? weren't they robbing the poor devils who made their goods, cheating their customers with inferior garments and exorbitant prices, and last, but not least, weren't they wearing the souls out of our bodies with the system of slavery that they employed in the building? what did i care who cheated them or even who robbed them? wouldn't they grind me to death just as they did poor miss jennings? of course, if it should happen now i should feel very different; still, i'm a good deal sorrier for lou than i am for mr. denton!" "we would all feel different now," spoke up faith very quickly. "we would all scorn to be disloyal to such a good employer as mr. denton!" "he's the best friend we girls ever had," spoke up another clerk. "why, we are in heaven now, compared with what we were a month ago! shorter hours, bigger pay, no slave-drivers over us, and, best of all, we are treated like human beings. there is no more of that feeling that we are a lot of cattle!" "the lord be praised for all his goodness," said faith, devoutly, "for what but his mercy has enacted this change? it is a demonstration of his love through his servant, mr. denton." "you are right, miss marvin," said miss jones, firmly. "there is no power on earth that could have altered these conditions, and i for one am ready and glad to admit it!" faith looked at the speaker with beaming eyes. it delighted her to witness her companion's fearless demeanor. "there they go! lou and the officers!" cried cash girl number 83. "they are almost carrying her down the stairs! i wouldn't be in her shoes for a thousand dollars." "perhaps she'll repent, like poor mag brady," said miss jones, thoughtfully. "after mag's wonderful conversion, i feel that there is hope for all of us." faith wiped the tears from her eyes as she saw the last of lou. "though your sins be as scarlet--" she could not finish the verse. the next instant she burst out crying--she was weeping for lou willis. chapter xxxix. the penance for sin. maggie brady had been free for exactly a week, but the prison pallor had not yet left her features. thanks to mr. denton, she had a comfortable home and her husband was awaiting for permission to join her. she had not seen faith since that day in the jail when she read the girl's carefully guarded secret, but in the few short interviews which she had with her husband she learned that which caused her to bless the young girl fervently. james denton told her honestly that he did not love her, but his manner as he said it was gentle, even tender. he regretted his foolish marriage, both for her sake and his own, still he was ready now to do his whole duty by her, and it was faith marvin's words that had taught him that duty. but maggie brady was a greatly changed woman. there were thoughts in her heart which she revealed to no one, but which influenced her every deed and decision. she had gone over and over her wasted life and could find no blame for any one individual, for, looked at from all points, it was conditions that were her enemies, conditions made by the rich in their greed of plunder. if she had been stronger she might have combatted these conditions, but the uselessness of such a struggle had been demonstrated by so many--she did not have courage or faith in her own ability to conquer. like hundreds of poor girls, she had drifted from bad to worse, until that mad marriage to jim denton capped the climax of her wickedness. now, with her newly awakened understanding she desired to do penance for her sin. it was a part of that old religion which she had long ago discarded. at the confessional she told her wrongdoing and received absolution so far as it is in the power of god's mediators to absolve one, but to promise to live, uprightly forevermore did not satisfy her soul. she felt the need of further self-abnegation; she must crucify body and spirit to complete the penance. with the calmness, even exultation, of a martyr she made her preparations. there were wishes to be expressed and letters to be written. one of these letters reached faith as she sat with her mother early one evening; the writing so faint and uneven that she could hardly decipher it. "oh, mother! mother!" she cried as she perused it. "quick! get on your hat and come with me! the letter is from maggie--she is sick--or dying!" as they hurried from the house mr. watkins joined them. in five minutes they were in a carriage driving swiftly toward maggie's address. as faith opened the door leading to maggie's rooms she came upon a scene that nearly paralyzed her senses. poor maggie was half lying and half sitting upon a couch, her husband supporting her tenderly while miss fairbanks stood by administering a cordial. there was another person in the room whom faith knew at once to be a physician, but she had eyes nor ears for no one but maggie. "oh, you poor, dear child! what has happened?" she asked quickly as she went over and knelt by the side of the poor creature. "i thought you would come," whispered maggie faintly. "i wanted to see you, oh, so much! i wanted--to--thank--you!" she lay back on her pillow with a stifled groan while james denton wiped her brow--his own the color of ashes. "you were so good," murmured poor maggie again as faith leaned over her. "you taught me, to pray. may the good god bless you." she closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her lips. in an instant the physician took her wrist between his fingers. "gone," he said, softly, "the poor child is at rest. cheer up, mr. denton, your wife is in heaven." "thanks to her," whispered james denton, with a look toward faith. she was kneeling, convulsed with sorrow, with her mother's arms about her. no one really knew how the secret leaked out first, for the physician, acting as he thought wise, refrained from telling it openly, but faith soon learned that maggie's death was not natural--she had died by her own hand--it was her full and complete penance. "it is not for us to judge," whispered mrs. marvin when she heard it. "god alone knew her thoughts," was faith's tearful answer. when the news reached the store, even mr. denton wept. it was the end of a familiar but heart-rending tragedy. and now it came time for faith to change her plans--for reasons of her own she felt that she must stay behind the counter no longer. james denton had gone abroad, so she put him out of her thoughts as completely as possible; only a vagrant memory now and then showed her the lurking shadow of her girlish passion. as soon as she could she had a talk with mr. denton, whom she found, as usual, busily working in his office. "see, miss marvin," he said almost gayly as faith entered the door, "here are a dozen letters from christian people this morning, all congratulating me on the changes in my store! i have been getting a few every day, but this is a splendid showing! here is one," he added, selecting an envelope, "who even offers to put a large sum of money at my disposal just as soon as i have proven that christianity is practicable and profitable." "and can you do this, sir?" asked faith very eagerly. a hopeful expression flitted across mr. denton's face. "mr. gibson tells me that our business is increasing every day," he answered slowly, "and that the poor people are flocking in to look at our honest bargains, and you see here i have proof that the rich people are watching us." "oh, i shall be so glad!--so thankful!" said faith, with a bright smile. "i was sure you would be rewarded for setting such a noble example! but i have come to ask a favor, mr. denton," she added, softly. "i want you to give me another position in your store instead of the one i occupy at present." mr. denton looked at her, and understood at once. "in other words, you wish to enlarge your field of usefulness, do you not, miss marvin? you think you can shed the light more successfully if you have a wider scope of action." "that is it exactly," was faith's glad answer; "but please, mr. denton, i don't wish any salary." mr. denton glanced up in a little surprise. he had not yet even heard of her change of fortune. "yes, i have money enough now to live comfortably," she explained, "and i can even help others, i think, a little. it came to my mother some time ago, a few thousands that were due her from her father's estate, so we are in a position to be helpful without remuneration." "and you will stay with me still?" asked mr, denton, smiling. "you will sacrifice your liberty and your home life to stay here and labor, miss marvin?" "it will be no sacrifice, i can assure you!" cried faith, brightly, "for i am far happier here than i would be anywhere else, i fancy!" "then i appoint you as general inspector of my store," said mr. denton, promptly, "and your duties are to consist of daily talks with the clerks and daily hints to me how i can improve their conditions." "oh, that will be delightful!" cried faith, excitedly, "only i will not promise to be a very wise inspector, for i am so young that i am sadly in need of experience." "'the fear of the lord is the beginning of wisdom.' i do not tremble for the results," said mr. denton, smiling. faith went back to the department and told miss fairbanks of the new arrangement, and in less than an hour every clerk in the store knew it. "just think, she has money and yet she will stay here," said one, "and she is to look after our interests, which is the strangest thing about it!" "everything is strange here nowadays," was the thoughtful reply. "why, i'm sure this is the only store in the world that is run on a christian basis!" the next remark was made in a lower tone, as if the speaker was doubtful of her own statements in the matter. "and do you know," she said, slowly, "the business of the store is actually increasing! i got it straight from the head bookkeeper that mr. denton is holding his own splendidly in spite of the fact that every one predicted a sure failure." "well, i hope i shall never have to work anywhere else," was the answer. "it would kill me to go back to those old days of slavery and poor salaries!" as the weeks passed by, even the greatest doubter became convinced that the business of the store was improving. great crowds came every day to look about, if not to buy, for their curiosity as well as interest was genuine and unbounded. many flocked to the store to compare the prices of goods with those of the other emporiums and to draw their own conclusions as to the sincerity of the enterprise. a high price on an article was often misleading until the manufacturer's side of the question was explained and understood, and so, too, a low price often produced various criticism from those who could not differentiate between just and usurious profit. but in the main the efforts of the merchant were pretty fairly understood and a perfect flood of congratulations followed the enlightenment. "my motto is consideration for the manufacturer, justice to myself and honest value to my patrons," said mr. denton to all. "if i vary from this, it will be through error, not malice." one by one the buyers learned their lesson of right dealing, and the counters of the big establishment showed the result of their labors. they were filled with goods whose first values had not been depreciated and whose sale profits were in proportion to the labor expended in handling them. as mr. gibson had said, poor people had flocked to the store. they were satisfied that, at last, they would get the worth of every penny. "it's funny to see how suspicious they were of us at first," he said to faith one day. "why, they were more doubtful of us than ever, i do believe, and all because we had enrolled under a christian banner." "i don't blame them," said faith slowly, "for have they not good cause to doubt? has not hypocrisy and deceit always assumed the garb of christianity? it is the church people who are to blame for it--the insincere ones, i mean--so many of them are content with words alone. when it comes to deeds they are tried and found wanting." "that is why i have never believed," said mr. gibson slowly. "i saw through their shams and thought they were all alike! why, most people use religion as a regular coat of mail, behind which they commit every sin in the calendar! and others, particularly business people, use it merely as a trade-mark or sign of respectability, and then laugh in their sleeves at the number of dupes they make with it!" "well, there's no sham or hypocrisy in mr. denton's dealings," cried faith, brightly, "for no man could enter upon a christian course with greater sacrifice, both of friends and money." chapter xl. a golden outlook. one year had passed since maggie brady's death, and faith marvin was nearing her nineteenth birthday. she was still living with her mother in their pretty little flat and working faithfully at the store with mr. denton. the year had brought many changes in that establishment, and there were many new faces in place of the old ones. faith talked over these changes as she sat with her mother and mr. watkins in one of their social chats after the day's work was over. "it hardly seems like the same place," she said, happily. "why, we are just one big family, with mr. denton for our father!" "and mr. denton is certainly holding his own financially," said mr. watkins, a trifle reluctantly, "while the papers are full of reported failures all around us." "i am so glad that mrs. denton is recovering," said mrs. marvin. "i did sympathize with her so during the first few months of her anxiety!" "we are all glad she is better," said faith, quickly, "for she comes down to the store often, and she is really very charming. but the greatest changes are in the clerks themselves," she went on, thoughtfully. "they are so courteous, so loyal and so kind to each other. why, a new girl is welcomed and made one of us at once, and, no matter what her faults may be, we are almost sure to win her over. of course, we miss the little cash girls, but the tube system is much better, and it did seem so terrible to think of those children being forced to earn their living!" mrs. marvin nodded her head sympathetically and her daughter continued. "mr. gunning is so different that you would hardly know him," she said, "and do you know, fred, he and miss jones are to be married next tuesday? the dear girl, through god's grace, has had the happiness to redeem him. then miss fairbanks has developed just the kindest and sweetest sort of character! why, i believe every girl in the department loves her!" "what do you hear of lou willis?" asked her mother after a moment. "that poor girl who was arrested for stealing jewelry." "she has just come back from serving her sentence," was faith's answer, "and mr. denton is considering whether he had better reinstate her." "it will be a great risk," said mr. watkins, soberly, "for 'what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh,' unless, of course, the spirit of christ takes possession of the body." "we hope it will," said faith, almost cheerily, "and then lou has had a fearful experience--she may be different altogether." "and miss dean," suggested mrs. marvin, in a reminiscent manner. faith laughed a little before she answered. "she finds nothing to do in the store now," she said, "but we still differ a little in our notions and theories." mrs. marvin left the room a few minutes later. whether it was done for a purpose or not, faith did not have time to conjecture. "faith, dear faith," whispered mr. watkins, quickly, "am i never, never to hear your answer?" he bent toward her so pleadingly that faith closed her eyes instinctively. it cut her to the heart to have to witness his sorrow. "i have loved you so long, so patiently, dear! can you not give me some hope, even though it is for the far-distant future?" "i cannot! oh, i cannot!" murmured faith in agony. "oh, i wish i could, mr. watkins, but it is impossible! i cannot love you!" the young man rose without a word and took his hat from the table. "good-night, faith," he said, gently. "good-night, little sister! don't worry about me! some day i will get over it!" he went silently away without waiting for mrs. marvin. faith breathed a sigh of relief that her sad duty was over. "you have refused him, faith!" her mother spoke softly. "poor fellow! i am sorry, but you know your own mind, darling." they sat down again and faith took up a book. a peal at the bell made her drop it suddenly. a few moments later young james denton entered. he was taller, broader and deeply bronzed by travel. "at last, i see you again," he whispered softly as soon as mrs. marvin had left them together. "tell me of your travels," said faith very quickly. the color had risen to her face and her heart was beating wildly. "well, i went all over europe and the continent," he said wearily; "but a year is not long enough for a fellow to down a bad reputation! i have come back to find myself in contempt, the same as before, but i have decided that i shall not run away again. i am going to try and live down what i could not run away from." faith looked at him questioningly, but did not speak. the young man understood the glance and hurried with his explanation. "i am going to work in the store with my father now," he said, quietly, "and i am going to put in a small sum of money that has come to me in the past year from a distant relative." "but are you not afraid you will lose it?" asked faith, a little shyly. "you know you always had grave doubts as to the financial results of your father's undertaking." "well, what if i do?" asked the young man, smiling back at her. "others have done as much, and i can but follow in their footsteps, and then reformation to be acceptable should not be half-hearted." there was a light in his eyes that was not to be mistaken. as faith beheld it she uttered a cry of joy and held out both hands toward him impulsively. young denton gathered both her hands into one of his own, while his other rested lightly upon her shoulder. "and after i have proven myself worthy may i claim my reward?" he whispered. "may i ask my good angel to share her labors with me and so crown her noble life with the seal of forgiveness?" "i have nothing to forgive," whispered faith, blushing deeply. "if christ has forgiven there is nothing further." "and you will marry me, faith, if i prove worthy?" he murmured. "for, oh, i love you, sweetheart, and i cannot live without you!" "i will marry you--yes," was the girl's low answer, "if at the end of a year you are still in the faith--still carrying the light to the darkest places." there was just one kiss to seal the compact, but that kiss was a benediction, a holy consummation. * * * * * meanwhile mr. denton was still sitting in his chair, although the big building was empty of all but its watchman. his head was bowed down upon his bosom, as the year just passed spread panorama-like before his vision. what had he accomplished of his master's work? he breathed a sigh that it had been so little. he had tried to put justice in the place of its opposite, to install sweet liberty in the place of oppression. in his dealings with his fellow men he had been fair and equitable, even leaning toward mercy when opportunity offered. in fact, he had incorporated the spirit of righteousness into the temple of mammon and molded worldly affairs after the principles of divine teaching. and what to him had been the results? he smiled with grateful satisfaction as he briefly reviewed them. there was a trifling shortage as compared with the accounts of previous years, so trifling that it astonished him when he reflected upon the amounts which he had paid his two partners. beyond this the business of the store had been good and his books showed new accounts recently opened with wealthy persons, which assured him beyond doubt that they indorsed his methods. further than this, there were offers of capital from a dozen different sources. the sincere christians of the city could not have expressed more tangibly their ardent desire to stand shoulder to shoulder with the merchant who had resolved to deal according to his conscience. the outlook for the future was more than hopeful. he could see no obstacle in the path of his ultimate victory. there should be no more grinding down in the work-rooms where his goods were made, no undercutting of prices to ruin a brother merchant. he should be just with others and they must be just with him or he would refuse absolutely to have dealings with them. every employee of his establishment should be suitably remunerated, and by this treatment he felt assured that he would receive their ablest service. co-operation in his humane work was all that he needed, and here, on his desk and in his books, was ample proof of this assistance. he bowed his head in thanksgiving as he finished his reflections. "surely, with god all things are possible," he murmured audibly, and then a thought of his son's conversion and his wife's gradual but sure return to reason with health brought a flow of happiness that irradiated his countenance. a glimpse of starlit sky was visible through his window and mr. denton raised his eyes to it in solemn contemplation. "thy ways are not our ways," he whispered humbly, "but though the cross is heavy and hard to bear, thou wilt give thy servant a just reward, and the end is peace--peace that passeth understanding." the end. winnie childs the shop girl by c.n. & a.m. williamson grosset & dunlap publishers new york made in the united states of america 1914, 1916, by c.n. & a.m. williamson contents chapter i. the dryad door ii. balm of gilead iii. an ill wind iv. the kindness of miss rolls v. scenes for a "movie" vi. the hands with the rings vii. the two peters viii. no. 2884 ix. the test of character x. peter rolls's little ways xi. devil take the hindmost xii. blue peter xiii. one man and another xiv. from scylla to charybdis xv. the lady in the moon xvi. the seed ena planted xvii. toyland xviii. the big bluff xix. "yes" to anything xx. the closed house xxi. the telephone xxii. the fragrance of fresias xxiii. mother xxiv. things exploding xxv. a piece of her mind xxvi. when the secret came out xxvii. the battle the shop girl the shop girl chapter i the dryad door it was a horrible day at sea, horrible even on board the new and splendid _monarchic_. all the prettiest people had disappeared from the huge dining-saloon. they had turned green, and then faded away, one by one or in hurried groups; and now the very thought of music at meals made them sick, in ragtime. peter rolls was never sick in any time or in any weather, which was his one disagreeable, superior-to-others trick. most of his qualities were likable, and he was likable, though a queer fellow in some ways, said his best friends--the ones who called him "petro." when the ship played that she was a hobby-horse or a crab (if that is the creature which shares with elderly germans a specialty for walking from side to side), also a kangaroo, and occasionally a boomerang, peter rolls did not mind. he was sorry for the men and girls he knew, including his sister, who lay in deck chairs pretending to be rugs, or who went to bed and wished themselves in their peaceful graves. but for himself, the wild turmoil of the waves filled him with sympathetic restlessness. it had never occurred to peter that he was imaginative, yet he seemed to know what the white-faced storm was saying, and to want to shout an answer. the second morning out (the morning after the _monarchic_ had to pass queenstown without taking on the mails or putting off enraged passengers) peter thought he would go to the gymnasium and work up an appetite for luncheon. he had looked in the first day, and had seen a thing which could give you all the sensations and benefits of a camel ride across the desert. he had ridden camels in real deserts and liked them. now he did not see why waves should not answer just as well as dunes, and was looking forward to the experiment; but he must have been absent-minded, for when he opened what ought to have been the gymnasium door, it was not the gymnasium door. it was--good heavens!--_what_ was it? peter rolls, the unimaginative young man, thought that he must be in his berth and dreaming he was here. for this room that he was looking into could not possibly be a room on a ship, not even on the _monarchic_, that had all the latest, day-after-to-morrow improvements and luxuries. the very bread was to-morrow's bread; but these marvellous creatures could not be supplied by the management as improvements or luxuries of any kind. peter seemed to have opened a door into a crystal-walled world peopled entirely by dryads. he thought of dryads, because in pictures, beings called by that name were taller, slimmer, more graceful, more beautiful, and had longer legs than young females of mortal breed. there were five of them (at least he believed there were five), and though it was eleven o'clock in the morning, they were dressed as if for the prince's ball in the story of "cinderella." unless on the stage, peter had never seen such dresses or such girls. he heard himself gasp; and afterward, when he and a wave together had banged the door shut, he hoped that he had said: "i beg your pardon." he was so confused, however, that he was not at all sure he had not blurted out "good lord!" for a moment he stood as still as the sea would let him in front of the door, burning to open it again and see if the girls were really there. but, of course, he could not do that. he would have been almost inclined to believe they were wax figures if they had not moved, but they had moved. they had been--sprawling is not a word to use in connection with dryads--yet certainly reclining, in easy chairs and on sofas, and had started up as the door opened to stare at him. one had laughed. peter had shut the door on her laugh. he had brought away a vague impression that chairs, sofas, and carpet were pale gray, and that the dryads' dresses of wonderful tints, sparkling with gold and silver and jewels, had been brilliant as tropical flowers against the neutral background. also, when he came to think of it, he wasn't sure that the walls were not mostly made of mirrors. that was why he could not be certain whether he had seen five dryads or five times five. "the dryad door," he apostrophized it romantically, keeping his balance by standing with his feet apart, as old men stand before a fire. it was a very ordinary-looking door, and that made the romance for peter in giving it such a name--just a white-painted door, so new that it smelled slightly of varnish--yet behind it lay dreamland. of course peter rolls knew that the tall, incredibly lovely beings were not dryads and not dreams, although they wore low necks, and pearls and diamonds in their wonderful, waved hair, at eleven o'clock of a stormy morning on board an atlantic liner. still, he was blessed if he could think what they were, and what they were doing in that room of mirrors without any furniture which he could recall, except a very large screen, a few chairs, and a sofa or two. the next best thing to the forbidden one--opening the door again to ask the beings point-blank whether they were pipe dreams or just mermaids--was to go on to the gymnasium and inquire there. toward this end young mr. rolls (as he was respectfully called in a business house never mentioned by his sister) immediately took steps. but taking steps was as far as he got. suddenly it seemed a deed you could not do, to demand of an imitation-camel's attendant why five young ladies wore evening dress in the morning in a room three doors away. after all, why should a camel attendant dare to know anything about them? perhaps they were merely amusing themselves and each other by trying on all their gladdest clothes. there might be girls who would think this a good way to kill time in a storm. yes, conceivably there might be such girls, just as there might be sea serpents; but, though peter rolls was too shy to have learned much about the female of his species, the explanation did not appeal to his reason. his mind would persist in making a mystery of the mirror-walled room with its five dazzling occupants, and even the bumpings of the imitation camel could not jerk out of his head speculations which played around the dryad door. he was as curious as _fatima_ herself, and with somewhat the same curiosity; for, except that in one case the beautiful ladies had their heads, and in the other had lost them, there was a hint of resemblance between the two mysteries. peter rolls wondered whether he would like to ask his sister ena if she knew the visions, or even if, being a woman, she could form any theory to account for them. it would be interesting to see what she would say; but then, unless she were too seasick, she would probably laugh, and perhaps tell lord raygan. as for the visions themselves, only one had spirit enough left in her to be able to laugh at being thought a dryad or a mystery. she alone of the five would have known what "dryad" means. and she could always laugh, no matter how miserable or how sick she was. that day she was very sick indeed. they were all very sick, but she could not help seeing, at her worst, that it was funny. "for heaven's sake, what are you giggling at?" snapped the longest, slimmest, most abnormal dryad, diaphanously draped in yellow, when she could gasp out an intelligible sentence after an exhausting bout of agony. "us," said the girl who could always laugh, a vision in silver. "us? i don't see anything funny about us!" groaned a tall dream in crimson and purple. "funny! i should think not!" snorted a fantasy in emerald. "it makes me worse to hear you laugh," squealed a radiance in rose. "i wish we were all dead, _especially_ miss child," snarled the last of the five, a symphony in black and all conceivable shades of blue. because of this combination, the miss child in question had named her the "bruise." "sorry! i'll try not to laugh again till the sea goes down," miss child apologized. "i wasn't laughing at any of _you_ exactly, it was more the whole situation: us, dressed like stars of the russian ballet and sick as dogs, pearls in our hair and basins in our hands, looking like queens and feeling like dolls with our stuffing gone." "don't speak of stuffing. it makes me think of sage and onions," quavered the tallest queen. "ugh!" they all groaned, except winifred child, who was to blame for starting the subject. "ugh! oh! ugh!" when they were better they lay back on their sofas, or leaned back in their chairs, their beautiful--or meant to be beautiful--faces pale, their eyes shut. and it was at this moment that peter rolls burst open the door. as he had observed, the waxlike figures moved, sat upright, and stared. this sudden disturbance of brain balance made them all giddy, but the surprise of seeing a man, not a steward, at the door, was so great that for a moment or two it acted as a tonic. nothing dreadful happened to any one of the five until after the smooth black head had been withdrawn and the door closed. "a man!" breathed miss devereux, the abnormally tall girl in yellow chiffon over gold gauze. "yes, dear. i wonder what he wanted?" sighed miss carroll, the girl in rose. the one in green was miss tyndale, the one in black and blue miss vedrine, all very becoming labels; and if they had christian names of equal distinction to match, the alien known at home simply as "win" had never heard them. they called each other miss devereux, miss carroll, miss tyndale, and miss vedrine, or else "dear." "i wish we could think he wanted to see us!" remarked miss tyndale. "i hope he didn't notice the basins," added miss vedrine "i think we hid them with our trains," said miss carroll. "was he nice looking?" miss vedrine had courage to ask. she had wonderful red hair, only a little darker at the roots, and long, straight black eyelashes. a few of these had come off on her cheeks, but they were not noticeable at a distance. "i don't know, i'm sure, dear," replied miss devereux, a fawn-eyed brunette, who was nearest the door. "there wasn't time to see. i just thought: 'good heavens! have we got to parade?' then, 'no, thank goodness, it's a man!' and he was gone." "what should we do if a woman did come, and we had to get up?" wondered miss vedrine, whose great specialty was her profile and length of white throat. "she wouldn't be a woman; she'd be a monster, to care about clothes in weather like this," pronounced the golden-haired miss carroll. "parade indeed! i _wouldn't_. i'd simply lie down and expire." "i feel i've never till now sympathized enough with the animals in the ark," said miss child, who had not chosen her own name, or else had shown little taste in selection, compared with the others. but she was somehow different, rather subtly different, from them in all ways; not so elaborately refined, not so abnormally tall, not so startlingly picturesque. "one always thinks of the ark animals in a procession, poor dears--showing off their fur or their stripes or their spots or something--just like us." "speak for yourself, if you talk about spots, please," said miss devereux, who never addressed miss child as "dear," nor did the others. "i was thinking of leopards," explained the fifth dryad. "they're among the few things you _can_ think of without being sick." "i can't," said miss devereux, and was. they all were, and somehow miss child seemed to be the one to blame. "we were just getting better!" wailed miss vedrine. "it was only a momentary excitement that cheered us," suggested winifred child. "what excitement?" they all wanted indignantly to know. "that man looking in." "do you call that an excitement? where have you lived?" "well, a surprise, then. but _would_ we have been better if it had been madame who looked in?" the picture called up by this question was so appalling that they shuddered and forgot their little grudge against miss child, who was not so bad when you were feeling well, except that she had odd ways of looking at things, and laughed when nobody else could see anything to laugh at. "thank heaven, she's a bad sailor!" miss devereux cried. "thank heaven, all the other women on board are bad sailors," added win. "if madame was well she'd think _we_ ought to be," said miss carroll. "she'd dock our pay every time we--oh, _this_ is bad enough, but if she was well it would be a million times worse!" "could anything be worse?" miss tyndale pitifully questioned, for just then the ship was sliding down the side of a wave as big as a millionaire's house. "yes, it would be worse if we were wearing our waists slender this year," said win. "down, down, wallow, wallow, jump!" was the program the _monarchic_ carried out for the twentieth time in half as many minutes. slender waists! oh, horrible to think of, unless you broke in two and death ended your troubles! "let's try breathing _in_ as she goes up and _out_ as she goes down. i've heard that works wonderfully," said win. they tried, but it worked disappointingly that time. perhaps it was the ship's fault. it was impossible to time her antics with the most careful breathing. "oh, why did we leave our peaceful homes?" moaned miss vedrine. "i didn't," whispered win. "didn't what?" "leave my peaceful home. if i'd had one i shouldn't be here." this was the first time she had volunteered or had had dragged out of her a word concerning her past. but at the moment no one could be keyed to interest in anything except preparation for the next wave. in the veranda cafe peter rolls was asking his sister ena if she knew anything about five incredibly beautiful girls in evening dress shut up together in a room with walls made of mirrors. ena rolls was not in a mood to answer irrelevant questions, especially from a brother; but lord raygan and his sister were there, and pricked up their ears at the hint of a mystery. she could not be cross and ask peter kindly to go to the devil and not talk rot, as she would have done if the others had been somewhere else. but then, were it not for lord raygan and his sister and mother, miss rolls would be flat in her berth. "five incredibly beautiful girls in evening dress!" repeated lord raygan, who, like peter, was a good sailor. ena rolls wanted him to be interested in her, and not in five preposterous persons in evening dress, so she replied promptly to peter's question: "i suppose they must be nadine's living models. we all had cards about their being on board and the hours of their parade to show the latest fashions. you saw the card, i suppose, lady eileen?" "yes," returned lord raygan's flapper sister. "it's on the writing-desk in that darling sitting-room you've given mubs and me." ena felt rewarded for her sacrifice. she and peter had engaged the best suite on board the _monarchic_, but when lord raygan and his mother and sister were borne past queenstown in most unworthy cabins (two very small ones between the three), ena had given up her own and peter's room to the two ladies. it was a providential chance to make their acquaintance and win their gratitude. (she had met raygan in egypt and london, and sailed on the _monarchic_ in consequence.) "the stewardess told me before i moved down," she went on, "that mme. nadine had taken the ship's nursery this trip for her show, and fitted it with wardrobes and mirror doors at immense expense. i'm afraid she won't get her money back if this storm lasts. who could gaze at living models?" "i could, if they're as beautiful as your brother says," replied lord raygan, a tall, lanky, red-headed irishman with humorous eyes and a heavy jaw. he was the first earl ena had ever met, but she prayed fervently that he might not be the last. peter somehow did not want those pale dryads sacrificed to make a raygan holiday. he regretted having remarked on their beauty. "they looked more like dying than living models when i saw them," he said. "let's go and see what they look like now," suggested raygan. "eh, what, miss rolls?" "i don't know if men _can_ go," she hesitated. "who's to stop them? why shouldn't i be wanting to buy one of the dresses off their backs for my sister?" "what a _melting_ idea! you do, don't you, dear boy?" the flapper encouraged him. "i might. come along, miss rolls. come along, eily. what about you, rolls? will you guide us?" "let's wait till after lunch," said ena. she hoped that it might disagree with everybody, and then they would not want to go. "oh, no!" pleaded lady eileen o'neill. "we may be dead after luncheon, and probably will be. or rags'll change his mind about the dress. nadine's dresses are too heavenly. i've never seen any except on the stage, worn by wonderful, thin giantesses. all her gowns are named, you know, rags: 'dawn,' or 'sunset,' or 'love in spring,' or 'passion in twilight,' and poetic things like that." "can't be very poetic bein' sick in 'em, by jove! for those girls in the nursery," remarked rags, "especially if they've got a sense of humour." (one of them had. the shimmering sheath of silver and chiffon she wore to-day, as it happened, rejoiced in the name of "first love." it was all white. she was being very careful of its virginal purity; but it occurred to her that unless the sea's passion died, the frock would soon have to be renamed "second love," or even "slighted affection," if not "rejected addresses.") urged by eileen, who would think her a "pig" if she refused, ena reluctantly uncurled herself from a safe and graceful position on a cushioned sofa. the result was alarming. her swimming head warned her that if she did not instantly sit down again something too awful to think of in the presence of an earl would happen. "you'd better go without me. i'm not very keen," she faintly explained, appealing to peter with her eyes. he contrived to understand without asking stupid questions, as some brothers would, and hurried the others off to the room of the mirrors. no longer was it a room of mystery; yet romance, once awakened, cannot be put to sleep in a minute, and peter rolls's heart beat with excitement or shyness, he was not sure which, as lady eileen o'neill knocked at the dryad door. chapter ii balm of gilead it was the worst possible moment for the dryads. but when their tear-wet eyes beheld a girl and two men, some deep-down primordial pride of womanhood rushed to their rescue and, flowing through their veins, performed a miracle beyond the power of any patent remedy. the five forlorn girls became at need the five stately goddesses mme. nadine paid them to be. (winifred child, by the way, was not paid, for she was not a goddess by profession. but she got her passage free. it was for that she was goddessing.) miss devereux was the leader, by virtue, not of extra age, no indeed! but of height, manner, and experience. she apologized, with the most refined accent, for mme. nadine, who was "quite prostrated"; for mme. nadine's manageress, who was even worse; and for themselves. "i'm afraid we must do the best we can alone," she finished with unconscious pathos. "it's a shame to disturb you," said peter rolls. miss devereux and her attendant dryads turned their eyes to him. they had fancied that he was the man who had burst in before and burst out again; now they were sure. if he had been a woman, they would have borne him a grudge for coming back and bringing companions worse than himself; but as he was a man, young, and not bad looking, they forgave him meekly. they forgave the other man for the same reason, and forgave the girl because she was with the men. if only they could behave themselves as young ladies should through this ordeal! that was the effort on which they must concentrate their minds and other organs. "not at all," returned miss devereux, every inch a princess. "we are _here_ to be disturbed." (alas, how true!) she smiled at lady eileen, but not patronizingly, because a mysterious instinct told her that the plain, pleasant young girl in irish tweed was a "swell." the men, too, were swells, or important in some way or other. one exerted one's self to be charming to such people and to keep the male members of the party from looking at the other girls. "would you like to see something else, different from what we are showing? evening cloaks? day dresses? we have a number of smart little afternoon frocks---" "i think that white dress is the _meltingest_ thing i ever saw," said lady eileen, who had walked into the room without waiting for miss devereux's answer to peter rolls's objection. she was a kind-hearted girl, but, after all, living models were living models until they were dead, and she wasn't going to lose the chance of getting a dreamy frock out of rags! all the goddesses were on their mettle and their feet now, though swaying like tall lilies in a high wind and occasionally bracing themselves against mirrors, while lady eileen was in the biggest chair, with raygan and peter rolls standing behind her. the men also were offered chairs by miss vedrine with a lovely play of eyelashes, but refused them: the chairs, not the eyelashes, which no man could have spurned, despite their scattered effect. "the white dress, _moddam?"_ (it thrills a flapper to be called "_moddam_.") "it is one of the latest designs and considered perfect for a dã©butante. no doubt you know it is mme. nadine's custom to name her inspirations. come here, if you please, miss child! this is 'first love.'" "looks like it," remarked lord raygan, as miss child obeyed. he might have meant the wearer or the dress. peter rolls flashed a gimlet glance his way to see which. he felt uncomfortably responsible for the manners of the visitors and the feelings of the visited. but the face of rags was grave, and no offence could be taken. peter rolls withdrew the glance, though not before winifred child had it intercepted and interpreted. "i believe he's a nice fellow," was the thought that slid through her mind as, like a chicken on a spit, she turned and turned to let lady eileen behold "first love" from every point of view. "rippin', but a foot too tall for you," said rags, more because it amused him to prolong the scene than through a real desire to criticise. "_you_ don't go in for bein' a sylph." another backhanded compliment for the wearer, if she cared to accept it; but she was beautifully unconscious and, for once, not laughing. her eyes looked miles away. peter rolls wondered to what land she had gone. the girl appeared to be gazing over his head; but, as a matter of fact, she could see him perfectly. he had black hair and blue eyes, shrewd perhaps, yet they might be kind and merry; just now they looked worried. she thought him not handsome, but tanned and thin (she detested fat men) and somehow nice. win wondered if she were taller than he. she hated being taller than men, though she owed her present engagement to her height and length of limb. miss devereux respectfully argued that appearances were deceitful. _moddam_ was quite as sylphlike as the model. might the dress be sent to _moddam's_ cabin to try? then it came out that _moddam_ was lady eileen o'neill, and the four tallest dryads visibly brightened, not so much for the owner of the name as for her brother. their dull days had been dimly lightened by gossip on the ship, brought to them by a stewardess from lord raygan's native isle, who knew all about him: that he was an earl, that with his mother and sister he had booked from liverpool to queenstown, but, owing to the ferocity of the sea, had been unable to land and was being carried to america. also that a rich young american and his sister had given up their suite to the ladies. this american was said to be of no birth, the son of some big shopkeeper, and far, far outside even the fringe of the four hundred; therefore the tallest dryads did their best eyelash work for lord raygan. they were born british, hailing from brixton or other suburban health resorts, and now they knew he was a "lord" the nickname of "rags," which had sickened them at first, seemed interesting and intimate as a domestic anecdote about royalty. rags consented to buy the dress for his sister if it fitted and didn't cost a million pounds. the dryads thought this adorably generous, for the stewardess, who knew all about lord raygan, said that the "family had become impoverished; they were not what they had once been except in name, which was of the best and oldest in ireland." stewardesses can tell all the things that marconi does not mention. when the sale was settled miss devereux turned to peter rolls. "and you, sir?" she asked, slightly coquettish because he was a man, though not of the four hundred. "i suppose there's nothing we can do for you?" "i suppose not," peter was echoing, when something occurred to him. "unless," he amended, "my sister would like to buy a dress. she's on board." "would she care to look at mme. nadine's designs?" suggested miss devereux. "we have wardrobes full of marvellous inspirations." "the trouble is, she feels queer if she walks around much," said peter. "perhaps she would trust you to pick out something she might see in her own room? is she tall or short?" "not so tall as any of you." "things which would fit _this_ young lady would be the best, then. miss child, miss vedrine will help you out of 'first love' behind the screen and put you into the 'young moon.' what"--_sotto voce_--"are you laughing at _this_ time?" "nothing," said the smallest dryad meekly, though she gurgled under her breath. "we'd better go now, and i'll come back," hastily suggested peter. "don't bother to change behind the screen for us, please. i must ask my sister about the dress." he got the others out, which was not difficult as far as eileen was concerned. she could hardly wait to try "first love." rags was determined to ask miss rolls if he shouldn't choose a frock for her. but she said no, she didn't want one. this would have seemed to settle the matter, and did for lord raygan, who sat down beside her, abandoning further thought of the dryads. peter, however, returned in due course to the room of the mirrors, because miss child could not be allowed to get into the "young moon" in such weather for nothing. she was in it when he arrived. and pluck, mingled with excitement, having had a truly bracing effect on the girls, in the absence of the peer they were nice to the plebeian. the girl in the "young moon," to be sure, had scarcely anything to say, but she had a peculiarly fascinating way of not saying it. by the time mr. rolls had bought the "moon" for his sister, he had become quite friendly with the other dryads, on the strength of a few simple jokes about green cheese and blue moons and never having dreamed he could obtain one by crying for it. "i was wondering," he said at last, when he was about to go, "whether you'd care for me to bring you some balm of gilead?" "balm of gilead?" all five, even the girl in the "moon," exclaimed. "yes. stuff for seasickness. not that you _are_ seasick of course. but the balm's a good preventive. did you never hear of it?" they shook their heads. "it's the great thing our side of the water. i don't need it myself, but i know it's all right, because it's making my father a fortune." "did he invent it?" inquired miss carroll. "no. but he named it and he sells it. it's the men who name things and sell things, not the ones who invent them, that get the money. my father is peter rolls, and i---" "i hope you spell rolls with an 'e,'" broke in miss vedrine. "else it would remind me of something i want to forget." "something you--but maybe i can guess! what the ship does now?" "don't speak of it!" they groaned. "i won't! or my name, either, if you'd rather not, especially as only my sister spells it with an 'e.' i mentioned the name on account of the balm. the barber has no end of bottles. i'll go and buy you one now. it tastes good. back in ten minutes." and he was gone. "his father must be a chemist," sniffed miss devereux, as she unhooked the "young moon." when peter returned miss child was wearing a robe like an illuminated cobweb on a background of violets. this was the "yielding heart." peter had brought a bottle and a clean napkin and five teaspoons. "i got these things off a dining-room steward," he explained. "sounds like a conjurer," murmured the girl who laughed. "how rude of you!" miss devereux scolded in a whisper. "don't mind her, mr. rolls. she isn't a bit like the rest of us." peter had noticed that. "she's always laughing at everything, and everybody, too," went on miss devereux. "she's welcome to laugh at me," said peter. "i enjoy it." "ladies don't. she'd never do for a _permanence_ with mme. nadine. clients wouldn't stand being grinned at by models." "i don't laugh at people. i laugh at the world," the model defended herself. "why?" inquired peter, with a straight look at the queer, arresting face. "to keep it from laughing at me first. and to make it laugh _with_ me--if i can." "do you think you can?" "i shall try hard--against the biggest odds. and whatever it does to me, i shan't _cry_." "i shouldn't wonder if that wasn't the whole secret of life!" said peter rolls, continuing to look at the face. suddenly it flashed a smile at him. "shouldn't you? give _me_ the balm of gilead, and the rest would be easy!" peter was not stupid as a rule, yet he could not be quite sure what she meant. if he guessed right, the rest wasn't as easy as she thought. yet the words made him wish that he could give the girl who laughed--the girl who was not to be a "permanence" with nadine--more than a teaspoonful of balm. chapter iii an ill wind while the storm held, peter rolls went several times each dreadful day to the room of the mirrors and dosed his dryads with balm of gilead. the medicine--or something else--sustained them marvellously. and it occurred to peter that they would make a magnificent advertisement, if there were any way of using them--the kind of advertisement his father loved. it was well that peter senior was not on board, or he would certainly propose a new feature for the balm department: scene, richly furnished salon on a yacht; five fair effects in ball dresses sipping balm of gilead; the whole arrangement on a rocking platform, with mechanism hidden by realistically painted waves. but the dryads were previously engaged by the prostrate nadine--all except one. when they were sufficiently restored to take an interest, peter smuggled grapefruit, chocolates, and novels into the nursery. the novels his sister had brought with her to kill time during the voyage; but as it happened, she was killing it with lord raygan instead and never missed the books. nadine had been obliged to take first-class tickets for her models; otherwise the rules of the ship would not have allowed them past the barrier, even in the pursuit of business. but they sardined in one cabin, near the bow, on the deepest down deck allotted to first-classhood, and their private lives were scarcely more enjoyable than the professional. they were, to be sure, theoretically able to take exercise at certain hours, weather permitting; but weather did not permit, and four of the dryads, when free, sought distraction in lying down rather than walking. it was only the fifth who would not take the weather's "no" for an answer. she had a mackintosh, and with her head looking very small and neat, wound in a brown veil the colour of her hair, she joined the brigade of the strong men and women who defied the winds by night. from eight to ten she staggered and slid up and down the wet length of the least-frequented deck, or flopped and gasped joyously for a few minutes in an unclaimed chair. being "not a bit like the rest" of her sister dryads, she refrained from mentioning this habit to mr. rolls, whose prowling place was on higher decks. not that she was still what he would have called "standoffish" with him. that would have been silly and victorian after the grapefruit and chocolates and novels, to say nothing of balm by the bottleful. the last dress she had worn on the first day of their acquaintance, the "yielding heart," had to a certain extent prophesied her attitude with the one man who knocked at the dryad door. miss child not only thought mr. rolls "might be rather nice," but was almost sure he was. she was nice to him, too, in dryad land, when he paid his visits to the sisterhood, but she did not "belong on his deck." by and by, however, he discovered her in the mackintosh and veil. it was one night when a young playwright who had seized on him as prey wished to find a quiet place to be eloquent about the plot. "there's a deck two below," said the aspirant for fame, "where nobody prowls except a young female panther tied up in a veil." five minutes later peter rolls took off his cap to the female panther. the playwright noticed this, but was too much interested in himself and the hope of securing a capitalist to care. in sketching out his comedy he was blind to any other possibilities of drama, and so did not see peter's eagerness to get rid of him. he was even pleased when, after a few compliments, rolls junior said: "look here, you'd better leave me to think over what you've told me. i fix things in my memory that way. and maybe when i've got it straight in my head i'll--er--mention it to a man i know." as the playwright was shivering, he obeyed with alacrity; and in the warmth of the smoking-room revelled in the picture of his tame capitalist pacing a cold deck, lost to the sea's welter in thoughts of that marvellous last act. but it was a first act which was engaging peter rolls's attention, and he, though the only male character in it (by choice), had to learn his part as he went on. the play began by his joining the leading lady. (this has been done before, but seldom with such a lurch and on such sloping boards.) it would have been a mockery to say "good evening" on a night so vile, and mr. rolls began by asking miss child if he might walk with her. "or tango," said she. "this deck is teaching me some wonderful new steps." "i wish you'd teach them to me," said peter. "i can't, but the ship can." "did you ever dance the tango?" he wanted to know. "yes. in another state of existence." this silenced him for an instant. then he skipped at least two speeches ahead, whither his thoughts had flown. "say, miss child, i wish you'd tell me something about yourself." "there isn't anything interesting to tell, thank you, mr. rolls." "if that's your only reason, i think you might let me judge. honestly, i don't want to intrude or be curious. but you're so different from the others." "i know i'm not pretty. that's why i have to be so painfully sweet. i got the engagement only by a few extra inches. luckily it isn't the face matters so much," she chattered on. "i thought it was. but it's legs; their being long; mme. nadine engages on that and your figure being right for the dresses of the year. so many pretty girls come in short or odd lengths, you find, when they have to be measured by the yard, at bargain price." peter laughed. "you're not meant to laugh there," she said. "it's a solemn fact." "but _you_ always laugh." "that's because i'm what you'd call 'up against' life. it gives me such a funny point of view." "that's part of what i want to talk about. please don't keep trying to turn the subject. unless you think i have no business seizing the first chance when i find you alone, to---" "it isn't that," said win. "i think you're very kind to take the slightest interest. but really there _is_ nothing to tell. just the usual sort of thing." "it doesn't seem exactly usual to me for a girl about nineteen years old--" "twenty!" "--to be leaving home alone and starting for a new country." "not alone. mme. nadine might be furious if she were spoken of as my chaperon; but she is, all the same. not that an emigrant needs a chaperon." "you an emigrant!" "well, what else am i?" "i've been thinking of you as a dryad." "a poor, drenched dryad, thousands of miles from her native woods. do you know, my veil is _soaked_?" "i'll get you a sou'wester hat to-morrow." "does the barber keep them as well as balm of gilead?" "no, but my sister does. she keeps one. and she doesn't want it. i shall annex it." "oh! i couldn't take it!" "if you don't, i'll throw it overboard." "were the chocolates hers?" "yes." "and the books?" "some were mine. but not the ones miss devereux says are pretty. look here, miss child, another thing she says is that you are not with nadine as a permanence. what does that mean, if you don't much mind my asking?" "not what you think. i'm not going to be discharged. i was engaged only for the voyage, to take the place of a prettier girl with still longer legs who fell through at the last moment--literally. she stepped into one of those gas-hole places in the street. and i stepped into her shoes--lucky shoes!--sort of seven-league ones, bringing me across the sea, all the way to new york free, for nothing. no! i hope not for nothing. i hope it is to make my fortune." "i hope so, too," said peter gravely. "got any friends there besides me?" "thanks for putting it so, mr. balm of gilead. why, i've heard that everybody in america is ready to be a friend to lonely strangers!" "i guess your informant was almost too much of an optimist. couldn't you be serious for just a minute? you know, i feel quite well acquainted with you--and the others, of course. but they _are_ different. and they _are_ 'permanences' with nadine. that's the kind of thing they're fit for. i don't worry about them, and i shan't worry about you, either, if you tell me you have friends or know what you are going to do when you land." "i can't tell you that," win answered in a changed tone, as if suddenly she were weary of trying to "frivol." "but i have hopes; and i have two letters of introduction and a respectable, recommended boarding-house and a little money left, so i really believe i shall be all right, thank you. my people thought my wanting to come showed 'my wild spirit,' so i'm anxious to prove as soon as i can--not to them any more, but to myself--that i can live my own life in a new world without coming to grief." "why not prove to them any more?" "oh--because no one is going to care much. as i said, my native woods are far behind, and most of the trees are cut down. not a dryad of the true dryad family left, and this one is practically forgotten already. her niche was all grown over with new bark long ago, so it was more than time she ceased to haunt the place." "i'm afraid you've had a great sorrow," said peter. "it was hardly big enough for that word--this thing that's sent me seeking my fortune--though it began with a sorrow long ago." "some one you loved died?" peter had a simple, direct way of asking questions that led you on. "my mother. when i was fourteen--not old enough to be of much use to my father and the baby brother. so my father had to get some one to be a kind of housekeeper and superior nurse. he's a clergyman. i don't look like a clergyman's daughter, perhaps--and he thought i didn't behave like one, especially after the housekeeper came. she's the kind who calls herself 'a lady housekeeper.' i don't know if you have them in america. she and i had rows--and that upset father. he didn't want to get rid of her because she managed things splendidly--him and the baby and the vicarage--and influential old ladies said she 'filled a difficult position satisfactorily.' so it was simpler to get rid of me. i went to boarding-school." "did you like that?" "i loved it. after the first year i didn't go home even for the holidays. often i visited--girls were nice to me. but i didn't make the most of my time--i'm furious with myself for that now. i learned nothing--nothing, really, except the things i wanted to learn. and those are always the ones that are least useful." "i found that, too," said peter, "at yale." "it didn't matter for you. you have the balm of gilead." "that's my father's." "what's his is yours, i suppose." "he says so. but--we all have our own trouble. mine's not living up to my principles, or even knowing exactly what they are--being all in a turmoil. but it's yours i want to talk about." "i've forbidden myself the word 'trouble.' it builds a wall. and i've just broken through my wall. i could have done it sooner and better if i'd learned more difficult things, that's all. when i wanted to do something for myself--why, i couldn't do a _thing_ that was any good in a busy world. i'd had no training except for my voice." "there! i thought you sounded as if you had a voice!" "_i_ thought so, too. but that was another of my mistakes." "i bet it wasn't." "you'd lose your money, mr. rolls. i spent most of mine before i found out. you see, my mother left a little. it wasn't to come to me till i was twenty-one, but all sorts of things happened. my father kept me at school till a year and a half ago because he didn't know what to do with me. then my little brother died. i ought to have cared more, but i hardly knew him. his coming killed my mother; and he loved _that woman_. i don't see how he could! "when he was gone, people might have gossiped about her and father perhaps. i believe she suggested it to him and said she must go away, to make him think of marrying her; but all he did was to send for me. i stood it for six months. it was horrid for all three. i dare say i was to blame. i had a scene with father, and told him i'd made up my mind to go to london for singing lessons so i could support myself: i couldn't live at home. that forced the situation! before any one--except the 'lady housekeeper'--knew quite what was happening, father had asked her to be his wife--or she'd asked him. i went before the wedding. i'd worshipped my mother! and--but that's all the story." "i call it only the preface. what about london?" "oh, father gave me my money ahead of time, for the lessons. he didn't approve, on principle, but he would have had no peace with me at home, and he likes peace better than anything. i had to promise i wouldn't go into musical comedy. that makes me laugh now! but i thought then i'd only to ask and to have. i took lessons of a man who'd been a celebrated tenor. he must have known that my voice was nothing, really, but he buoyed me up. i suppose they're all like that. it's business. "when the money was two thirds spent i dared not go on, and i asked him to find me something to do. he'd often said he would when the right time came. apparently it hadn't come. he made the excuse that i ought to have stayed with him longer. it would hurt his reputation to launch a pupil too soon. so i had to try to launch myself. and it didn't work. one manager of opera companies on whom i forced myself tested my voice and said it wasn't strong enough--only a twilight voice for a drawing-room, he called it. i was broken up--just at first." "poor child!" peter muttered, but the girl's quick ears caught the words over the roar of that "ill wind" which had brought them together. "child is my surname, and it's not polite to call me by it." she brought him to his bearings by suddenly "frivolling" again. "they call militant suffragettes and housemaids sent to prison for stealing their kind mistresses' jewels by their surnames. i'm not a militant; and i've not been a housemaid yet, though i may be, if new york isn't kinder to me than london." "i hope it will be--kind in just the right way!" "my friend who gave me the two letters of introduction says it will: that americans _love_ english girls, if they have the courage to come over. she says there are heaps more chances as well as heaps more room for us in that country than there are at home." "that's true, but---" "please don't discourage me!" "not on your life! only---" "'only' is as bad a word as 'but.' i've got a letter of introduction to the editor of a new york paper, _to-day and to-morrow_, and one to the organist of a higher thought church. maud ellis says they're both splendid men and interested in women's progress. something good ought to come from one or the other. getting this chance of my passage free seems a happy omen, as if i were _meant_ to take this great adventure. i'm not one bit afraid. i feel boiling with courage--except when the ship pitches and rolls at the same time." "that's right. you're bound to make good, of course. i wouldn't discourage you for the world. all i meant to say was that i'd like you to think of me as a friend. i don't want to lose sight of you when we land. i might be able to help in some way or other or--my family might. before we get off the ship i'll introduce you and my sister to each other." "oh, thank you! you're very kind," the banished dryad said for the third or fourth time. "but i should be sorry to trouble miss rolls. she wouldn't---" "yes, she would," insisted peter. "she'll be awfully interested when i tell her about you, miss child, and very pleased to know you." win was silenced, though not convinced. it is not safe for a brother to judge his sister by himself. chapter iv the kindness of miss rolls peter found it not so easy as he had expected to snatch an opportunity of interesting ena in miss child. his sister was even more than ordinarily interested in her own affairs, which had reached a critical stage, and if peter, having run her to earth in her cabin, attempted to talk of any one save ena rolls or lord raygan her eyes became like shut windows. he could almost see her soul turning its back and walking away behind the panes of opaque gray glass. there had been another evening prowl with the young female panther before the evasive chance was grasped, and the storm-tossed, overdue _monarchic_ hoped to dock within eighteen hours. things were growing desperate for peter. he was not, of course, in love with the "queer, arresting face," but he could not bear to think of its arriving alone and unprotected in new york. something must be done, and he resorted to bribery. "look here, sis," he began, "i've just thought there may be reasons why raygan can't make up his mind to visit a bit on our side, now he and his family are here." "he hasn't said he won't do it," ena cut in. "no, but he hasn't said he will, has he?" "not yet. i daren't seem too eager." "to save my life, i don't see why you _should_ be eager. but as you are, i've been giving my mind to the subject." (this was subtle of peter.) "i've come to the conclusion that the man would like to stay. i'm sure his sister would. perhaps you can answer for the mother. the trouble may be money." "perhaps. i've thought of that. but what can we do? we can't go to him out of a clear sky and offer to lend." "i might propose to put him on to a good thing." "oh, peter, _would_ you help me like that, in a man's way?" "i would, if you'd do me a favour, in a woman's way." "what is it? but whatever it is, i'm sure to!" they were in miss rolls's cabin, the one she had generously taken over from lady raygan and eileen. ena was sitting on the seat under the window; peter was looking uncomfortable on a camp-chair. it was a small cabin, boiling over with dresses, though the "young moon" had not yet been added to their number. peter had never found his sister in a propitious mood for the gift, and had been keeping the "moon," figuratively, up his sleeve till the right moment came. now, perhaps it had come. ena had been lying down after luncheon. she had given herself this little rest because she knew that raygan was going to play poker in the smoking-room. she had learned bridge--though cards bored her--just as she had learned tennis and golf and all sorts of eccentric dances, in order to be popular, to be in the swim, to do just what the fashionable people were doing--the people at the top, where she wanted to arrive. but she could not play poker! and if she could, it would have been impossible to go with lord raygan into the smoking-room. luckily no other girl would be there, so ena resigned herself to the loss of valuable time on her last day. "why, yes," peter answered. "i believe you _are_ sure to! it won't be a hard favour to do, sis. it's only to let me introduce a girl, a very nice girl, and then to be kind and help her if she needs it." ena laughed. "is that all? i guess--i mean, i fancy--i can promise that. girls don't need much help nowadays who is she? have i seen her?" "no. you haven't seen her." "is she pretty?" peter had expected that question. ena, and all the other girls he knew, invariably asked it. but he did not quite know what to answer. "she's awfully attractive," he said. "the sort you'd turn and look after in a crowd. she hasn't got what you call features, but--you can't take your eyes off her somehow. she looks--she looks--well, a tiny bit like a--a--perfectly gloriously fascinating--golliwog." "a golliwog!" "great big, wide-apart eyes, i mean; dark, floating ones, with immense eyelashes that curl up and stick out when you see her profile. she's got a short, round face--no, kind of heart-shaped, i guess, and a little, delicate, turned-up nose, like the duchess of marlborough's; and a lovely mouth--yes, her mouth _is_ lovely, no mistake! she's nearly always laughing, even when she isn't happy. she's got a long neck, like a flower stem, and long legs---" "good gracious, what a description! for heaven's sake, who is the girl?" "oh, i know it must sound queer; but she's the most fascinating thing you ever saw, and any man would say so. she's a miss child---" "there's no miss child on the passenger list." "maybe not; because she's one of nadine's models, and i bought you a gorgeous dress off her. i've been--saving it for a surprise. it's called the 'new'--no, the 'young moon.'" ena forgot for a moment that she badly needed help from her brother and began sharply to catechize him. "_when_ did you buy me a dress? the day lord raygan offered to go back to that room and choose me one and i said no, i didn't want a dress?" "yes. that was the day. i couldn't let her try it on in vain." "oh, you bought it to please _her_--the girl like a golliwog?" "she isn't like a golliwog, really. that's not fair. and i bought the dress to please you, of course. it's mighty pretty. i've got it in my room." "i wonder what your steward thinks? well, i'll thank you when i see it. but what an idea, to introduce one of those girls to _me_! lord raygan said they were all bleached and painted, except the one who wasn't pretty." "that's my one. but i think she is pretty, and better than pretty. her eyes--and her smile---" "never mind her eyes and her smile. i _can't_ be introduced to a model, petro. i _won't_ know a dressmaker." "mother was one. and father's mother was a washer---" "be still, for the love of heaven! if any one should hear!" "i'm not ashamed of---" "well, i _am_! oh, petro, don't be horrid, just when i really need you to be nice. and you can be nice--very nice. don't let's even think about the family past. it's awful! it's a blot! but it can't be helped. we must try to live it down. and we can, with our money. we can and we must. a great chance has come to us. all the more because of--of what you reminded me--we must be careful of the sort of people we mix ourselves up with--" "this girl is a lady." then ena lost her temper. "they all are," she snapped. "i suppose she's a clergyman's daughter and her parents are dead." "her mother is," peter admitted. "she _would_ be! what does the girl want help for? doesn't nadine pay her wages?" "she only engaged with nadine to work out her passage." "oh! they say girls from all over the world are bearing down on poor little old new york since owen johnson wrote 'the salamander.'" "jove, ena, i never knew before you had anything of the cat in you!" this, and a flash in the eyes which were bluer than hers, brought miss rolls to her bearings. she remembered the reason for going softly with peter. luckily she had done no great mischief yet. "can't you take a joke, petro?" she teased him, laughing "i'm not a cat, or a pig, either. but you do scare me a little. you don't _like_ this girl, do you?" "of course i like her." "you know what i mean by 'like.' and i hope i know what _you_ mean. you always yearn over every creature who hasn't as much money as we have and needs ours. _sure_ it's no more than that this time? it would be--just the limit, the outside edge and down the other side, if you fell in love with a dressmaker's model. it would be like--like reverting to type. we must climb, not--_root_." peter laughed--nervously, his sister feared. "what a girl you are! you needn't fash yourself about my feelings for miss child. all i want is to help her to get on." "oh! to help her get on? well, then, you may introduce her to me, if it can be done without taking up too much time. you know, petro, it's my last day on board, and i have my feelings as much as you. how can we manage it? can you bring her here?" "i can't 'bring' her anywhere," peter retorted rather gruffly. "she isn't a servant looking for a place. i've told you she's a lady." "oh, all right. what do you suggest?" "she hasn't much time to herself. since the weather improved, business is brisker. but after her dinner she gets in a walk down on b deck, where nobody else goes. i could take you there about half-past eight." "very well. that's the program." ena spoke with regained cheerfulness, because no one need witness an introduction effected on b deck, and because a sentence of peter's had been like a bull's-eye lantern directing a ray along the right track. "i'll be _ever_ so nice to miss child to-night--and afterward, too, in new york, if you can bring anything off with lord raygan about the visit. are you playing poker with him this afternoon?" "yes. some chaps wanted---" "i know. he told me. but he didn't mention you. afterward, will you work right up to the 'good thing' you can put him on to? he'll be in just the mood--if he loses. and he says he always does lose." "yes. i'll let him see that he might do well for himself by staying. gee! think of a fellow needing a bribe to spend a couple of weeks in god's country!" "he doesn't know yet that it is god's country. we must show him. oh, peter, won't the van raaltens and the arlingtons fall over themselves with rage if the earl of raygan and his mother and sister stop with us for a fortnight!" "stop with us for a fortnight!" mimicked peter, scornful yet affectionate now. "you get more british every day in your accent and conversation, my kid." "well, i try hard enough! i _do_ like their way of speaking. they make our voices sound grating and our expressions crude." "_our_ ways for mine!" "you can have them. now run away, petro. i'll see the 'young moon' later. i need a nap. lay awake last night worrying!" but when he had gone she lay awake planning. this golliwog was undoubtedly dangerous. the absorbed look in peter's eyes when he described her singular attractions contradicted the statement that his feelings were platonic. he "only wanted to help!" pooh! still ena was glad he had said that, because it had given her a brilliant idea. it was also rather a cruel idea, but all is fair in love and war: and this might be both. of course, if the girl were coming to new york to be a salamander, the weapon would be useless. ena must find another. she could not be sure until she had met miss child; but she told herself that no glorified golliwog, however sly, could fool _her_ for five minutes! she would soon know whether peter were right or wrong about this daughter of a clergyman whose mother was dead. poor petro, he was such a fool about people--such a dear, nice, but sometimes inconvenient fool! just mother's disposition over again, with a touch of father's cleverness splashed in here and there where you'd least expect it--but _never_ in the place where it would be most useful. as ena reflected thus, she was vaguely pleased with herself after the fashion of an earnest student who suddenly finds himself actually thinking in french. before she went to mme. yarde's finishing school for young ladies, she had been so accustomed to saying pa and ma that it had been very difficult to overcome the habit. even now, once in a while, she--but, thank heaven, not _once_ since meeting lord raygan; she was sure of that. he had said, "you talk quite like our girls." and all the rest of the day she had been happy; for sometimes, in a good-natured sort of way, he made fun of what he absurdly called "the american accent." ena shut her eyes and composed herself to lie down without ruffling her hair. but she could not sleep. she made pictures of lord raygan and his mother and lady eileen visiting at their house on long island. would they think it more "swell" of the rollses to be living in the country than in new york? she hoped so, and almost believed they would, for she understood from novels and what she had learned in london, that the "smart people" only "ran into town for the theatre and that sort of thing" in winter. now it was october--almost winter. and in the automobile it was only an hour and twenty-five minutes from sea gull manor (ena had named the new place herself) to new york. besides, in the country the visitors wouldn't so easily find out that the family hadn't got "into" things--the things that mattered. of course they could see what the family _was_. they could see that anywhere, alas! but poor father and mother were better against a country background. and foreigners might attribute some quaint tricks of manner and speech to their being americans, just as she and peter hadn't known how awful the cockney accent was until they had been told by english people. oh, it was lovely over there! nobody snubbed her. she would give anything to live on that side all her life, married to a man of title, and go home occasionally, to pay back the proud cats who had scratched. meanwhile, it would be a step on the golden ladder to flaunt lord raygan and his mother and eileen as guests. then, if rags could swallow the family and propose (as sometimes she thought he contemplated doing), how wonderful it would be! her ideal accomplished! no golliwog on earth should be allowed to defeat this end. for the addition of a model, dressmaking golliwog to the family would be the final obstacle. lord raygan was now undecided. he was perhaps waiting to see how the rest of the rollses shaped up. if he could stand them as relations, all would be well. all _must_ be well! that night win wore for her walk a long blue coat in place of the mackintosh. it was shabby, but becoming; and her dark hair was tucked into a close-fitting cap of the same blue as the cloak. she knew what was due to happen at half-past eight, and though grateful to mr. balm of gilead, dreaded the result of his kindness. miss rolls would be the first american girl she had ever met; but she knew how an english girl would feel about being introduced to a vague waif picked up by a brother in a dressmaker's showroom on shipboard. it would have been ungracious to refuse the offered introduction so well meant, but the fifth dryad was not looking forward to it with pleasurable sensations. when she saw the brother and sister coming toward her, however, the smile on miss rolls's face was encouraging. it was dimly like peter's smile, and there was a certain family resemblance about the faces: both dark, with eager eyes that seemed light in contrast with dead-black hair, but the eagerness of miss rolls's look was different from the eagerness of her brother's. his was slightly wistful in its search for something he did not yet know. hers was dissatisfied, searching for something she wanted and had not got. he was a lean young man, not very tall, but with rather the air of an ex-college athlete. she was a plump, short girl, somewhat square in build, but distinctly handsome, showing beautiful teeth in her cordial smile. if the smile had been less cordial miss child might have conceived the catty idea that the magnificent ruby-velvet hooded evening cloak had been put on to impress the humble new acquaintance. however, it would have been mean to suspect a sister of mr. balm of gilead of such a snobbish trick. and there _was_ the smile. "miss child, i'm very pleased to meet you," said the handsome girl warmly, just as her brother had hopefully prophesied. "peter's told me quite a lot about you. i think you're awfully brave." "perhaps one doesn't deserve much credit for courage in doing a thing one wants to do," answered winifred, her slim, ringless hand responding to the kind pressure of the plump one wearing too many rings. (they were all rubies to-night. miss rolls had read about a wonderful russian woman before whom men went down like ninepins and who always matched her dresses with her jewels.) yes, ena thought, peter was right; the creature was a lady. she had a soft, throaty voice, like a blackbird when it talks to itself, and oh, a _creamy_ accent! miss rolls would have given anything to extract it, like pith, from the long white stem in which it seemed to live. she would have been willing to pay well for it, and for miss child's length of limb, so necessary to show off the latest fashions. she saw and appreciated the odd, golliwog charm of wide-apart eyes under high arch of brow. and the full, laughing mouth, with the short upper lip, was beautiful, like the mouths of marvellous girls on magazine covers. the creature looked brave and rather sweet, and miss rolls was quite sorry for her; but the thing had to be done. "petro, you go away and let us have a talk," said petro's kind sister gayly. "two is company; three's none." and petro went, thinking ena the grandest sort of a pal. he had done his best for her already. raygan and the two ladies had graciously agreed to stay for a fortnight at least in the country upon which providence had thrust them. peter had marconied home, and home would certainly marconi back an invitation to sea gull manor. as he had said to ena, he had pressed the button; she must do the rest. but he felt now as if he would enjoy doing a great deal more for her than he had yet done. "and just what do you want to do in new york, miss child?" inquired miss rolls, as they began slowly to pace the otherwise deserted deck. "i have wild hopes of getting newspaper work of some sort through one letter of introduction i have," answered win, "or into a choir as contralto from the other. if not--oh, well, every one says america's the country for women." "yes, it is. we have splendid fun," ena assured her. "the men are so kind to us." "i think they must be," win agreed. "mr. rolls has been very kind. are all the rest like him?" "i--suppose they have different ways of being kind--some of them. some may be _safer_ than others. i hardly know how to put it!" "i think i understand." "i--wonder if you do. oh, miss child, i _wish_ i dared speak to you frankly!" when people begin thus there is invariably something disagreeable to follow; but winifred child braced herself and said calmly: "please do." "it's very difficult. i'm quite afraid of you." "it's i who ought to be afraid of you." "don't be! i wish i could make you trust me. can i?" "why not?" "i'm throwing things at you so suddenly. but what else can i _do_? we haven't much time. my brother'll come back and join us. and--it's about him i want to speak. he's so--interested in you." "that's very nice of him." winifred's voice was as cold and bright as a very small icicle. "it ought to be! _but_--well, he's a dear brother and a splendid fellow in many ways. i hate to say anything against him. yet i'd hate still more to have you--disappointed. his one fault is--he's rather foolish about women, especially those not exactly in his own set. do you see what i mean? it's so hard for me! he said to-day he was going to try to help you. that frightened me a little. i felt i must give you this tiny warning, for peter has such a _trustworthy_ air, hasn't he?" "yes, indeed he has," answered win, loyal still to mr. balm of gilead, _alias_ peter pan. but the night had grown colder. "i'm his sister. i can't help feeling responsible for him. and, in a way, i feel responsible for you, too, as it's through him i've met you--and you'll be a stranger in our country. that's why i shouldn't have _dared_ let this chance pass without speaking. yet i keep rambling on without the courage to say much." "it isn't necessary to dot all the i's and cross the t's," returned winifred, trying not to let her voice be sharp or her tone bitter, for she had to believe that this girl was sincere. a sister would not blacken the character of a brother for the mere pleasure of hearing herself talk! "you do take this as i mean it, don't you?" "i think so." "thank you _so_ much. it's very sweet and generous of you not to be angry with me and think me a busybody meddling in other people's business. but it _is_ my business to see that my brother doesn't hurt a girl who trusts him--a stranger in a strange land. all i want you to promise is that instead of letting _him_ help you, when he offers to, as he's sure to do--if he hasn't already--you'll let _me_ do it." "i'm hoping not to need help, except from the friends of my friend who has given me introductions," win justified her pride of womanhood. "i don't suppose you will need anything else. you look as if you could get along _anywhere_. but if you do need a push, promise you won't accept favours from my brother, or let him come into your life at all. it's entirely for your own sake i ask." "i understand that, miss rolls. what other reason could there be?" "there couldn't be any other. do promise. i'm so frightened for you." "i shall certainly accept no help from mr. rolls." "that's good! it relieves my mind. and swear you won't let him dream that i've said anything or interfered with his plans." "his plans!" "well--when a man with peter's _one_ fault offers to help a girl get on in new york--please don't be offended" "i am not. of course it goes without saying that i won't let him know i've had a warning from you." "he'd never speak to me again if you even gave him a hint." "don't be afraid. i won't; not the faintest. why, we're landing to-morrow morning early! there won't be a chance to say more than 'good-bye.'" "there's to-night, after i go in. he'll be back---" "i'm going in, too. i shall go when you go." "perhaps it would be better. oh, you don't know what a weight is off my mind!" "i'm glad it is gone." "and you'll write to _me,_ won't you, and let me know how you get along? write just what you need. i'll be delighted---" "if i need anything--thank you." "my address is sea gull manor, old chesterton, long island. shall i write it down?" "no, please don't trouble. i can always remember addresses. you're really very good--to take an interest. and--and i know it must have been hard for you to--to feel you had to speak." it was also hard, desperately hard, for win to pay this tribute to miss rolls's unselfish interest in her moral welfare. she tried to be grateful, to feel that her late friend's sister had been brave and fine and unconventional thus to defend a strange girl against one so near. but despite reason's wise counsel, her heart was hot within her. she felt like a heathen assured by an earnest missionary that her god was a myth. she disliked kind miss rolls intensely, and would have loved to let loose upon her somewhat obtuse head the sarcasm of which at that moment she felt herself a past mistress. she wanted to be rich and important and have miss rolls, poor and suppliant, at her mercy. horrified, she saw by the searchlight of her own anger dark depths of cruelty and revenge in her own nature. she longed to rush to peter and tell him everything, and believe in him again, for it was hard to lose a friend--an ideal ewe-lamb of a friend. she wished she might wake up in her overcrowded stateroom and find that this hateful conversation had been a dream. but she could not do any of these brutal, silly, or impossible things. she was not dreaming. all was true. miss rolls had meant well, and mr. balm of gilead did not exist. he was only peter rolls, a rich, selfish fellow who thought girls who had to work fair game. his sister must know his true inwardness. probably she had learned through unpleasant hushed-up experiences, through seeing skeletons unfleshed by peter stalk into the family cupboard. "you ungrateful beast, behave yourself!" miss child boxed the ears of her sulky ego and shook it. the throaty quiver in the blackbird voice of the dangerous golliwog went vibrating through miss rolls's conscience in a really painful way. she felt as if she had had a shock of electricity. but, thank goodness, the worst was over, and now that she had grasped safety (for instinct said that the girl would not betray), she could afford to be generous. she reminded herself that she had acted entirely in self-defence, not through malice, and she had not told a single lie about peter. she had but said--in words--that some men were safer than others, which every one knew to be true; that peter was rather foolish about women (so he was--ridiculously soft, not modern in his ideas at all!), and that it would be better for the girl to accept help from her--ena--than from a young man. it was very good advice, and nothing peter ought to be angry about, even if he should ever hear--which, pray heaven, he might not! as ena reminded herself how wise and tactful she had been, a faint glow stole into the chilly zone round her heart, just as you can heat a cold foot by concentrating yourself on telling it that it is warm. "i want to be your _friend_," she went on sweetly. "perhaps you aren't very rich? as girl to girl, let me offer you a little, little present--or a loan--a hundred dollars. i've got it with me---" "oh, thank you many times, but i couldn't possibly!" cried win. "i don't need it. i have lots of money." "i'm glad--though i should have liked the pleasure," said ena. and she genuinely would, because the act of giving would have pumped warmth into the cold place without waiting for time to change the temperature. "there's one thing you must let me do, anyhow," she persisted. "that dress--the 'blue moon,' isn't it?--that you tried on and my brother bought for me, i want you to accept it. oh, don't say no! it's miles too long for me" (she couldn't have brought herself to confess that it was hopelessly small for waist and hips), "and i never enjoy altered dresses--the style's lost. so you'll not be robbing me. if you won't have it, i shall believe it's a sign that you're offended at my interference." winifred thought for an instant and drew a long breath. "then i must take the dress," she said. "it's more than good of you, of course. i shan't be in the kind of world where i can wear it, but---" "keep it to remember this evening--i mean, to remember me," miss rolls hastily amended. "i will," said win simply. but there was no danger that she would ever forget miss rolls--or her kindness. chapter v scenes for a "movie" when peter thought that he might decently return to b deck without breaking into charming womanly confidences, it was deserted. the moon was struggling out through black clouds and pouring silver into the sea's ink, but the girl in the moon was gone. when he found ena again--which was easy because of the ruby cloak--she was sitting between raygan and lady eileen on the boat deck. he knew that she would be annoyed if he mentioned miss child in this distinguished company, and, in any case, he would not have cared to speak of the girl there. realizing that he had kept away too long and lost his chance of seeing miss child again that night, he consoled himself by knocking at ena's door when she had evaded him and sought sanctuary in her cabin. she let him in at once, not because she wanted to do so, but because he would "turn suspicious" if she made an excuse to keep him out. "well?" said he. "what did you think of her?" "miss child? she seems a very nice girl, and you're perfectly right--she is a lady. i don't know if she's quite as young as you think, and _i_ don't call her pretty; but she is attractive in spite of being so awfully tall. we had a pleasant talk, and i offered to do anything i could. i gave her our address, and she is to write." "did you tell her you'd invite her down?" peter put this question diffidently. "i--intimated it. she was rather independent but _very_ nice, and said she was grateful, especially after i insisted on giving her that 'moon' dress, which now i've sent to her cabin. you know, she _has_ friends in new york, and seems to know just what she wants to do, so i couldn't thrust myself upon her. but i think i did the right thing." "i'm sure of that, you dear girl," said peter. and so was the dear girl herself. next morning the room of the mirrors was destitute of dryads. its once crowded wardrobes were empty; the huge screen was folded and leaning against the wall. the dryad door stood open (as peter rolls observed when he "happened" to pass, about the time the _monarchic_ neared the statue of liberty) and nothing reminiscent remained save a haunting perfume of "rose-nadine" sachet powder, a specialty which might have been the lingering wraith of a dryad. as the visions had vanished with all their belongings, peter thought it probable they would be on some deck or other watching for the new york skyscrapers. and he was right concerning four of his model acquaintances. the fifth was not visible, and miss devereux explained her absence by saying that she was "lazy." "she's on her own now, you know," she added, "and can sleep as late as she likes. but i wouldn't miss the first sight of new york for a pound! some people have no romance in them." up till the last minute peter had hopes of b deck; but they were blighted and disappointed, even depressed; he had to land with ena and her friends without having seen miss child. still, there was the pier, crowded with people who had come to wave welcome to the _monarchic_. there appeared to be a fearful confusion, and this was peter's first return from his first trip abroad; but he knew that the excited throng would soon be sorted out under letters of the alphabet. peter senior had come to meet his returning children and the distinguished guests marconi had bestowed on him (a little, dry, thin man, who looked as though a lost resemblance to peter might come out if he were freshened up by being soaked for a long time in warm water), and he had already secured a tame official to glance graciously into the luggage. after shaking heartily the small bag of bones that was his father's hand, and saying "hello, dad! how's yourself? how's mother? how's everything?" peter was free for a few minutes to sprint from "b" to "c." his spirit rose at the comparative dearth of "c's." not more than a dozen of the crowded _monarchic's_ passengers were dancing with impatience beneath the third letter of the alphabet, and mr. rolls, jr., walked straight up to tall miss child without being beaten back by a surf of "c's." to be sure, miss carroll was under the same letter, and observed the approach of peter with interest, if not surprise; but she was seated on a trunk at some distance key in hand. "well, i'm mighty glad to find you!" exclaimed peter cordially. "i began to think it must be a trick of dryads to wait themselves ashore without waiting for the clumsy old ship to dock." "i was busy packing this morning," replied the alleged dryad, with a hard, undryadic expression on her "heart-shaped" face. "you disappeared so early last night, i'd an idea you were doing your packing then so as to be up with the dawn and get a good look at the harbour." "i could see a great deal from our porthole." "i shouldn't have thought you were the kind of girl to be satisfied with portholes," said peter, hoping to wake up one of her smiles. her voice sounded rather tired. "beggars mustn't be choosers," was the dry reply. "but dryads may be," he encouraged her. "i've left my dryadhood hanging up behind the door." she spoke sharply, almost irritably, it seemed. "i shan't need it in new york." "oh, won't you? that's where you're mistaken! there'll be lots of times when you'd rather have it than the grandest opera cloak." "i shan't need an opera cloak, either." peter was still smiling, though less confident of the old friendly understanding which had given them a language of their own with words which would have been nonsense for others. "we'll see. anyhow, i shall ask you to go to the very first worth-while opera that comes along. consider it a formal invitation." "very well, i will, and answer it formally. 'miss child thanks mr. rolls for his kind invitation, and regrets that a previous engagement makes it impossible for her to accept.'" "by jove, that does sound formal enough! how do you know you'll have a previous engagement?" "i'm perfectly certain i shall." this was the real thing! there was no joke in the bottom of the medicine glass. peter's face grew red, like a scolded schoolboy's. winifred (who was looking at miss carroll's trunk, but saw only mr. rolls) thought that he was going to speak out angrily, and perhaps give her a glimpse of his black heart. she hoped he would, for it would have been a relief; but he did not. "have i done anything to offend you?" he asked with a straight look; and though he spoke in a low tone, it was not a secret tone at all. "no, certainly not," she answered, opening her eyes at him. "why do you ask?" "because--you weren't like this on the ship." "i've left my ship manners hanging up behind the door with my dryadhood. i shan't use them in new york, either!" "well--i'm sorry!" "i don't know why you should be." if she had not stared hard at miss carroll's trunk, and tried anxiously to make out the name on a very small label, she would have done what she had boasted of never doing, whatever the world did to her: she would have cried. as it was, she wore the expression of a budding basilisk. "_don't_ you know? well, then, you didn't realize what it meant to me to have you for a friend." "i really didn't think much about it, mr. rolls!" "evidently not. but i did. look here, miss child. did my sister put you against me--or our friendship--in any way?" "what an extraordinary idea!" sneered winifred. "she spoke very nicely of you, as far as i can remember, and said you were a dear brother." "then why are you so unkind to me now after being nice on the ship?" "oh, _that_! it was for a cinema, a motion picture. didn't you understand?" this slapped peter in the face: that she should retort with flippant slang, when he was earnestly begging for an explanation. at last she had succeeded in freezing him. "i'm afraid i didn't quite understand," he said in a new tone which she had not heard before. mr. balm of gilead, _alias_ peter pan, had suddenly grown up, and as peter rolls, jr., was all politeness and conventionality. "i do understand now, though. well, miss child, i must--thank that 'cinema' for some very pleasant hours. here comes a man to look at your baggage. just remind him that you're a british subject, and he won't make you any trouble. neither will i!" peter's hat was off, but his smile could have been knocked off only with a hammer. "good-bye," replied win hastily, frightened at her own appalling success as a basilisk. "and thank _you_--for your part of the cinema." "i'm afraid i don't deserve any credit. good-bye. and good luck." he was gone--but no, not quite. without turning round to look at her again, he was stopping to speak with the irish-faced servant of the customs. the latter nodded and even touched his cap. peter rolls certainly had a way with him. but win already knew this, to her sorrow. she was _glad_ she had thought of that horrid speech about the cinema. the man deserved it. "that's the last i shall see of him!" she said to herself almost viciously, as the irish-american official spied upon her toque the wing of a fowl domesticated since the ark. yet for the second time peter came back, stiffly lifting his hat. "i only wanted to say," he explained, "that, cinema or no cinema, i hope, if i can be of service now or later, you will allow me the privilege. my address---" "i have your _sister's_, thank you," she cut his words short as with a pair of scissors. "that's the same thing, isn't it?" "yes," he answered heavily--perhaps guiltily. and this time he was gone for good. "what a neat expression," thought winifred. "gone for good!" it sounded like a long time. chapter vi the hands with the rings peter rolls, jr., unlike his father, had practically no talent for revenge. in common with every warm-blooded creature lower than the angels, he could be fiercely vindictive for a minute or two--long enough, when a small boy, to give a bloody nose and to get one; long enough, at all ages, to want to hit a man, thoroughly smash him, perhaps, or even to kick him into the middle of next week; long enough to feel that he would like to make a woman sorry that she had been rude. but there was always a spiritual and mental reckoning of a painful description: a soul's housecleaning which turned him out of doors a miserable waif; and it invariably came too soon, before he had had time to gloat over the blood on another boy's nose, or a man's humiliation, or a woman's repentant blush. instead of heartily disliking people for the spiteful things they sometimes did, he was apt to turn round and wonder if the fault had not been his; if he were not the abysmal beast. he had not half repaid winifred child for her rudeness with his coldness, yet no sooner was he in the huge gray automobile--which could comfortably have seated eight instead of six--than he felt a pang of remorse, exactly like a gimlet twisting through his heart from top to bottom. "i oughtn't to have left her like that!" he reproached himself. "i ought to have hung around and seen that everything went all right. she said she had the address of a good, cheap boarding-house. but it may have changed. or it may be full. and, anyway, how will she get there? she ought to take a cab. but will she? and if she does, won't she fall dead at the price? i ought to have warned the poor child. there are shoals of tips i might have put her up to if i hadn't always been talking about myself. what if she _was_ cross? there must have been a reason. i must have done something she didn't feel like pointing out when i asked. what i don't know about women would make three encyclopedias." it was too late, however, to act upon second thoughts which might or might not be "best." peter was in the automobile, and it had started. even if he went back, it would doubtless be only to find miss child gone. he tried to console himself with the fact that ena had been nice to the girl, and that miss child had said--or anyhow intimated--that she would write. if she didn't, he could, at worst, find out her whereabouts by going to nadine. superior as miss child was to the other dryads, she would surely keep up communication with them. miss devereux was the sort who might lunch with him on the strength of "old friendship." he would give her oysters and orchids, and find out how things were going with the girl who had left her dryadhood behind the cabin door. he tried to console himself with these arguments, but the pleasure of homecoming was spoiled. father did not show any very exuberant joy at seeing him again, and it was disappointing to a warm-hearted nature if people were not exuberant, even for a minute, when you had been away for months. the automobile, with its gray-silk cushions, its immense plate-glass windows, its travelling boudoir of mirrors, gold scent bottles, and other idiocies, its bouncing bouquet of fresh violets, its electric fittings, its air pillow embroidered with silver monograms and crests, its brocade-lined chinchilla rugs, tricky little extra seats, and marvellous springs, struck peter as disgustingly ostentatious. he wondered what raygan and his mother and sister would think of folks in a democratic country using chinchilla for automobile rugs; and he was sure they must be having interior hysterics over the rolls coat of arms--a dragon holding up a spiky crown of some nondescript sort on a cushion. the dragon looked rather like a frog rampant, and the crowned cushion bore a singular resemblance to a mushroom with an angry ladybird on its apex. how this family insignia had been obtained peter did not know. his ribald questions had been treated by his sister with silent scorn. he would not be surprised if ena had designed the thing herself! as the car smoothly bowled peter out of winifred child's life, away toward the long island manor house and the welcome mother would give, the deposed dryad was having her first experience of new york. she parted company on the pier with nadine (in private life lady darling), nadine's manageress, miss sorel, and the quartet of models. they had almost forgotten her before they had gone two blocks "uptown"; and she had no reason to remember any of them with affection, except, perhaps, miss sorel, a relative of her one-time dressmaker who had "got her the job." win had heard that the cost of cabs was "something awful" in america, but she said to herself: "just this first time i _must_ have one." a bad night and the scene with peter had dimmed the flame of her courage, and she felt a sinking of the heart instead of a sense of adventure in the thought of taking a "trolley." she would be sure to lose herself in searching for the boarding-house. her luggage--checked and in the hypnotic power of a virile expressman--had already vanished. it would arrive at its destination ahead of her. perhaps there was no room there. in that case it would be sent away. dreadful picture! false economy not to take a cab! win supposed that a taxi would be no dearer than the horse variety and one would sooner learn the secrets of the future. one of these secrets began to hint at its own hideous nature with every convulsive tick of the metre. it hiccuped nickels, and as win's terrified eyes, instead of taking in new york, watched the spendthrift contrivance yelping for her dollars, she remembered that she owned but two hundred. she had had to be "decent" about tips on board. but forty pounds--two hundred dollars--had looked magnificent in her hand bag that morning. paper money spread itself in such a lordly manner and seemed able to buy so many separate things. but by the time the merciless taxi had bumped her through devious ways up to fifty-fourth street, three of the beautiful green dollar bills were as good as gone. she longed to pray "oh, _do_ stop taxying!" at the doorstep before she darted up to inquire whether miss hampshire still kept the boarding-house; and it was maddening to hear that "teuf, teuf" desperately going on, chewing its silver cud, in the long pause before an answer came to the bell. a black woman who flung open the door was startling as a jack-in-the-box for the english girl. win had thought of american negroes but vaguely, as a social problem in the newspapers or dear creatures in thomas nelson page's books. what with the surprise and the nervous strain of the disappearing dollars, she asked no further questions after the welcome news that miss hampshire existed and had a "room to rent." hastily she paid off the chauffeur, adding something for himself (it seemed like tipping the man at the guillotine) and breathed again only when her trunk and dressing-bag blocked the narrow hall. "i'm sure i don't see whoever's goin' to tote them things up to the third story," sighed the female jack-in-the-box, who was, after all, more purple than black when you looked closely, an illusion produced by a dusting of pink powder over a dark surface. "and how do i know miss hampshire'll _take_ you?" "but you said there was a room." the freeborn independence of a whole nation, irrespective of colour, shocked the effete stranger's breath away. she gasped slightly. "yeh. but that ain't to say you can have it. miss hampshire's mighty pertickler about her woman boarders," explained the purple lady. "you catched me all of a heap or i wouldn't o' let that feller slam yer things into the house and git away. you'll have to wait till i call miss hampshire. _she'll_ talk to you." "tell her i was recommended by miss ellis, from london who boarded here three years ago," win desperately tossed after a disappearing figure. it was a mortifying commentary upon her personal appearance not to be invited to wait in the drawing-room, and miss child wondered what foreign strangeness in hat, hair arrangement, or costume had excited suspicion. she did not know whether to be more angry or amused, but recalled her own motto, "laugh at the world to keep it from laughing first." suddenly the episode became part of an adventure, a great and wildly funny adventure, of which she was dying to see the next part. how she would love to tell mr. balm of gilead! how his eyes would twinkle! but--there was no mr. balm of gilead in this or any world. it was a dreary hall she stood in, with varnished brown paper pretending to be oak panels, a long-armed hatrack that would have made an ideal scarecrow, and ghosts of past dinners floating up from below with gloomy warnings. from the same region came miss hampshire, smelling slightly of irish stew. she was pale with the pallor which means shut windows and furnace heat, a little sharp-nosed, neat-headed woman in brown, whose extraordinarily deep-set eyes were circled with black, like spectacle rims. she was graciously willing to accept a guest recommended by miss ellis, hinting that, as she was of british ancestry, the english for her came under the favoured nation clause. "to _you_ the room with board'll be ten dollars a week," she said with flattering emphasis. "a well-known poetess has just left it to be married. it's not large, but, being at the back of the house, it's nice and quiet." when win was shown the third-floor back hall bedroom she saw that even a poetess of passion might have snapped at her first proposal. as miss hampshire said, it was not large; but there was the advantage of being able to reach anything anywhere while sitting on the bed, and unless the people six feet distant in a back room of the opposite house snored at night it ought to be quiet. win christened her room the "frying pan," because to search for another boarding-house might be jumping into the fire. and luckily her trunk would just squeeze under the bed. "i suppose it would be no use calling on a business man before three o'clock?" she applied to miss hampshire for advice when she had unpacked her toothbrush and a few small things for which she could find niche or wall space. "before three? and why not?" the pale lady opened her eyes in their dark caverns. "why, i only thought they wouldn't be back in their offices from luncheon," explained the english girl. "when you know a little more about n'york," replied miss hampshire, whose manner was involuntarily less mellow when she had hooked a fish, "you'll see why it could never be run as it is along _those_ lines. many of our most prominent business men consider a piece of pie with a tumbler of milk a good and sufficient lunch, and it takes them five minutes to swallow it." primed with this information and intricate instructions concerning street cars (a child once burned dreads a taxi), winifred started out soon after her own midday meal, eaten in a basement dining-room. she went first to see the editor; for somehow newspaper reporting seemed more congenial to the vivid new york climate than singing in a church choir, and the hugeness of the _to-day and to-morrow_ building turned her again into a worm. it did not so much scrape the sky as soar into it, and when she timidly murmured the words "editorial offices" she was shot up to the top in an elevator as in a perpendicularly directed catapult. when the fearsome thing stopped she had the sensation that her head alone had arrived, the rest had been shed on the way, but in a large open space furnished with roll-top desks and typewriters and men and girls she was looked at as though nothing unusual had happened. "a letter of introduction for mr. burritt?" repeated a young man with a whimsical expression. "i'm afraid you'll have to go higher up to deliver it." "i thought i'd got to the top," said win. "or"--and she tried to catch the office note of sprightliness--"does he inhabit a roof garden?" the young man smiled. "he used to be fond of them after office hours. but not being a spiritualist, i haven't heard from him concerning his present habits." "he is--dead?" "that's about it," said the young man. "a year ago. but he was only our city editor, so maybe he didn't get a black border in your english papers." miss child did not ask how one knew that she was english. she recovered herself, thought of taking leave, and then decided not to be precipitate. instead, she inquired if she could see any other editor. "which other have you got a letter to?" the young man temporized. "none. but---" "then i'm afraid it's no use without an appointment. anyhow, this isn't the right hour to snapshot editors of daily papers. they're night-blooming flowers. would you like to try for an appointment with mr. shaw, burritt's successor?" win thanked him, but thought it would be no use. she would have liked to walk down, only there seemed to be no stairs. a merry youth who ran the nearest elevator asked if she would care to use the fire-escape. the address of mr. noble, the organist, was that of a private house. it was a far cry from _to-day and to-morrow_, up in the hundreds, and miss hampshire had told miss child to take the elevated. easier said than done. you could go up the steps and reach a platform on top of the improved roman viaduct, but there were so many other people intent on squeezing through the iron gate and onto the uptown train--people far more indomitable than yourself--that nothing happened except the slam, slam of that gate in your face. at last, however, miss child was borne along with a rush from behind and found herself swinging back and forth like a pendulum on a strap which she clutched wildly. men in america were supposed to jump up and give women their seats, but there were no men in this train. it was peopled with women who had been shopping, and who carried bundles. many went on so far that win began to believe they were taking a jaunt for fun, especially as they did not seem at all tired, but chewed something unremittingly with an air of calm delight. this was, perhaps, what americans called a "joy ride!" there seemed to be no end to new york, and vistas of cross streets looked so much alike that win did not wonder they were named only with numbers. she wanted one hundred and thirty-third street, and mr. noble's house was a long way from the elevated station. when she found it at last it was only to learn that six months ago the organist had accepted a position in chicago. and new york seemed twice as big, twice as absent-minded, when both letters of introduction had failed. win had often tried to check her tendency to over-optimism by telling herself that neither mr. burritt nor mr. noble might have work to give. but miss ellis (now comfortably married in london) had said they were kind men. if they had nothing to offer, they would certainly introduce miss child to some one who had. it had never occurred to her that they might thoughtlessly have died or gone elsewhere. editors and organists seemed so importantly permanent to the lay mind. this was indeed being alone in new york! and at the very thought--now she could guess what it might be like--her one hundred and ninety-six dollars and twenty-eight cents seemed to be shrinking in the wash. "nonsense!" said she, on the elevated again, tearing downtown. "don't be a silly. any one would think you were the leading lady in a melodrama, turned out of the house without your hat, in a snowstorm that followed you round the stage like a wasp! you'll be all right. miss ellis told you they _loved_ english girls in new york. just you wait till to-morrow, my dear!" the rest of the day she spent in the frying pan, "pulling herself together," and "seeing where she stood," a process consisting mostly of counting her greenbacks and comparing them with their equivalent in english money. after all, there was not too much time for this mental adjustment of things, because, being late in october, darkness fell early, and miss hampshire's boarders dined at six-thirty. promptness was obligatory if you were a female. a little more latitude--a raising of the eyebrows instead of a frown--was granted if you were fortunate enough to be of the opposite sex. miss hampshire's sad smile seemed to concede that men had temptations. there were bank clerks and schoolteachers and translators though no more poetesses; and everybody was kind to the new boarder, the englishwoman, especially in telling her all about new york. "what do you think of broadway?" asked her neighbour a handsome young german jew, who was more insistently american than any of those native born. win was shamefacedly not sure whether she had seen it. "not sure whether you have seen _broadway_!" exclaimed mr. lã¶wenfeld. "wait till you've been on the great white way after dark. _then_ i guess you won't make any mistake." "is it so wonderful?" she asked. "i should smile! there's nothing like it on earth. would you like to walk out and see it to-night? miss secker and i'll take you, if you would, won't we, miss secker?" "only too pleased," rather shrilly replied a fair-haired girl on his other side--a pretty girl in eyeglasses who, miss hampshire had announced, was "translating secretary" for a firm of toy importers. somehow the tone suggested to win an incipient engagement of marriage and jealousy of new importations. but mr. lã¶wenfeld had spoken no more than the truth. broadway at night, seen as a pedestrian at the side of miss secker, was astonishing, was marvellous, was unique. the whole sky was alight and pulsing with its magnificence. twenty moons would not have been noticed. everything that could happen was happening by electricity. it was crystal palace fireworks, and the lord mayor's show, and coronation, and mafeking, and naval manoeuvres with searchlights, all flashing and flaming, blazing and gyrating at the same time. broadway gleamed white as the north pole, jewelled with rainbow colours, amazing rubies, emeralds, topazes, grouped in letters or forming pictures on invisible frames rising high above tall buildings or appearing on their faã§ades. green sea waves billowed brightly, a giant cat winked golden eyes, two brilliant boxers fought an endless round, a dazzling girl put on and took off illuminated gloves; a darky's head, as big as a balloon, ate a special brand of pickled melon; a blue umbrella opened and shut; a great gilded basket dropped ruby roses (buy them at perrin frã¨res); a japanese geisha, twice life-size, told you where to get kimonos; a trout larger than a whale appeared and disappeared on a patent hook; and above all, brighter than all, rose against the paling sky from somewhere behind broadway a pair of titanic hands. these hands fascinated win. they beckoned her gaze and held it. slowly they came up and drew attention to themselves, silently filching it from broadway's emblems of business success. the stranger in new york stopped involuntarily as if hypnotized, watching for the ten colossal outspread fingers to materialize on their unseen frames; to become hands, with wrists and upraised arms; and then to drop out of sight, like the last appeal for help of a drowning atlas who had lost his grip on the globe. yet this immense, arresting gesture was never the last. three seconds gone, then blazing back again, came fingers, hands, wrists, arms. and on every one of the ten fingers (including thumbs) flashed a huge ring, each different from the other in colour and design. each ring was adorned with a jewelled letter, and as the hands reached toward the zenith the colour of the rings changed rapidly twice. it was impossible to remove the eyes from this sign until the gesture pageant had completed itself. to the lost dryad new york seemed dominated by peter rolls's hands. chapter vii the two peters the hands of peter rolls! they had winifred child's imagination in their grip. sleeping and waking, she saw the glitter of their rings. for on her first night in new york mr. lã¶wenfeld told her a story about the hands. they were the hands of peter senior. his commercial genius had spread them across the sky to beckon the public to his great new department store on sixth avenue. just as at the beginning of the gesture you saw only the tips of the fingers, so peter rolls, sr., had begun with a tiny flicker, the first groping of his inspiration feeling its way to success. everybody in the united states had heard of peter rolls, or it was not the fault of the magazines and sunday papers. peter rolls had been for years one of the greatest advertisers in america. mr. winfield didn't see how, even on a remote little island like england, miss child could have escaped hearing about peter rolls's hands. this had now become the snappy way of saying that you intended to shop at peter rolls's store: "i'm going to the hands." "i'll get that at the hands." and peter rolls had emphasized the phrase on the public tongue by his method of advertising. each advertisement that appeared took the same form--a square space heavily outlined in black or colour, held up by a pair of ringed hands, facsimiles in miniature of his famous sky sign. and the several thousand salespeople in the huge store were slangily nicknamed "peter rolls's hands." but naturally these insignificant morsels of the great mosaic were not spelled with a capital h, unless, perhaps by themselves, and once when a vaudeville favourite sang a song, "i'm a hand, i'm a hand." it was a smart song, and made a hit; but peter rolls was said to have paid both the star and the management. apparently nothing concerning peter rolls, sr., and his family was hidden from mr. lã¶wenfeld and miss seeker, although they claimed no personal acquaintance with the great. probably, if win had asked, they could have told how many servants mrs. rolls kept and how many cases of champagne her husband ordered in a year. but questions were unnecessary. the subject of a self-made millionaire was a fascinating one to the lately naturalized german. peter rolls, sr., had emigrated from the north of ireland as a young boy. he had contrived to buy a few cheap odds and ends likely to attract women buried in the country far from shops. he had somehow known exactly what odds and ends to select. that was genius; and he had coined money as a peddler. in his wandering life he made acquaintance with many tramps and saw how he might make even the lowest useful. after a few years he scraped up enough capital to start a small store in new york, far downtown, where rents were cheap. like his peddler's pack, the store was stocked with odds and ends. but again they were just the right odds and ends, the odds and ends that every one in that neighbourhood wanted and had never been able to obtain under one roof. no article cost less than five cents, none more than a dollar, and it was marvellous what peter rolls could afford to sell for a dollar. "i can furnish your flat for ten dollars. why? because i work with my own hands," was peter rolls's first advertisement. and the hands had never lost their cunning since. he could undersell any other shopkeeper in new york because he got his salesmen for next to nothing. they were a judicious selection from among his friends, the tramps. any man who could recall enough of his schooling to do a little sum in addition was eligible. he was fed, clothed, tobaccoed, judiciously beered, watched all day while at work, and shut up at night in a fireproof, drink-proof cubicle. the plan proved a brilliant success. the little store downtown became a big one, and grew bigger and bigger, swallowing all the other stores in its block; and it was now ten years since the great sixth avenue department store, which could call itself the largest in new york, was opened under the benediction of the hands. winifred had fancied, because of the balm which was making a fortune, that peter rolls, sr., was some sort of a glorified chemist. but mr. lã¶wenfeld roared at this idea. the balm of gilead was only one of the lucky hits in the drug department, in itself as big as a good-sized provincial store. the hands sold everything, and though the tramps were long ago dead or abolished, peter rolls still undersold every other store in new york. how did he do it? well--there were ways. the hands without a capital h might tell, perhaps; but they did not talk much. peter rolls never had any difficulty in obtaining or keeping as many of them as he wanted, and could get double the number if he liked. "does he still 'work with his own hands?'" quoted win at last, feeling half guilty, as if she ought not to ask questions about peter's father behind peter's back. but the affairs of the rolls family seemed to be public property. mr. lã¶wenfeld and miss seeker both laughed. "i should love," said the latter, "to see ena rolls's face if her father _did_ work! she spells their name with an 'e'--r-o-l-l-e-s--and hopes the smart set on long island, where their new palace is, won't realize they're the hands. isn't it ridiculous? like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. she runs her father and mother socially. i guess the old man hardly dares put his nose inside the store, except about once a year; and ena and the old lady never buy a pin there. as for the young fellow, they say he doesn't bother: hates business and wants to be a philanthropist or something outlandish on his own. i should say to him, if he asked _me_: 'charity begins at home.'" those last two sentences spoken by miss emma seeker on winifred child's first night in new york had as direct an effect upon the girl's life as if the ringed hands had come down out of the sky and clutched her dress. she did not attach much importance to the words at the time, except to think it snobbish of miss rolls and weak of her mother never to show themselves under the roof where their fortune was being piled up. also, she thought it disappointing of peter junior not to "bother" about the business which had been his father's life work. but then peter was altogether disappointing, as miss rolls (with an "e") had disinterestedly warned her. it was not until win had been in new york for a month that the influence of miss seeker's words made itself felt, and the hands gave their twitch at the hem of her dress. they had been on her mind often enough during the four weeks--morning, noon, and night--but she had never known that she was physically within touching distance. the "happy omen" of getting her passage to new york free had stopped working on the _monarchic_. since then bad luck had walked after her and jumped onto her lap and purred on her pillow, exactly like a cat that persistently clings to a person who dislikes it. all the positions which she was competent to fill were filled already. only those she could not undertake seemed to be open. she tried to sing, she tried to teach, she tried to report news, she tried to be a publisher's reader, and to get work in a public library. she tried to make hats, she tried to act, but nobody wanted her to do any of these things, unless, perhaps, she went away and trained hard for a year. when matters began to look desperate, and not till then, she applied to nadine. but lady darling had gone back to england, and miss sorel, not having recovered her health after the great tossing at sea, had been replaced by a brand-new american manageress. no more models were wanted. there was nothing that miss child could do, and the only result of her visit was delight in the heart of miss devereux because "that queer child girl was laughing on the wrong side of her mouth." the new manageress was so preoccupied in manner and so sure that miss child's services would not be needed that win did not even leave her address. besides, as it happened, she had given miss hampshire "notice," and had not yet found another boarding-house. "i think i ought to try to get into a cheaper place," she explained. and that was a reason; but another, just as important, was pretty miss seeker's jealousy because mr. lã¶wenfeld talked too much to the english girl at the table. after all, the best that win could accomplish after three days' dismal search was a saving of two dollars a week. for eight dollars she secured a fourth-story back hall bedroom half as big and half as clean as miss hampshire's, and she laughed aloud to find herself feeling desperately homesick for the "frying pan." for win could still laugh. it was counting her money, the day after a servant at the new boarding-house stole twenty dollars, that whisked miss child's skirt within reach of the hands. things could not go on like this. she must get something to do at once--no matter what. another girl in that house bought newspapers for the sake of the employment notices. winifred borrowed the papers and answered many of the most attractive offers in vain. next she tried the less attractive ones. when they were used up--and she also--she came down to what she called bed rock. in bed rock were advertisements of several large stores for extra help through the holiday season. of these peter rolls's store was at the head. "the hands want hands," was part of the appeal, and win instantly turned to something else. it was not until she had applied for work at six other shops, and found herself too late at all, that it began to seem faintly possible for her to think of going to peter rolls's father's store. when the idea did knock at the door of her mind hesitatingly as peter junior used to knock at the dryad door, the hands' advertisement for help was the last of its kind in the papers. the hands needed more hands than any of the other stores. when win was just about to say to herself, "that's the one thing i couldn't do," she remembered miss seeker's words. miss rolls ruled her father and mother socially. peter senior was allowed to show his nose in the place only about once a year. mrs. and miss rolls never bought a pin there. young peter didn't bother, but wanted to be a philanthropist. in fact, you would, apparently, be far more likely to meet a member of the rolls family in any other shop than their own. instead of saying that she could not, win said: "why shouldn't i?" she told herself that in a vast house of business which employed over two thousand salespeople she would be a needle in a haystack--a needle with a number, not a name. "i'll go and ask for a place," she answered her own question. but almost she hoped that she would not succeed. if she tried, failure would not be her fault. chapter viii no. 2884 morning and girl were gray with cold as win hovered before the vast expanse of plate glass which made of peter rolls's department store a crystal palace. customers would not be admitted for an hour, yet the lovely wax ladies and the thrilling wax men in the window world wore the air of never having stopped doing their life work since they were appointed to it. but then they had a life work of the most charming description. winifred envied them. it was indeed their business to make all men, women, and children who passed envy them enough to stop, enter the store, and purchase things to make real life as much as possible like life in the window world. all the nicest things which could be done in the strenuous outside world could in a serene and silent way be done in window world. and the lovely ladies and their thrilling men had not to hustle from one corner of the earth to another in order to find different amusements. in one section of plate-glass existence beautiful girls were being dressed by their maids for a ball. some were almost ready to start. exquisite cloaks were being folded about their shoulders by fascinating french soubrettes with little lace caps like dabs of whipped cream. other willowy creatures were lazy enough to be still in filmy "princess" petticoats and long, weblike, silk corsets ensheathing their figures nearly to their knees. a realistic dressing-table, a lace-canopied bed, and pale-blue curtains formed their background. instead of having to rush half across new york to the dance, it was apparently taking place next door, with only a thin partition as a wall. in a somewhat louis seize room several wondrous wax girls and the same number of young men, with extremely broad shoulders and slender hips, were dancing a decorous tango. but, if they tired of that, they had only to move on a section, to find a party of four young people playing tennis in appropriate costumes against a trellis of crimson ramblers. strange to say, a mere wall divided this summer scene from sports in the high alps. there was gorgeous fun going on in this portion of window world, where men and girls were skeeing, tobogganing, and snowballing each other in deep cotton snow. next door they were skating on a surface so mirrorlike that, in fact, it _was_ a mirror. a little farther on a young wax mother of no more than eighteen was in a nursery, caressing an immense family of wax children of all ages, from babyhood up to twelve years. a grandmother was there, too, and a hospital nurse, and several playful dogs and cats. in another house they were having a christmas tree, and santa claus had come in person to be master of ceremonies. how the children on the other side of a partition, engaged in learning lessons at school desks, must have envied those whose christmas had prematurely come! but best of all was the automobile race; or, perhaps, the zoo of window world, where teddy bears and teddy monkeys and teddy snakes and teddy everythings disported themselves together among trees and flowers in peter rolls's conception of eden. win had often glanced into these windows before, hurrying nervously past, but now she lingered, trying to fill her heart with the waxen peace of that luxurious land of leisure. she walked very slowly all around the great square, three sides of which were crystal, the fourth being given up to huge open doors, through which streamed men and parcels and hurled themselves into motor vans. the idea flashed into the girl's head that here was the cemetery of window land. in those big boxes and packages that men furiously yet indifferently carried out, were the dolls or animals that had smiled or romped behind the plate glass, or the dresses and hats, the tennis rackets and toboggans they had fondly thought their own. this promenade of inspection and introspection put off the evil minute for a while; but the time came when win must hook herself on to the tail of a procession constantly entering at an inconspicuous side door, or else go home with the project abandoned. "_of course_ i shall never see peter rolls or his sister here," she told herself for the twentieth time, and passed through the door almost on the back of an enormous young man, while a girl closed in behind her with the intimacy of a sardine. "gee! get on to the tall effect in brown!" murmured a voice. "ain't she the baby doll?" another voice wanted to know. winifred heard, and realized that she was the effect and baby doll in question. she flushed, and her ears tingled. she thought of the arabian nights tale, where the searcher after the golden water was pestered by voices of those who had been turned to black stones on the way. when the cue of tightly packed men and women had advanced along a corridor on the other side of the doorway, it began mounting a fireproof staircase. up and up it went, slowly, steadily rising from story to story, but it did not spread across the whole width of the wide, shallow steps. other men and women, in single file and with no attention to order, pushed themselves down, the ascending gang flattening them against the varnished, green wall as they sneaked hastily past. no one spoke to win or told her anything (though the big fellow in front threw her a jovial glance when she trod on his heel, and she herself ventured a look at the rear sardine), but she knew somehow that the irregular, descending procession was the defeated army in flight; those who "would not do." she wondered if she should be among them after a few hours of vain waiting and standing on her feet. seven flights of stairs she counted, and then she and those in front and behind debouched into a corridor much longer than that at the entrance on the ground floor. "they might have shot us up in the customers' lifts!" snapped the sardine who had just detached herself from winifred's spine. "'twould have saved their time and our tempers." "they don't spend money putting up fireproof staircases for nothing," mumbled a voice over the sardine's shoulder. "they want to give us a free exhibition of an emergency exit. but it'll be the only thing we ever will get free here." "except maybe the sack--or the bounce," tittered the sardine. there was something likable about that sardine. win felt drawn to her, which was fortunate in the circumstances. nearer and nearer they approached, with a kind of shuffle step, to an office whose whole front consisted of window. this window was raised, and electric light streaming out brightened that distant end of the otherwise economically lit corridor. the advance guard of would-be hands stepped one at a time in front of a counter which took the place of a window ledge. now and then a girl or a man was kept for several moments talking to a person whom win could not yet see; a kind of god in the machine. this halt delayed the procession and meant that a hand was being engaged; but oftener than not the pause was short, and the look on the late applicant's face as he or she turned to scurry back like a chased dog along the corridor told its own story. win read each human document, as a page opened and then shut forever under her eyes, with a sick, cold pang for the tragedy of the unwanted. she ceased to feel that she was alien to these young men and women, because they were american and she english. a curious impression thrilled through her that she and these others and all dwellers on earth were but so many beads threaded on the same glittering string, that string the essence of the creator, uniting all if they but knew it. the realization that hearts near hers were beating with hope or dread, or sinking with disappointment, was so keen that the heavy air of the place became charged for win with the electricity of emotion. she felt what all felt in a strange confusion; and when a stricken face went by, it was she, winifred child, who was stricken. what happened to others suddenly mattered just as much and in exactly the same degree as what might happen to her. the weight of sadness and weariness pressed upon her. the smell of unaired clothes and stale, cheap perfumes made her head ache. "tired, girlie?" inquired the big young man on whose broad back win had involuntarily reposed on the way upstairs she was startled at this manner of address, but the brotherly benevolence on the square face under a thick brushwood of blond hair reassured her. evidently "girlie" was the right word in the right place. "not so very. are you?" she felt that conversation would be a relief. it was intensely cold yet stuffy in the corridor, and time seemed endless. "me? huh! bet yer my place yer can't guess what my job was up to a month ago." he turned a strongly cut profile far over his shoulder, his head pivoting on a great column of throat above a low, loose collar that had a celluloid gleam where the light touched it. only one eye and the transparent gleam of another cornea were given to winifred's view, but that one green-gray orb was as compelling as a dozen ordinary seeing apparatuses. "if i guessed what's in my mind, i'm afraid it would be silly," said win. "you look as if you might be a--a boxer--or---" "or what?" "or as if you could train things--animals, i mean---" "gee-whittaker! if she ain't hit it square in the jaw first round! go up ahead, little girl. this is where i move down one." the sardines were now so loose in their partially emptied box that they could wriggle and even change positions if they liked. the big young man wheeled, passed his arm round winifred's waist as if for a waltz, half lifted her off her feet, and set her down where he had been. "good gracious!" she gasped. "that's what you get for bein' a bright child," he explained "the place is yours. see? if peter rolls wants only one more hand when your turn comes, you're it, and i'm left. i was lion man in jakes's and boon's show, but my best lion died on me, and that kind o' got my goat. guess my nerve went; and then brutes is as quick as fleas to jump if they feel you don't know where you are for once. that shop is shut for yours truly, so i'm doin' my darnedest to get another. if peter rolls can use me, he can have me dirt cheap. i want to feed my face again. it needs it!" "you give father one straight look between the eyes," suggested the sardine, now at his back, "sort of as if he was a lion, and i'd bet my bottom dollar, if i had one, he dasn't hand you the frosty mitt." "who's father?" the lion tamer threw over his shoulder win had longed to ask the same question, but had not liked to betray herself as an amateur. "oh, i forgot this was your first party! wish 'twas mine. father's what the supe--the superintendent, the gent in the window--gets himself called by us guyls." "wipe me off the map! i'm some johnny to cost you all that breath. but gee! the thought of standin' up to him gets my goat worse 'n twice his weight in lions. i'm mighty glad this young lady's gotta go through with it in front of me. say, maybe you'll push the right bell with him, too." "i hope we both may," answered win fervently. "it's more than kind of you to give me your place, but really i---" "ain't we the polite one?" remarked the lion tamer. "say, girlie, you've made a hit with me. where did you buy your swell accent?" "don't make fun of me, please, or i shall drop!" exclaimed win with a laugh nipped in the bud, lest it should reach the august ear of father. this way of taking the joke appeased those within hearing, who had perhaps believed that the tall effect in brown thought a lot of herself and was putting on airs. her seeming to imply that she might be considered ridiculous inclined censors to leniency. "have a spruce cream?" asked a girl in front, screwing her head round to see what the effect was like, and offering a small, flat object about an inch in width and two in length. "thank you very much," said win. every one near tittered good-naturedly. perhaps it was that accent again! funny, thought win. her idea had been that americans had an accent, because they didn't talk like english people who had invented the language. americans appeared to think it was the other way round! she put the flat thing into her mouth and began to chew it. at first it was very nice; sugary, with a fresh, woodsy flavour which was new to her. presently, however, the sweetness and some of the taste melted away, and instead of dissolving, so that she could swallow it, the substance kept all its bulk and assumed a rubbery texture exactly like a doll's nose she had once bitten off and never forgotten. she coughed a little and did not quite know what to do. "good heavens', she's goin' to absorb it!" ejaculated the girl in front, still twisting to gaze at the tall effect. "didn't you never chew gum before?" "only millionaires can afford it in my country," said win, recovering herself. the laugh was with her! but every sound made was _piano_. there was the feeling among the mice that this was the cat's house. the girl in front who had offered the chewing gum was small and just missed being very pretty. she had curly hair of so light a red that it was silvery at the roots. seeing her from behind, you hoped for a radiant beauty, but she had pale, prominent eyes and a hard mouth. win imagined that the muscles in her cheeks were overdeveloped because of chewing too much gum. at last the procession had moved on so far that this girl arrived at the lighted window. win's heart, which had missed a beat in a sudden flurry of fear now and then, began to pound like a hammer. for the first time she could see the god in the machine, the superintendent of peter rolls's vast store, a kind of prime minister with more power than the king. she had fancied that he would be old, a man of such importance in a great establishment, a person who had the nickname of father. but her anxious gaze, as she carefully kept her distance, told that he was not even middle-aged. he was, it seemed, a curious mixture of cherub and mephistopheles in type: round faced, blue eyed, with smooth cheeks that looked pink even in the cruel electric light. his hair and brushed-up eyebrows were thin and of a medium brown; but he had a sharply waxed moustache and a little pointed goatee or "imperial" so much darker in colour that they were conspicuous objects. he was talking to the girl in a high-keyed yet somewhat blustering voice, asking questions which win could not and did not try to hear. the answers were given purposely in a low tone, and the girl laid on the counter several papers from a little black bag at her waist. these the superintendent took up, unfolding them with plump, dimpled fingers, like those of a young woman. with his bright, glancing blue eyes he skimmed the contents of each paper--probably references, thought win--and then returned them to their owner. "these are no good," he pronounced in a louder voice than before. "and you don't look strong enough for christmas work---" suddenly the red-haired girl darted her head forward, like that of a pecking bird, hastily muttered a few words, and drew back, as if hoping that those not concerned might fail to notice the manoeuvre. "oh--er--that's different," said the superintendent in an odd, uncomfortable tone, with the hint of "bluster" still in it. win fancied she heard him add: "what salary?" in any case, the girl mentioned the sum of eight dollars, and at the same time scribbled something on a printed paper form pushed over the counter. "bet that ain't _your_ line, kid," there came a murmur round the corner of a velvet bow on win's hat. so faint was the murmur that she might almost have dreamed it; but, if uttered, it must have dropped from heaven or the lion tamer's lips. win was burning with curiosity. what two or three talismanic words could the red-haired girl have whispered so quietly, so secretively, to change in a second the superintendent's decision? it was almost like freemasonry. you whispered to the hangman, and he, realizing that you were a member, took the noose off your neck! alas, if father refused her services, as he almost surely would, she had no such magic charm to make him change his mind! there was certainly a mystery, a secret password that did the trick; but the lion tamer, though a newcomer in this business like herself, appeared to know or guess, and bet that it "wasn't in her line." too late to ask questions! her time had come. the red-haired girl, looking prettier than before because of a bright flush on her sallow face, pranced away, head triumphantly up, and a key and a queer little book in her hand. before win realized what was happening she stood before the big, lighted window, longing though not daring to rest her trembling elbows on the counter. the cherubic yet keen blue eyes were staring into hers with the oddest expression she had ever seen. if the man had not been an important official, far above her (he would have thought) in position, win might have fancied that he was afraid of her, afraid of something which he half expected, half dreaded, wishing to avert it, yet likely to be mortified if it did not come. "i must be out of my mind," she told herself, at the same time telling him that she desired an engagement as an extra hand. "what references?" he inquired, with the mechanical intonation of one who has put the same question thousands of times. "i--haven't any," stammered win. "i'm lately over from england---" "you don't need to mention that," broke in the superintendent. "i know london. have you worked in any of the big department stores there--harrods' or selfridge's?" he looked, win thought (clinging to a straw of hope), as if he were not unwilling to help her. "no, none. i was a model for nadine. i'm quick at doing figures---" "the figures that models _cut_ are more to the point, i guess!" the cherub mephistopheles smiled at this joke and did not seem to care just then that his every extra word kept the procession back an extra instant. "we're not wanting models at present. but if you've had any experience as a saleslady--you look all right--well, see here, i'll try and give you a chance. it's up to you to make good, though. what money do you want? write it down." he indicated one of those forms which win had seen. she hesitated, then felt that the blue eyes were watching her keenly. hesitation was not the way to succeed in this home of hustle. she remembered that the red-haired girl, though she must have had experience or she would not have possessed references, had said something about eight dollars. "i'll say seven," win told herself, and wrote accordingly on the paper. "we can't pay seven dollars per week to a girl without experience," pronounced the superintendent promptly. "if you want to take six, i'll give you a test of character. you ought to be thankful for six. by and by you may work up into one of the departments where we pay commissions." "i'll take six," win said. though already she knew something of the expense of living in new york, six dollars a week certainly seemed generous compared with shop-girls' wages at home. she had been told that there they got only twelve or fourteen shillings, and sometimes less. of course, in england, you "lived in." win had heard that expression, and was aware of its meaning. she was not yet quite sure what you did in america, for she had talked to none of her very few acquaintances about the need she had to look for work in a department store. there was only one thing she did know in that connection: it would be unwise to ask father questions. she must appear to be "all there," and trust to finding out the routine of a new york shop-girl's life from one of themselves. she hoped the sardine would be engaged--nice, trim little sardine with smooth black pompadour, small white face, jewel-bright eyes, pugnacious nose, determined chin! a snappy yet somehow trustworthy sardine. still the superintendent was observing her, as if to see whether she were warranted sound and kind. "i'm going to put you into a bargain square," said he thoughtfully. "do you know what that means?" "i can guess," said she. "one of our two-hour bargain sales will tell better than anything else whether you've got stuff in you," he went on. "have you ever seen a check book?" was the question now flashed at her. win had just sense enough left not to blurt out any nonsense about a bank. in an instant she realized that the pads upon which salespeople did hasty sums must be called check books, anyhow in america. she answered that she had seen one. "know what to do with it?" "on principle. i can soon learn the method." "soon's a long word. you may have time for it, _your_ side. we haven't. things have gotta be learned on the nail. see here, what about your dress? are you wearing black under that jacket?" win's heart jumped. she had not expected, if engaged, to begin work the next moment. she had supposed that she would be told to return the next morning before the opening hour for customers; otherwise it might have occurred to her that it would be well to get a ready-made black dress. but she must not throw away this chance which seemed to be hanging in the balance. "no," she answered quickly. "i thought it would be better to buy something here when i knew just what was wanted. i can find a dress which will fit, i know. i always can, and i can be in it fifteen minutes from now." "well," the superintendent said with half-grudging approval that lit a faint twinkle in his eyes, "you're no slow coach for an englishwoman. you may do. we sell 10 per cent. off to our employees. here's the key of your locker. here's your check book. when you've got your dress, ask for the schoolroom. take fifteen minutes' lesson on the blackboard for making out your checks, and the rest's up to you. but look sharp. we've been open to customers for half an hour now. at ten-thirty a two-hours' bargain sale of blouses, sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear opens on the first floor. that's yours. you must be in the square more than half an hour before the sale begins, to see stock and learn your job." he eyed her sharply to see if she were "feazed." but win had the feeling that a "stiff upper lip" was needed for the honour of england and the pluck of its womanhood. she remembered one of the stories she had loved best as a child--the story of the task venus set for psyche before she could be worthy of cupid, the lover whose wings she had burned with a drop of oil from her lamp. now the girl, grown out of childhood, understood how psyche had felt when told to count the grains of wheat in venus's granary within a certain time limit. "well, anyhow, psyche didn't ask questions, and i won't," she said to herself. "the kind ants came and told her things: maybe the sardine will come to me." looking almost preternaturally intelligent and pleased with life, win accepted the key and check book, and learned with a shock that, as one of peter rolls's hands, she was no. 2884. chapter ix the test of character the sardine's ears must have been sharp, for although the lion tamer was between her and win (like a thick chunk of ham in a thin sandwich), she had heard something of the conversation at the superintendent's window. "try the basement bargain counters for your dress; you'll get it cheaper," she flung after the tall effect in a shrill whisper as the newly engaged hand flashed by. there wasn't a second, or even half a second to lose, yet win slackened her pace to say "thank you. i do hope we shall meet again." even the lion tamer threw her a look, though already he had taken his turn at the window; but win did not see the admiring glance. she was flying down the stairs she had come up so slowly, and did not pause for breath until she was in the basement. there it was so crowded and so hot, though the store had been open to customers not quite an hour, that there seemed little air to breathe, even had there been time. win could see no means of ventilation in the immense room, which was brightly and crudely lit by pulsing white globes of electricity. there were no partitions to divide one department from another, and it seemed as if samples of every article in the world were being sold on these rows upon rows of heaped-up tables. taking her for a customer, a floorwalker saved the bewildered girl from wasting more than a minute of her valuable time. the thermometer of his manner fell a degree when he learned that she was an employee; nevertheless, he directed her to the bargain counter where black dress skirts were being sold. there was another nearby which offered black silk and satin blouses. the man asked if she had been told that extra hands, if on probation, must give money down for anything above the first week's wage, and looked impressed when the tall girl answered that she preferred to pay cash for the whole. "princess, queen!" he murmured _sotto voce_, and win might have had the privilege of exchanging a smile with him on the strength of the joke, but thought it might be wiser not to have heard. luckily black skirts and blouses were not the craze of the moment. women were besieging a beehive of corsets and a hotbed of petticoats, reduced (so said huge red letters overhead) to one third of their original price. in less than five minutes win had secured a costume with the right measurements, and for the two portions of which it consisted, had paid exactly one week's salary. with an unwrapped parcel rolled under one arm, she battled her way back to the staircase she had descended (not daring to squeeze her unworthy body into a crowded elevator), and toiled up to the eighth floor. there, she had been told, were dressing-rooms as well as lockers; a rest room (converted into a schoolroom from the hour of eight until ten), and the restaurant for women employees. lightning change act first! black effect to take the place of brown, a rush for the dressing-room, vague impression of near marble basins and rows of mirrors; tall, slim girl in front of one, quite the proper "saleslady" air, in new, six-dollar black skirt and silk blouse lightened with sewed-in frills of white, fit not noticeably bad; dash along corridor again for locker room, but sudden wavering pause at sight of confused group: half-fainting girl in black being handed over to capped and aproned nurse by two youths at an open door, glimpse of iron bedsteads etched in black against varnished white wall, door shut with slap; youths marching light heartedly away, keeping time to the subdued whistle of "waiting for the robert e. lee." girls sometimes faint here, then, before ten o'clock in the morning! and quite a matter of course to shed them in the hospital room, otherwise one wouldn't try one's tango steps going away. but never mind; laugh first, or the world will! life easier for peter rolls's hands as well as other people if they can live it in ragtime. your turn to fall to-day. mine to-morrow. "waiting for the robert e. lee!" and whatever you may think, don't lose a minute. winifred did not. perhaps she, too, was beginning to think in ragtime. she was telling her number to the doorkeeper of the locker room as the slap of the hospital door ceased to vibrate through the long corridor on the eighth story. the locker room had countless rows of narrow cells with iron gratings for doors; and the gimlet gaze of two stalwart young females pierced each newcomer. it was their business to see that peter rolls's hands did not pilfer each other's belongings. the gimlet eyes must note the outdoor clothing each girl wore on arrival, in order to be sure that she did not go forth at evening clad in the property of a comrade. being paid to cultivate suspicion had soured the guardian angels' tempers. one had a novel by laura jean libbey, the other an old-fashioned tale by mary j. holmes, to while away odd minutes of leisure; but it appealed to the imagination of neither that any or all of the girls flitting in and out might be eligible heroines for their favourite authors, stolen at birth from parent millionaires, qualifying through pathetic struggles with poverty to become the brides of other millionaires, or, perhaps, to win an earl or duke. all the regularly engaged hands had long ago shut up their hats and cloaks in prison and gone about their business. it was only the extras who were arriving at this late hour to show their numbers and claim their lockers. there were comparatively few amateurs. most of the girls had had shop experience, but greenhorns betrayed ignorance as they entered. to them, shortly and succinctly, were explained the rules: the system of "stubs" dealt out to newcomers as they gave their numbers and had lockers assigned them--stubs to be religiously kept for the protection of property from false claimants; the working of a slot machine, in which must be slipped a card, and the moment of the morning and midday arrival thus recorded with ruthless exactitude (twenty-five cents docked off your pay if you were late), and other odds and ends of routine information, such as the hours at which lockers might or might not be opened without the presentation of special passes. as win fitted her key into the grated door which would in future pertain to no. 2884, into the locker room bounced the sardine. "hello, lady ermyntrude!" said she. "i thought i'd pick you up some place. just a jiffy, and we can skip to the schoolroom together, if your ladyship pleases." "i am glad!" said win, and as they went out side by side she ventured to add: "please do tell me why you call me lady ermyntrude. i hope i'm not like anything so awful as that?" "oh, there's always a lady ermyntrude in every english book you read, and you look as if you'd walked out of one. i don't know why, but you do. i kind of like you, though." "so do i you," said win, but did not tell her that she was a sardine. this might be a worse epithet in a foreign language even than lady ermyntrude. "i'm for the toy department. what are you?" rapped out the clear little voice that matched the clear little personality--a personality which, at the top of its pompadour, did not reach the tip of win's ear. "mine is called a two-hour bargain sale---" "heaven help you! basement?" "no, ground floor." "thank your stars. that's a cut above. most amatoors start in the basement bargain sales. if they live through the first day of that--_well!_ but you're all right. you've got the look of the ones who win." "that's my name--'win'--winifred child." "if you ain't the champion giant kid! i'm sadie kirk. here's the schoolroom. when it ain't that, it calls itself the rest room, you know. i'm here only because there's a little difference in rolls's check system from bimgel's, where i worked till the grippe laid me low and my place was filled. i thought i'd try the hands for a change, though they say it's the _limit_ and down the other side. so me for the school! we'll sit together, and if i can help you i will." "you're a dear," whispered win. "you're another. go there yourself," was the swift retort. the rest room was really very nice, if there were ever a chance to rest in it--which, miss kirk whispered, was not likely to be the case. there were wall bookcases with glass doors, a few oak-framed engravings with a pale-green, "distempered" background, several chintz-covered sofas with cushions, and plenty of easy chairs. on small tables lay very back numbers of illustrated papers and magazines. the high windows had green curtains which softened their glare and (said sadie) prevented dust from showing. the brown-painted floor had decorative intervals of rugs, like flowery oases. altogether the room would have been an excellent "show place" if any influential millionairess began stirring up public interest in "conditions of shop-girl life." one end wall of the long, narrow room was almost entirely covered by an immense blackboard, supposed to represent a check book. in front of this stood a pale young man with a timid air, who coughed and cleared his throat a good deal as he explained to a group of girls peter rolls's specially simplified, modernly improved system of adding up the prices of purchased "goods" in the quickest and most scientific manner. win listened intently, easily catching the idea, but wondering if she should get "rattled" when she had to put it into practice in the coming "two-hour bargain sale." miss kirk, however, soon saw that the difference between this and other systems was not complicated enough to trouble her, and let her wits wander from one subject to another. "that's a salesman teaching," she whispered up to her tall protã©gã©e. "he's new to the job, i guess, and scared of us guyls; but i bet he bullies men when he gets the chance! he'll tuyn out another father." win, not having forgotten her curiosity concerning the red-haired girl's mysterious murmur to the superintendent, longed to question the sardine, who had the air of knowing everything she ought and ought not to know. but the newcomer could not afford to lose a word that dropped from the nervous teacher's lips. "do tell me about it later," she pleaded. "i must listen to this." "all right. are you lunching in or out?" "oh, in, i suppose." "so will i, then, though i hear it's filthy and the grub vile. we'll try and make a date." win dared not answer. with difficulty she caught the last part of the lecture. then her fifteen minutes of schooling were over and the real battle of life as one of peter rolls's hands was to begin. no time for the luxury of luncheon appointments. the two girls must meet or not, as luck ordained. the toy department was on the sixth floor, so the parting came almost at once, and win went down to meet her fate alone. a floorwalker, or "aisle manager," showed her the place where the "great two-hour bargain sale of coloured blouses, sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear" was advertised to begin at ten-thirty. as he steered the girl through the crowd he looked at her with interest, and she would have looked with interest at him could she have done so without his knowing it. she had vaguely heard that shopwalkers in england could make or break the salespeople. probably floorwalkers in america were the same, or more powerful, because everybody in this free country who had any power at all seemed to have more than he could possibly have anywhere else. this man was extremely handsome she saw in the one quick, veiled glance which can tell a girl as much as a boy is able to take in with a long stare. he was tall and dark and clean shaven, with polished black hair like a jet helmet, and brown eyes. few princes could hope to be as well dressed, and if he had been an actor, only to see his shoulders would have made a matinã©e girl long to lay her head upon one. _why_ wasn't he an actor, then, at many dollars a week, instead of a floorwalker at a few? it must be that his fairy godmother had forgotten to endow him with some essential talent. seeing that he looked at her sympathetically with his rather sad, dark eyes, win ventured with all respect to beg a little enlightenment as to a two-hour bargain sale. "it means that certain things are marked down for two hours," he explained, "and after that anything left of the lot goes up to the old price again. it's a pretty hard test for one who's new to the whole business. the superintendent, mr. meggison, has put you on to a pretty stiff thing," he added. and then again, after an instant's pause: "you're going to land in a wasps' nest over there. there's some electricity in the atmosphere this morning. but keep your head and you'll be all right." they came within sight of a hollow square formed by four long counters. above it was a placard with red and black lettering which announced the sale to begin at half-past ten; everything to be sold at bargain price till twelve-thirty. within were six saleswomen, two for each side of the square; and the question flashed through win's head: why had she been imported to make an odd number? it was an exciting question, taken in connection with the floorwalker's warning. until sale time these counters were out of the congested region; and the six saleswomen were taking advantage of the lull before the storm to put finishing touches on the arrangement of the stock. the instant that win was inside the square it was as if she had been suddenly swallowed up in a thunder cloud. the head saleswoman (she must be that, win thought, judging from the attention paid her by the rest) was in a black rage--a beautiful jewess, older than the others, and growing overplump, but magnificently browed, and hardly thirty yet. "it's damnable!" she panted, full breast heaving, throat swelling with stifled sobs, "to put this onto me! anybody with half an eye can see through the trick. the queen of england couldn't get rid of these nasty rags at a charity bazaar." she went on without noticing the newcomer, except to flash across win's face and figure a lightning, judith glance which seemed to pitch a creature unknown and unwanted into the bottomless pit where all was vile. her satin-smooth olive hands, with brilliantly polished coral nails, trembled as, gesticulating, she waved them over the stock which littered the four counters. she seemed to be throwing her curse upon blouses, sashes, and ladies' neckwear; and had she been a witch, with power of casting spells, the masses of silk and satin would have burst into coloured flame. "oh, miss stein, don't feel that way about it," pleaded a thin girl who looked utterly bloodless. "the things are marked down so low maybe they'll go off." "look at them--_look_ at them!" broke out the jewess. "is there anything you'd take for a present, one of you? they might as well have sent me to the basement and be done with it. but i'll show _him_, and her, too, how much i care before the day's out." so fierce was the splendid creature's emotion that win felt the hot contagion of it. what had happened she did not know, though evidently the others did and sympathized, or pretended to. but even she, a stranger, could spring at a conclusion. miss stein was called upon to sell things which she thought no customers would buy. somebody in power had put her in this position, out of spite, to get her into trouble. there was another woman in the case. there must be jealousy. this tigerish judith was suffering as keenly as a human creature could suffer, and all because of some blouses, some sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear, which certainly had an unattractive appearance as they lay on the counters in confused heaps. "he says, 'it's up to you, miss stein!'" the quivering voice jerked out in bitter mimicry. "up to _me_, indeed! and he gives me this rag bag!" "it'll be nuts to _her_ if you're downed," remarked a girl with a round, pink face. "don't you think i _know_ it?" miss stein demanded fiercely. her eyes filled with tears, which she angrily dried with a very dirty handkerchief that looked strangely out of keeping in the manicured hands. "there's nothing to do, or i'd do it, except to give him a piece of my mind and throw up the job before they have the chance to fire me." "you wouldn't--just at this time!" cried the anemic girl. "wouldn't i? you'll see. i don't care a tinker's curse what becomes of me after to-day." win's ears were burning as if they had been tweaked. the minutes were passing. she could ask no help, no information concerning her duties. if she put a question as to what she was to do she would be snubbed, or worse. could the far-away and almost omnipotent mr. meggison have had secret knowledge of this lion's den into which he had thrown her? he had said the bargain square and the two-hours' sale would be a test of character. at this rate, she would fail ignominiously, and she did not want to fail. but neither did she want the beautiful jewess to fail. her anxiety was not all selfish. "a test of character!" was there nothing, _nothing_ she could do for her own and the general good? suddenly her spirit flew back to the ship. peter rolls's face came before her. she saw his good blue eyes. she heard him say: "if ever i can help---" how odd! why should she have thought of him then? and no one could help, least of all he, who had probably forgotten all about her by this time, miss rolls having spoiled his horrid, deceitful game. she must help herself yet it was just as if peter had come and suggested an idea--really quite a good idea, if only she had the courage to interrupt miss stein. she and peter had chatted one night on b deck about the russian dancers and leon bakst's designs. she had lectured peter on the amazing beauty of strangely combined colours, mixtures which would not have been tolerated before the "russian craze." now peter seemed to be reminding her of what she had said then, a silly little boast she had made, that with "nothing but a few rags and a bakst inspiration" she could put together a gorgeous costume for a fancy-dress ball. "when you want to set up for a rival to nadine, i'll back you," peter had retorted, and they had both laughed. now, with the immense but impersonal "backing" of peter rolls, sr.'s, great shop, she had the bakst inspiration and the tingling ambition to set up (in a very small way) as a rival to nadine. "i beg your pardon," she stammered to miss stein, and hastened on as a fierce, astonished look was fastened upon her from under a black cloud of stormy brow. "i--i hope you'll excuse my interrupting, but i've been a model of nadine's, and--and i have an idea, if you'll allow me--i mean, you don't seem to like these things we have to sell. i believe we could make something of them if we hurried." all through she had the feeling that if she could not hold miss stein's eyes until she had compelled interest, hope was lost. she put her whole self into the effort to hold the eyes, and she held them, talking fast, pouring the magnetic force of her enthusiasm into the angry, unhappy soul of the other. "what do you mean?" asked miss stein, abruptly taking the sharp, judicial air of the business woman. half resentful, half contemptuous, she could not afford to let slip the shadow of a chance. "i'll show you, if i may," said win. she, the outsider, the intruder, suddenly dominated the situation. the others, even miss stein herself, gave way before the effect in black as it came close to one of the counters and with quick, decided touches began manipulating those blouses, sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear which the queen of england could not sell at a charity bazaar. a box of steel pins of assorted sizes lay on a cleared corner of the counter which win had approached. it had been brought, perhaps, for the pinning of labels onto the newly repriced stock. win took a purple sash and draped it round the waistline of a dull-looking, sky-blue blouse. quickly the draping was coaxed into shape and firmly held with pins. then under the collar was fastened a crimson bow ("ladies' fancy neckwear!") which had been hideous in itself, but suddenly became beautiful as a butterfly alighting on a flower. "my!" exclaimed the anemic girl, and glanced cautiously from under her eyelids to see whether approval or disgust were the popular line to take. but miss stein--still resentful, and now beginning to be jealous of a green hand's originality and daring taste--was not an oriental for nothing. she didn't possess the initiative ability of a designer, but she could appreciate the crashing music of gorgeous colours met together on the right notes. love of colour was in her jewish blood, and she was a shrewd business woman also, animated with too vital a selfishness to let any opportunity of advancement go. she seized the new girl's idea at a glance, realized its value and its possible meaning for herself. "that's queer, but it's smart," she pronounced, and five anxious faces brightened. "i'd 'a' thought o' that if i hadn't been so awful worried; my head feels stuffed full o' wadding. i don't seem to have room for two ideas. me and you can tell the guyls what to do, and they'll do it. see here, as fast as we get those things fixed we'll hang 'em up on the line and make a show. gee! they'll draw the dames a mile off, just out of curiosity and nothing else." "and when we get them we'll get their money, too," win prophesied cheerfully. "we'll christen these things pavlova russian sash-blouses, and say it's the latest dodge only to _pin_ them together so purchasers can change the drapery to fit their figures. when we've sold all we can finish before ten-thirty we'll make a point of pinning on drapery and neckties in the customers' presence to suit their taste. i can undertake that part, if you like." "you do think you're _some_ girl, don't you?" was miss stein's only comment. but win saw that she meant to accept the scheme and "work it for all it was worth." a light of hope and the excitement of battle shone down the dull flame of anger in her eyes. there was no gleam of gratitude there, and if win had wanted it she would have been disappointed; but just at this moment she wanted nothing on earth save to push that beautiful jewess to a triumph over "_him and her_" and to make the two-hour sale of pavlova russian sash-blouses a frantic, furious success. chapter x peter rolls's little ways something strange had happened in the ground-floor bargain square. the wasps' nest had suddenly turned into a beehive. the buzz of rage had lulled to the hum of industry. fred thorpe, the "aisle manager," was blessed with the tact which only some secret sympathy or great natural kindness can put into a man; and it had kept him at a distance from miss stein that morning. he knew the inner history of that particular bargain sale, and there were reasons why he should understand with peculiar acuteness the humiliation she had been doomed to endure. his presence on the scene would make matters worse, and he had obliterated himself as much as possible. nevertheless he saw all that went on in that direction, and the sudden and remarkable change which took place immediately after the tall english girl's arrival amazed him. he did not know what to make of it, but it was so evidently a change for the better, and the time before the sale was so short, that he decided to sink conventions and let the saleswomen alone. the floorwalker had plenty of other things to keep him busy, but his subself eyed the strenuous, mysterious preparations for the coming two-hour sale of blouses, sashes, and ladies' fancy neckwear. five minutes ago the unfortunate stock (which finished the latest chapter of stein-horrocks-westlake-thorpe inner history) had laid in neglected heaps on the four counters which walled in the hollow square. miss stein and her five companions had confined their energies to examining labels, and that in a perfunctory manner, a mere cloak for feverish whisperings. the sale was doomed to failure--had been doomed from the moment that mr. horrocks, the manager of the department (who was also a sub-buyer), had "dumped" a disastrous purchase from a bankrupt sale onto the girl whom every one knew he had jilted for miss westlake. there was far more in it than that; an intricate intrigue of shop life. but so much at least was common property in the department; and the elevation of miss westlake, the humiliation of miss stein, could be seen by all, for miss westlake close by was selling the most entrancing new fichus which had begun the day with a _succã¨s fou_. no use advising miss stein to buck up and do her best. anything fred thorpe could say on the subject would be bitterly misconstrued. he realized that her conception of the part to play was to make the worst of things instead of the best and snatch what satisfaction she could from a flare-up. that was what horrocks wanted, of course, but she was past caring, or so it seemed until the sudden change took place after the appearance of the new girl. soon thorpe began to understand the scheme. with an eye for colour and a swiftness of touch that was almost incredible, unsympathetic blouses were changed into daring yet dainty "confections." as fast as the girls finished draping the sashes and pinning on fantastically knotted ties of contrasted colours, they hung up the most attractive of their creations on lines above the counters which had been meagrely furnished forth with a few stringy, fringed sashes. while some girls worked like demons in transforming "stock," others arranged it on the lines and counters. complete "pavlovas" only were displayed in prominent places. such things as could not be ready in time for the sale opening were grouped as prettily as possible, according to colour schemes, on the two less conspicuous of the four counters--those which faced away from the more frequently occupied avenues of approach. this was doubtless miss stein's experienced contribution to the plan of battle; but, clever saleswoman as she was, when brain and heart were cool, thorpe realized that all credit for originating the scheme should be given to the new girl. "she's a live wire," he said to himself, though his deepest sympathies were for miss stein. and he saw the "smartness" of mr. meggison in "spotting" no. 2884 for this place. meggison was, of course, "onto" the situation, for the whole secret of the man's sudden rise lay in his capacity for knowing and keeping track of every current and undercurrent of life in each department. with miss stein at their head, her five assistants would not put the energy of one into disposing of the hated stock, therefore meggison had sent an "extra." he had chosen a new girl because she would not "take sides," and a girl who looked as if she might hold her own against odds, because she would need all her "ginger" if she were to "make good." besides thorpe said to himself, meggison might have his eye upon her, perhaps, as something out of the common run of extras merely hired for the holidays and intend to test her. somehow all the department managers and floorwalkers and head salesmen smiled dryly when they thought of meggison (who had lately been promoted) in connection with any girl. they seldom put into words what lay behind the smile, for you never knew who might be a spy--a "sneak" or a "quiz." but all the men knew his one laughable weakness, and would rather get hold of a "sample" of it than be treated to a champagne dinner at the waldorf. long before half-past ten women who wanted blouses and had seen the newspaper advertisements of the two-hour bargain sale began to inquire where it would be held. thorpe was constantly obliged to direct them, and watching them group where they could see the decorations of the square, his ears were sharpened for comments. the quick minds of american women soon caught the idea which the colour arrangement conveyed. "why, it's like the things the russian dancers wear!" said one. "it's the newest trick i've seen yet," said another. thorpe could not help thinking of the difference between these exclamations and those he had expected to hear when the advertised blouses first burst on the beholders eyes. at ten-thirty to the second the waiting women pounced. win's nerve failed her for an instant in the hot forefront of her first battle, but she caught at miss kirk's remembered words: "you've got the look of those who win," and the floorwalker's advice: "keep your head and you'll be all right." she mustn't be a coward. she mustn't fall at her first shot. soon she realized that she need expect no help from miss stein or the five satellites who took their cue from her. the russian inspiration had happened to be acceptable but she was to be shown that she mustn't take advantage of her start. the question or two she began to ask had for an answer: "good lord, don't bother _me_!" "if you can't see for yourself, what are your eyes for?" or "this ain't the schoolroom, i _don't_ think!" maybe, she told herself, the girls were not always like this. to-day they were desperate, and no wonder. she mustn't mind a few snubs. they hardly knew what they were saying. the check book was more formidable than it had seemed on the blackboard, and she envied the others their quick, almost mechanical way of adding and subtracting. would she ever be like that? meanwhile the thing was to keep the entries in her check book correct. she was saved, perhaps, by the need which soon arose for one girl to put in shape for customers the blouses, sashes, and ties which had not been pinned together. just as her brain began to reel over a difficult calculation which must be made in a clamouring hurry, miss stein commanded a change of work. "as soon as you're through with this customer," was the order. win took time to draw breath and finished the sum correctly "i should have gone flump over the next!" she thought, with a thankful sigh, for she was in her element, choosing colours and draping sashes to suit customers' "styles." miss stein grudged her the distinction, but granted it for the sake of business. if the girl showed signs of "uppishness" when the sale was over she should soon be made to see that it wouldn't pay. even as it was, win used up one whole check book, containing fifty order forms, and also her own vitality. she had no time to realize how tired she was until half-past twelve brought the sale to an end. even then a thing that happened pushed away thought of self for a few more moments. walking beside mr. thorpe, the aisle manager, came a big, auburn-haired, red-moustached man of thirty three or four, with a particularly pleasant, smiling face of florid colour and excitable blue eyes. he looked boyishly obstinate, and yet, win thought, as if he might be easy to "get round," unless some prejudice kept him firm. she would not have thought of him at all had not the flush which suddenly swept over miss stein's face suggested that this was "he." win was instantly sure that here was the man in the case; now, _cherchez la femme_! and she had not to search far. the two men did not come to the bargain square, but he of the red moustache slowed down to throw a glance of intense interest at the denuded counters and the customers who lingered, though the sale was ended, to buy "pavlovas" at their suddenly augmented price. he spoke to the floorwalker, and got some answer which miss stein would evidently have given at least a week out of her life to hear. then the pair passed on, but only to pause again plainly--too plainly--in sight of all eyes in the hollow square. the red-moustached man parted company with his companion and went straight to a counter where lace scarfs and fichus and wonderful boudoir caps were achieving a brilliant success. instantly a fairy-like brunette with cherry lips and a bewitching, turned-up nose came forward with a sweet meekness that was the subtlest kind of coquetry. whatever he had to say was said in a second or two, and the girl answered as quickly. but she went back to work with a conscious look which would to any watching woman announce that she considered the man her property. "little pig!" win said to herself. "she's purring with joy because miss stein saw. (_do_ pigs purr?) anyhow i _am_ glad we've made a success. that must be some comfort! why, at the hands it's like a big theatre with a lot of different stages, where the curtains go up unexpectedly and give you a glimpse of an act." but exciting as the plays were, the one in which she herself had a part began to seem very long drawn out when the first wild rush of the two-hour act was over. miss stein, without a word of appreciation to the new recruit who had saved the day, went off with the anemic girl to lunch. two others left at the same time, and only a couple of the old guard remained to hold the fort with win. three were quite enough, however, to cope with the diminished trade. customers, as well as saleswomen, were thinking of food; and as the crowd in the shopping centres of the great store thinned perceptibly, no doubt it thickened to the darkening of the air in the famous pompeian restaurant on the top floor. most of the best "confections" in the hollow square were sold, and win was aware, as interest slackened, that she felt "rather like a hollow square" herself. there was a little "flap" chair turned up against each of the four counters, and at ebb-tide of custom win looked at them wistfully. "i suppose we're allowed to sit down for a minute when there's nothing to do?" she inquired of a plump, dull-eyed girl who was furtively polishing the nails of one hand with the ball of her other palm. "we're legally allowed to, if that's what you mean," replied the other. "but we're not encouraged to. i wouldn't, my first day, anyways, if i was you." "thank you very much," said winifred. "it's good of you to tell me things. i won't sit down, since you advise me not. but it is hard, standing up so long, especially after such a rush as we've had, isn't it?" "oh, if you think _this_ is hard!" echoed the plump girl, miss jones. (win noticed that the saleswomen called each other by name, though officially they were numbers.) "you ain't bin three hours yet. wait and see how you feel to-night when ten o'clock comes." "ten o'clock!" gasped win. "i thought we closed at six." "we're supposed to shut up then, but folks won't go these busy weeks. they can't be chased out. and _we_ have to stay hours after they _have_ gone, putting away stock and--oh, shucks of things. little do the swell dames care what happens to _us_ once they're outside the doors. i guess they think we cease to exist the minute they don't need us to wait on them." "i've always heard that rich american women took such an interest in the working--i mean, in us, who work," win hastily amended. "oh, when they're old or sick of their diamonds and their automobiles they think it'll be some spree to come and stir us guyls up to strike against our wrongs. but when we've struck it's just about their time for getting sick of us. i got caught that way once when i worked in a candy-box factory. i bet i don't again! see here, i'm kind of sorry for you if you thought the hands was a party where they asked you to sit down and have afternoon tea. fred thorpe, the floorwalker in this depart, is a real good feller, and he'd be glad to give us a rest--a big difference between him and _some_ i've knowed! but he dasn't treat us as white as he'd like. in this show every _jack_ and _jill_ is watched from above. there ain't nobody except father himself das' call his soul his own. if a chap thinks he's safe to do some tiny thing his own way, gee! a brick falls smack on his head. that's one of peter rolls's little ways." win shivered slightly to hear that name thus used, but miss jones was absorbed in her subject. "us guyls ain't even supposed to talk to each other, except about business," she went on. "but that's just the one thing they _can't_ stop, and they know they can't, so they have to wink at it. you see, though, the way i keep folding the goods or pretending to look for something every instant, so you'd most think i'd got the st. vitus's dance? well, that's because if we just stood with our heads together poor thorpe would have to come careering over here and inquire what was the subject of our earnest conversation. he'd hate it like poison, but he'd do it all the same, or the feller above would know the reason why." "i thought he seemed kind and nice--i mean mr. thorpe," said win. "no use trying to mash him! he's gone on dora stein. say, did you get on to the _sale_ job? i somehow thought you did." "i saw there was some trouble," win hesitated. "trouble? there's nothing but trouble. anybody'd think we was asking for it! this blessed depart is upset from way back since the promotions began. our last superintendent got the sack through his drunken wife coming around the place makin' scenes. and mr. meggison was put over another man's head. that made t'other feller so mad he blowed out his brains. 'twas in the papers, but it got hushed up mighty quick. the news, not the brains, i mean! old saint peter knows some tricks of hushin' up. "well, anyways, that set the ball rolling, and our head salesman was jumped up to be department manager and buyer right over thorpe's head. 'twas too much for him, and he gave dora stein the toss. now he wants her out of his shine, and he dumped some jay stuff he bought in a bankrupt sale on her to get rid of. the head buyer give him beans for bein' fooled over a snide lot of trash like that, so what he does is to visit it on us. he hoped dora'd get mad and clear out so he wouldn't see her eyes on him every time he walked past to give miss westlake, his new guyl, the glad eye. but i guess now miss stein's made such a big success where he hoped she'd fail, she'll stay pat." as miss jones finished her story she watched win's face to see if it changed, but there was no sign that the newcomer grudged miss stein the credit. she was actually smiling. "there's something _queer_ about that girl," miss jones presently murmured to miss mcgrath at the other end of the square, as win was called upon to serve a lady who had been told at luncheon about the pavlovas. "she ain't _natural._ what'll you bet she's a spy? i'm goin' to ask miss stein what she thinks." chapter xi devil take the hindmost miss kirk was almost ready to go from the restaurant to work again when win appeared, a three-cent entrance ticket in her hand, to face an atmosphere crowded with sundry uncongenial members of the vegetable kingdom. "hello, 2884 england!" sadie feigned facetiously to call her up by telephone. "got yer number, all right, you see! i begun to think they'd rung me off, so i wouldn't get onto you again this side heaven. and say, that reminds me: heaven looks a long way from here, don't it?" win smiled. "good thing! you ain't got yer smile rubbed off yet. stick to it if y'can. it's a fine prop. i otta go in a minute, but you're such a chicken if i don't watch out for you y'might get lost in the wash. any one put you wise on that three-cent billy doo?" "the girl at the door told me i was to buy it of her," said win, "and then i could divide it up for three different things to eat. but _can_ one get _three_ different things to eat for three cents? it seems wonderful!" "you won't be so much surprised when you've got 'em et. _i'd_ try a soup, a mutton sandwich, and a cuppa cawfee for _eight_ cents, if i was you. but see here, i ain't goin' to feed my face in this ranch after to-day. i knowed pretty near how punk 'twould be from things guyls told me about the hands, and i only took a meal so as to see you and ask how the giant child was gettin' along. no more o' this grub for mine! and if i was in your place i'd go out to eat. you get a breath o' fresh air; and a cuppa hot chocolate for a nickel at a drug store, with a free lunch o' crackers thrown in, 'll do you a sight more good than the best there is in _this_ dope shop." long before miss kirk had finished pouring out advice, the eight-cent lunch of soup, sandwich, and coffee had been slapped down on a dirty tablecloth by a frantic rabbit of a waitress. the big restaurant was dim, even at midday, because its only windows gave upon a narrow court which separated that part of the building from another part of equal height. it was so dark that perhaps the hard-worked females who cleaned it might be excused for passing blemishes sunlight would have thrown into their faces. one did not exactly _see_ the dirt (except on the cheap, unbleached "damask" flung crookedly over the black oilcloth nailed onto table tops); but, like a cowardly ghost that dares not show itself, in some secret, shuddering way the squalor was able to make its presence felt. now and then a black beetle pottered across the oilcloth-covered floor; and though a black beetle may happen anywhere, it potters only where it feels at home, otherwise it scurries about in desperate apology for living. the soup was cold and greasy and tasted of an unscoured pot. the mutton sandwich, as sadie remarked, would have been better suited to the antique department; and the coffee, though hot, might as easily have been tea or cocoa, or a blend of all three. "what a shame to feed their people like this!" exclaimed win, who had thought she was hungry, but now found herself mistaken. and again the eyes of peter rolls, jr., seemed to be looking straight into hers. no wonder he was what his sister hinted at if he knew all about this and had not the heart to care! and if he didn't trouble to know, it was just as bad. "they don't want to feed us, you see," said sadie, slowly finishing a baked apple which looked like a head-hunter's withered trophy. "on the low prices they're obliged to charge they can't make a cent offen us. besides if all the guyls et in the house they'd have to give up more of their valuable room. they'd rather we'd go out, so long as we're back in time. only the poorest ones, who have to look twice at every cent, feed in the restaurant as a reg'lar thing; or the weak ones, who're so dead tired they can't bear to take a nextra step. and oh, by the way, talkin' o' that, you'll need foot powder. your first week your feet'll hurt that bad you'll be ready to bawl. but if you can stand it and your back bein' broke in two at the waist it'll be better the week after, and so on, till you won't notice so much. now i _must_ go or i'll be docked, and i ain't the betrothed of a millionaire yet. but tell me where you live. me and you might see something of e' juther, if you feel the way i do." "i liked you the minute i looked round the corner of my shoulder and saw you plastered onto my back!" laughed win, already revived, not by the food, but by some subtle emanation of strength and sympathy from the more experienced girl. "i wish i could live near you. the boarding-house where i am is too expensive, and i've given notice to leave on saturday." "my! you'd turn up your nose at columbus avenue, i guess," said miss kirk. "that's where i hang out. it ain't a boardin'-house. what's the use shellin' out for meals and not bein' home to them? i'd like awful well to have you in the same movie with me. there ain't a guyl i care to speak to on the film! but the 'l' runs past the place, and some folks say it otta be spelled with 'h.' the noise pretty near drove me bughouse at fyst, but i'm settlin' down to it now. and oh, say, that big feller whose best lion died on him (good thing 'twasn't his best guyl!) he told me he's come to columbus to room with the chum w'at put him onto wuykin for the hands. he's in the toy department with me and feels real at home with the teddy bears. i could get you a room in my house for two dollars per." "per what?" win was obliged to ask. "per week. per everything. and if you take my tips about grub, and do your own waists and hank'chiffs sundays--laundry 'em, i mean, instead of wallerin' in bed like a sassiety bud, you'll have money to burn or put in the mishrunny box." "i'll come!" exclaimed win. "please engage the room. if it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me, and i'll put up with the noise for the sake of your society." "my! thanks for the bookays and choclits! ta, ta! i'll wait for you to-night at the stage entrance with the other johnnies." she was off with the promptness of a soubrette after an "exit speech," and win was left to sip her stale coffee or spend what remained of her "off time" in the rest room next door. legally, peter rolls was supposed to give his hands an hour for the midday meal, but in the rush of the holiday season a way had been found for whipping the inconvenient little law devil round the post. employees were asked to "lend" the management half of the legally allotted hour, the time to be repaid them later, so that after christmas they might take once a week an hour and a half in the middle of the day instead of an hour. those in the know had learned that, as on christmas eve most of the extra hands received with their pay envelope a week's notice to quit, they, at least, never got back the half-hours lent. as for the permanent hands, it would amount to a black mark secretly put against their names if they dared lay claim to the time owing. win, however, was blissfully ignorant of this, and though she was tired, the arrangement seemed fair to her. as she got up from the table to spend fifteen minutes in the rest room she was almost happy in the thought of having the sardine for a neighbour. two of the girls who had come up from the bargain square with her, on the return of miss stein and their other seniors, looked after win as she passed out of the restaurant. "there goes miss thank-you-i-beg-your-pardon," said the young lady who had wondered if 2884 were a spy. "she's got a smile as if she was invited to tea with the vanderbilts." "by this time next week i bet she smiles the wrong side of her mouth if she puts on any airs with dora stein." "hum-m, yeh. unless what you think's so, and she's on the right side o' father." it was true, as the girls had warned the new hand, when six o'clock--closing time--came, you "couldn't chase the dames out." the salespeople began to put things away, and some even ventured to remind customers that the shop shut at six; but ladies who believed themselves possessed of the kindest hearts on earth pleaded that they must have _one_ more thing, only _just_ one, to complete their list for that day. those who were too cross and tired to think about hearts or anything else except their own nerves, made no excuses at all, but demanded what they wanted or threatened a report to the floorwalker if a saleswoman were "disagreeable." "look at them!" snapped miss stein, maddened by a consignment of more blouses from the bankrupt sale (which had brought upon horrocks the gibes of the head buyer), blouses without sashes, which not even poiret could have turned into "pavlovas." "look at them, the fat, old, self-satisfied lemons, with their hats and their dresses and their squeezed-in corsets and shoes, and even their back hair, bought in sweat shops like ours! pills, going to their homes to say their prayers, and then, full o' dinner, to the meeting of the anti-sweats. i know em! maybe _they'll_ do some o' the sweatin' in kingdom come!" already win had learned that a "lemon" or a "pill" was a customer who made as much trouble as possible for as small as possible a return; but it gave her a stab to hear peter rolls's great department store called a "sweat shop." again she saw the eyes. was she never to get rid of the memory of those hypocritical blue eyes? nobody thought of being ready for home until nearly ten o'clock; and long before that miss stein's nerves felt as if they had been run, like threads, through the eyes of hot needles. again win had helped her in the afternoon by placing blouses of congenial colours together on the counters instead of letting them lie anyhow, as miss stein, in her recklessness, would have done. but less than ever had the elder girl seen reason for thanking miss child when the second instalment of "punk" goods was brought out of "reserve." if the first lot had not gone off so soon they would not have been saddled with this, and so 2884 had, in miss stein's estimation, done nothing at the end of the day except "show herself off" and make everybody work twice as hard as necessary. she would not tell win how to put things away, or let anybody else help her out. "you gotta learn for yourself or you never will," she said sharply, all the more sharply because fred thorpe, the floorwalker, happened to be within earshot. "i don't care what he thinks of me!" she said fiercely to herself, knowing that thorpe would understand and disapprove her injustice to the new girl. but it was only half true that she did not care. she was longing desperately for somebody to love her; and though she could not in decency have accepted, after the way she had treated him, she wished that thorpe would ask her to have supper with him that night. the westlake pig, she knew, was going to dorlon's for a pan roast with horrocks, for the creature had told all the girls who were sure to run with it to her, dora stein. thorpe would have been a faded flag to flaunt in the face of the enemy--a floorwalker, to one who had mashed a department manager! still it would have been comforting to know that she still had attractions for some one, and at least she would have liked the chance to refuse an invitation. thorpe, on his part, would joyfully have asked her, for he could not quite "unlove" the beautiful face he had once adored, though he knew now exactly what a fierce spirit lived behind it. he was well aware of his own weakness and was humble enough to confuse with it the kindness of heart which permitted such treatment as he had received. no girl, not even dora stein herself, would dare risk offending any other of the floorwalkers, men able to break a saleswoman if they "got a down" on her. but dora knew only too well that he would not demean himself to take revenge on her or any one. and probably she believed that he would not punish or even "call her down" for injustice to a newcomer. thorpe was miserable that night, for he had missed few incidents of the day in dora's neighbourhood. he recognized a "live wire" when he saw one, and he did see that 2884 had "stuff" in her. she deserved to be praised, and encouragement was all that she needed to turn her into a valuable saleswoman, one who might become a "real winner" some day. he could help her by speaking a few kind words, but miss stein would think them spoken on purpose to spite her, and that wouldn't do 2884 much good if she stayed in the blouse department. also he could help her by mentioning in the right quarter her generalship in the matter of the "pavlovas" instead of letting dora take the credit. but if he did the girl any sort of justice he would be harming miss stein. "i don't know what to do! i guess i shall have to leave the thing to providence--and the devil take the hindmost!" he thought gloomily. it seemed to win, as she went out at last, a week since she had come in by the same door. it was like a play she had seen, where, in the second act, the people who had been young in the first were middle-aged when the curtain next rose; and in the third they were old, all in the course of a few hours. but a year or two seemed to drop from her shoulders when she caught sight of miss kirk waiting for her in the street. beside miss kirk, to the surprise of 2884, towered the lion tamer. "well, i thought you'd never come!" was the greeting of sadie. "but all's well that ends well. and mr. teddy lion here wants to take us some place for a little supper." "that ain't no way to interdooce me to the lady, kid," said the big fellow. "she won't look my way if you treat me light like that. my name's earl usher. honest truth, 'tis, off the bills! y'will come along, won't you?" "you're very kind," win began in the conventional way that he had laughed at in the morning. then, afraid of being teased again, she said that she must go home. "i don't know what my landlady will think," she excused herself. "i walked out early this morning, never dreaming i should be gone until late at night." "well, she can't kill you," suggested miss kirk, "and, anyhow, you're leavin' the end of the week. i think you'll be real mean if you won't come. i know what your reason is, and so does _he._ he ain't nobody's fool. do you s'pose i'm the sort would do anything myself, or ask you to do anything, that wasn't all right? we ain't in the four hundred, nor yet in court circles, i _don't_ think. and this ain't london nor it ain't boston. thank gawd it's little old n'york." "but---" win persisted, and stopped. "i know what's got her goat," said earl usher. "it's that slush o' mine this morning about not bein' a millionaire and my face needin' to be fed. i thought afterward 'that's no talk for a gen'leman to use before a lady.' well, i may not be a millionaire at present, but i can see my way to feedin' our t'ree faces and not feel the pinch." "ain't you the fresh guy?" exclaimed miss kirk. "our faces are our own, thank you _just_ the same, and this is a dutch treat. you might 'a' knowed we'd stick _that_ close to ettiket. i can run to fifteen cents, as far as i'm concerned how is it with you, miss child?" "i can run to that, too," said win. "same here," announced the big young man; "though i'd set my heart on t'other kind o' treat. where shall it be? i suppose we mustn't think o' the waldorf--what?" "huh!" snorted miss kirk, "not for mine, if i owned the mint! i bin to the waldorf wunst, of course. i went just out of curiosity to see how the swells et. wunst is enough, like goin' to the menagerie. y'owe it to yer intelligence to see all the different forms of animal life the good lord has created, behavin' accordin' to their kind, and then come back to your own, thankin' gawd you're not as they are. we'll eat at ginger jim's, where we can lean our elbows on the tables and get perfectly good oyster soup for ten cents a head!" they walked for a while, earl usher insisting on the two girls taking his arms, one on either side. by and by they got into a crosstown car, and it was when win was being helped out by the lion tamer that a motor dashed past. the existence of people who went about in splendid gray motor cars seemed to win so far away from her own just then that, standing in the street, her hand in earl usher's, she gazed into the large, lighted window of the automobile as she might have gazed through a powerful telescope at a scene of family life on mars. there were two girls in evening dress and two young men in the illuminated chariot. it flashed by like a leonid, but left a gay impression of flower-tinted velvet cloaks and ermine and waved hair with a glitter of diamonds and oval white shirtfronts and black coats. also a pair of eyes seemed to look for the twentieth part of a second into winifred's. "i don't believe it was he!" she said to herself when the motor had gone by. chapter xii blue peter peter rolls, sr., and peter junior were both unhappy in vastly different ways. one difference was that peter junior knew he was unhappy and suspected why. peter senior had no idea that what he suffered from was unhappiness. he thought that it was indigestion, and he supposed that feeling as he felt was the normal state of men passing beyond middle age. when you were growing old you could not expect to keep much zest or personal interest in life or to enjoy things, so he had always been told; and dully, resignedly, he believed what "they" said. if any one had told him that he was a miserable man he would have been angry, and also surprised. why the dickens should he be miserable? he considered himself one of the most successful men in new york, and his greatest pleasure was in recalling his successes, step by step, from the time before he got his foot on the first rung of the ladder all the way up to the top. often he lay awake at night pondering on those first days and first ambitions. if he began to think of them when he went to bed it was fatal. he became so pleasantly excited, and the past built itself up so realistically all about him, that he could not go to sleep for hours. what a sensational "bed book" is to some tired brains, that was his past to the head of the hands. besides, he had everything in the world that he or anybody else (it seemed to him) could possibly want. perhaps it was a little irritating when you could have all you wanted not to know what to want. but, he consoled himself, that must be so with all rich people. the best thing was not to think about it. he was convinced that he loved mother as dearly as ever a husband had loved a wife. they were uncomfortable together, but wretched apart. that was marriage. there was nothing more in it. they hadn't much to say to each other. but you never saw husbands and wives chatting together like love birds after the honeymoon. you wanted a bright-cheeked, laughing girl, and you got her. if you were faithful to each other, and didn't have rows, it was an ideal match, especially if there were children. peter rolls was very fond of his children. when they were little they had been the joy of his life; the thought of them had been the only one that warmed his heart and gave him almost superhuman energy to take the future by the horns like a bull and force a ring through its bleeding nose that it might be ready for them to ride when they grew up. now they were grown up, and they were riding; and it was natural that the fire of the heart should have calmed. he was proud of the pair, very proud. pete (no, he mustn't call him by that name. ena didn't like it, said it sounded common) peter--or petro, if he preferred--was a gentleman and made a good show for every dollar that had been spent on him. put him with an astor or a livingston and you couldn't tell the difference! once, a long time ago, old peter had dreamed of a young peter succeeding him in the business; but ena had made him see what a foolish dream that was--foolish and inconsistent, too--because, what was the good of slaving to satisfy your ambition, and then, when you reached the goal, instead of profiting by what you'd got, ordering your heir down to the level you'd worked to leave behind? peter senior had entirely come round to ena's view, and instead of regretting that peter junior hadn't in him the making of a hard-boiled man of business who'll do anything to succeed, father stopped peter abruptly whenever he showed an inconvenient sign of interest in the hands and what went on under the glitter of their rings. nor was peter's interest of the right kind. it was not what peter senior called practical. ena, now! there was a girl to be proud of. father was so proud that pride of his splendid daughter had frozen out or covered with ashes the glow which used to fill his heart at the thought of her. but pride was the right thing! that was what he had worked for: to make of his children a man and woman to be proud of when the top stone was on his pile. ena was _more_ than a lady. she was an orchid, a princess. she ruled father with her little finger--a beautifully manicured, rose-and-white finger, such as he had hardly seen when he was young. there was so much of himself in ena that peter yielded to her mandates as to the inarticulate cry of his own soul translated into words. the princess in whose veins his blood ran must understand what he ought to want better than he himself could understand. she said: what was the fun of having money if you couldn't know all the best people everywhere, and be of them as well as merely among them? she began saying this even before she came home "for good" from school. it was a school for millionaires' daughters, and the daughters of other millionaires had showed her the difference between her father and theirs, oil magnates and steel and railway magnates, and magnates who magnated on their ancestors' fortunes made in land or skins of animals. nothing really worth having--nothing really worth father's years of hard work--could come to them as a family until peter rolls ceased to identify himself personally with the hands, ena had pleaded, and at last the head of the establishment engaged an official "understudy" to represent him every day in the gorgeously furnished office which had seemed to old peter what the body is to the soul. rolls senior and henry croft, the man he appointed as dictator, corresponded daily, by letter and telephone, but peter rolls himself was not supposed to enter the great commercial village he had brought together under one roof. ena was able to say to any one rude enough to ask, or to those she suspected of indiscreet curiosity: "father never goes _near_ the place. he's tired of business, and, luckily, he doesn't need to bother." she would not much have cared whether the statement were true or not if she were sure that the carefully careless sounding words were believed. but it would have been distressing to have any one say: "ena rolls pretends that her father doesn't work in the shop any more, but i know for a fact that he goes every day." so it comforted her to feel sure that her arguments had really impressed father and that he never did go to the hands unless, perhaps twice a year or so for important meetings. it pleased her that he had joined a rich club in new york which had enough "swell" members to make it pleasant for her to remark casually, "father belongs to the gotham." when father went to new york in the evening, as he often did, not returning to sea gull manor till late, and sometimes staying away all night, he used to say as an excuse to mother or ena: "i'm going to the club." after a while it was taken for granted, and he made no excuse at all. but if ena had known the mystery of those late evenings she would have been struck with fear--the fear which comes of finding out that those we think we know best are strangers to us. of all the sad millionaires of new york who pin together the pages of certain mysterious life chapters not to be read by eyes at home, perhaps no other had a mystery like that of peter rolls. it was now the one thing that he intensely enjoyed; but it was a guilty, furtive enjoyment which made a nervous wreck of him and ruined a stomach once capable of salvation. peter junior had never been entirely happy since he left yale at twenty-three. it was only then that he began to look life in the face and see the freckles on its complexion the minute he saw them on that countenance which should be so beautiful, he wanted to help in some way to rub them off. to help--to help! that was the great thing. he didn't care much for business, but he felt that, being peter rolls's only son, it was his duty to care. he imagined father deeply hurt at the indifference of his two children to that which had been his life--hurt, but hiding the wound with proud reserve. so peter junior determined to sacrifice himself. he offered to go into the shop, to begin at the bottom if father wished, and in learning all there was to learn, gradually work up to a place where he could be a staff to lean upon. it was in the "library" that they had this talk--an immense and appalling room, all very new oak panelling and very new, uniform sets of volumes bound in red leather and gold, with crests and bookplates, bleakly glittering behind glass doors. peter senior tried to kill time there, because a library seemed to his daughter the right background for a father, and peter junior, who had saved mother's poor old furniture for his own rooms, found it singularly difficult to open his heart between walls that smelled of money and newness. however, he did his best to blunder out the offer of himself; while the chill gleam in his father's eyes (so remarkably like that of the bookcase glass doors) made him feel, as he went on, that he must have begun all wrong. "so you don't trust your own father?" was the answer he got when he stopped, as one might be stopped short by the sharp edge of a marble mantelpiece when trying to find the way across a dark room. "don't--trust you?" stammered peter, sure now that he was a fool not to understand, not to have made his father understand. "you think the old man's got past running his own business, and if you don't want your money to go to the dogs you must look after it yourself." "good heavens, no!" peter broke out. "you can't dream that any such thought entered my mind! i--why, father, i'd rather die than have you believe that of me." "prove i'm wrong, then," said the elder dryly, pulling, as was his habit, a thin, grizzled beard with thin, sallow fingers. "you can do it easy enough." "how? only tell me." "by turning your attention to other things, my boy. leave me alone to manage what i know how to manage. you let me do it my own way, without shoving in your oar, and don't you listen to what any of your highbrow friends say about me and my methods behind my back." "as if i would!" "well, i wasn't sure. you go with a set of raw boys who think they know better than their fathers how to run creation; and now and then you blow off some of those soap-bubble ideas in your conversation. i've been kind of hurt once in a while, though i didn't let it out. but now we're on the subject i will say: if you've got faith in the old man, hands off the hands!" "that settles it, father," returned peter heavily. "i never meant to hinder, only to help if i could. from now on the watchword is, 'hands off the hands!'" this was a promise, and he kept it scrupulously. but the steady fire in his heart was scattered as a flaming log is broken into many embers by the clumsy stab of a poker. he had no longer a settled aim in life. he saw no niche which he could fill, and felt that the world had no particular use for the second peter rolls. the one thing he had longed for as a boy, which did not now in his young manhood appear stale and unprofitable, was a journey round the world and a glimpse of the east. when his father said uneasily: "why don't you travel, my boy?" peter answered that perhaps it would be a good thing. the subject was broached to mother, and mother did not object. she had learned long ago, when she was first married to peter, never to object to anything that he proposed. when she smiled and agreed with every suggestion she was a dear little woman, and so she had spent her existence in being a dear little woman until her hair turned white. with her sunny nature, it had not needed a very great effort; but sometimes, since peter had begun to grow up, he had dimly fancied a look of wistfulness in her ever-young blue eyes--eyes of a girl gazing out from the round, rosy-apple face of a middle-aged woman. she was always the same in her ways and manner, if it could be called manner: comfortable and comforting, contented with life as it was, happy in her children, and putting up gently with her husband; but--when you had said good-bye to her you remembered the look which always changed instantly into a smile when it met yours. you remembered, and seemed to see another woman hovering wraithlike behind mother's plump figure, as she sat contentedly crocheting those endless strips of trimming for towels and things--mother as she might have been if no dominating nature had ringed hers in with an iron fence. when peter was up the white nile, in elephant and lion land, he used suddenly, mysteriously, to see an irrelevant vision of his mother just stretching out plump arms to say good-bye to him in his own room which he had furnished with the mahogany odds and ends that had started her bridal housekeeping. she had smiled and had not seemed to mind very much his going--not half as much as a hen mother minds its duckling's first dash into water. and yet her eyes--there are some things it hurts and at the same time warms your heart to think of at the other end of the world. peter had gone up the white nile to shoot big game; but when he met it face to face, on a social equality, so to speak, he wondered how he could ever have harboured so monstrously caddish a design. he found the animals he had thought he wanted to kill so much handsomer and more important than himself that he felt like begging the alleged "game's" pardon for calling on it without invitation in its country home (as if he'd been a book agent), and bowed himself away with only a few photographs to remember it by. while ena was working up conversations to the point of mentioning "my brother, who is such a great shot, you know, and is shooting big game in africa," peter's only shots were snapshots, and he was too stupidly conscientious to atone for his weakness by obtaining elephant tusks and lion skins with coins instead of bullets. he wished he had saved egypt and its temples for his honeymoon, in case he should ever find exactly the right girl, for the mystery and wonder made him sad because he had nobody to feel it with him. it was the same in india and all the east, and there were thousands of thoughts imprisoned in his breast (which he hardly understood and dared not let escape) by the time he arrived in england to meet ena. they were still struggling in prison when he went on board the _monarchic_, but there a light shone fitfully through the keyhole of the cell. it was a beautiful light, almost beautiful enough to be a light peter had read and dreamed of which was said never to shine on land or sea. then, suddenly and surprisingly, it went out. the prison, full of thoughts, was left a place of dark confusion. this was the inner state of peter rolls, jr., when he arrived at home after his long absence. but outwardly he appeared to be much as usual, and was so nice to the irish guests that ena was grateful, though never remorseful. indeed, she had so much to think about that she almost forgot her little act of diplomacy in eliminating an undesirable sister-in-law. she was on tenterhooks lest lord raygan and his mother and sister should be finding the _mã©nage_ at sea gull manor "all wrong," and laughing secretly at father and mother. if there had been that fear about the dressmaker's model on top of the rest of her anxieties she would have broken down with nervous prostration. but, thanks to her for saving him (without his knowledge), peter seemed to have got over his silliness and was able to stand by her like a brick. lady raygan, a singularly young-looking, red-faced woman of boyish figure, and with stick-out teeth, was a leading militant suffragette. when she embarked hastily for queenstown she had just been rescued by her son from the london police. at first she had been too seasick to care that she was being carried past her home and that a series of lectures she had intended giving would be delayed. now, in america, she had determined to make the best of a bad bargain by sending the fiery cross through the states. she stayed in her room and jotted down notes. also, she conscientiously tried to make mrs. rolls a suffragette. about most other things she was absent-minded; therefore ena did not waste gray matter in worrying over the impression that sea gull manor was making on lady raygan. it was rags and eileen whose observing eyes and sense of humour had to be feared. eileen, for instance, had a little way of saying that anything she considered odd was "too _endlessly_ quaint." things she admired were "melting." if only ena had known enough about earls and their families to be sure whether lord raygan and eileen would, in their secret hearts, think the ways of the rollses endlessly quaint or melting, she might have been spared sleepless nights. because the difference between those two adjectives would mean the difference between ecstasy and despair for her. rags might be poor for an earl, even an irish earl, but he was hardly the sort to propose to a girl his sister could speak of as "endlessly quaint." twelve days after they had arrived at sea gull manor, eileen wrote a somewhat ungrammatical letter to a rich cousin in dublin who had once refused rags, and in which she said: dear pobbles: i wish you were here to pinch me. then i would be sure whether i'm asleep or awake. you'll know by the papers (s'pose poor old rags _is_ worth a paragraph; anyhow mubs is, now she's turned into a suff) how we got carried on in the _monarchic_ to new york. it won't be the fault of american reporters if you've missed our news! they got at us on the dock. mubs loved it. rags didn't. well, if you know a thing about us, since we were swept past queenstown by a giant wave that carried us on its back all the way to america, you know we're staying with a family named rolls. rags met miss rolls and her brother in london. and afterward they happened to be on board our ship, so we chummed up, and miss rolls _would_ give up her melting suite to poor half-dead mubs and me. what a beast the sea is! i don't know if i shall ever have the courage to go on the disgusting old wet thing again. we came here to stay a fortnight, but it's almost that now, and we couldn't be driven away with a stick. we're having the time of our lives (i'm learning lots of _creamy_ american slang), and the rollses are awfully kind. ena is very nice, when she doesn't try to talk as if she were english, and quite handsome, with fine eyes, though not so good as her brother's. and he--the brother, i mean--is the dearest thing in the shape of a man you ever saw. not that he's wonderfully handsome or anything, but, as they say over here, he's just it. i don't know what there is about him, but--well, if i go on, i suppose you'll think i'm being _silly_. i don't care; you were only a year older than i am now when you told rags kindly to go to the dickens. you said he cared only for your money, poor rags! that wasn't true. but now (i know you won't tell) ena r. is going for him for all she's worth. mubs doesn't notice anything about women except their being suffs or not; and i'm supposed to be too young to twig what's going on. i need hardly mention, however, that very little gets past yours truly. i shouldn't wonder if ena'd _bring it off_. rags asks me sometimes in a sheep-faced sort of way what i think of things here, and i would have a joyous laugh with him if it weren't for the brother. goodness gracious, but they're rich, these rollses! i could make a pun about their name and their money, but i won't, because it would be cheap, and nothing is cheap at sea gull manor. you can get a faint idea what the house and the view are like from the hand-painted sketch at the top of this paper on the left of the fat gold crest. this stationery is in all the guests' private sitting-rooms in case any one wants to make distant friends envious of their surroundings. mr. rolls, sr., told me he kept a tame artist painting these things at a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, dinner and luncheon _menus_ thrown in. ena's idea. she wanted something original, and what she wants goes! so says mr. r. he's a poor little, yellow shrimp of a man, with dead-black hair, where it isn't gray or coming off, and the same kind of beard goats have. his eyes may have been nice when he was young, but nothing like his son peter's. young peter is altogether different from old peter, and he has blue eyes like the quaintest and most melting mother you ever saw. she does nothing but crochet trimming for sheets and things, world without end, and if you admire it she gives you some. but she was just _born_ to be a mother, and even having her sit crocheting in a room where you are makes you feel good. she has eyes as blue as bluebells, and as young, an apple face with a smile that longs for something it's never known, and any amount of smooth white hair, which she does in just the wrong way, pinched into tight braids. the one thing she won't do for her daughter is to have a maid of her own, and ena keeps apologizing for it. mr. rolls is a terrible dyspeptic, and the only things he can digest (he has told me and rags several times) are soft-shelled crabs, devilled, and plum pudding or cake. when he has a pain he paces floors like a tiger, but does not roar. i haven't met many americans here yet because the rollses somehow don't seem to know the right ones, and ena makes excuses for that, too. i wish she wouldn't. it gets on my nerves, and rag's nerves as well, i fancy, though he doesn't say so, and he's thinking a lot about whether she'll _do_. because i haven't met many others, i don't know whether or not the rollses are just like all american millionaires who don't come abroad, or unique. but i have an idea they're _unique_. this is the most enormous house, built and named to please ena, though it's no more a manor than the albert hall is. i don't believe she knows what "manor" means. every bedroom i've seen (and i _think_ i've been shown all, if i haven't lost count) has its own bathroom adjoining, and a sitting-room as well. in each bathroom there are several different kinds of baths, and a marble one you step down into, but it's bitterly cold on your spine--the only cold thing in the house, which is so hot with a furnace that even the walls and floors feel warm, although i keep my windows wide open day and night. the pillow-cases and sheets are made of such rich, thick linen, and are so smooth and polished that you slip down off your pillows with a crick in your neck, and the sheets slide off you, just as if they were made of heavy silver, like lids of dishes. perhaps the monograms and crests drag them down. it's awful, but it's grand. and i should think there are at least twenty footmen with--if you'll believe me--powdered hair! of course, poor ena took a fancy to it in england. i don't think she stayed at any houses, but she was at some hotel where they have it, so she didn't see why not. if you ring a bell, dozens of these helpless-looking, white-headed creatures in black and yellow simply swarm from every direction, like great insects when you've poured hot water into their hive--or hole. if any really nice people happen to stop in their motor for any reason at the house in the morning, say about eleven o'clock, they are offered magnums of champagne, as if out of gratitude for their coming. they hardly ever seem to do more than sip, so perhaps the black and yellow insects get the rest. there's an english butler, and it would make your heart bleed, or else you'd want to howl, if you saw his agonized, apologetic look whenever you, as a british person, knowing about other ways of running a house, happened to catch his elderly eye. mr. and mrs. rolls get up at goodness knows what hour and have breakfast together, so does petro--that's the nickname for the son. but ena and mubs and rags and i can wallow as long as we like and have gorgeous breakfasts in our rooms. mubs thinks mrs. r. is a fool, because she can hardly understand what a woman wants with a vote, but i think she's a dear. she sends cartloads of flowers to hospitals, and if you speak of a charity she hauls handfuls of dollar bills out of an immense gold chain bag she always carries on her arm because petro gave it to her for a birthday present, and it, and ena's one, a size smaller, has the fat air of containing all her luggage ready to start off from saturday to monday at a moment's notice. i suppose it's money that looks so plump. now _do_ you think rags ought to resist the daughter of such a house when church mice have long ago cut our acquaintance? of course, rags is lucky at bridge (he gave me a lovely dress on board ship), but he can't live on it regularly. so far it's a toss up. i'll let you know how things go. mubs is writing an article for an american newspaper which has offered her fifty pounds. this is the first fun she's ever got out of being a countess--and now i shouldn't wonder if she'd be a dowager soon! as for me, i'm trying to flirt with petro. no, to be honest, that isn't _quite_ true. i'm not exactly flirting. he's too good for that. ena says he's "glue," because he has no interest in life, and that it'll cheer him up if i encourage him to talk to me about some philanthropical schemes he has. one is a "start in life fund" for deserving and clever young people who need only a hand up to get on. i wish i could go in for it myself--but perhaps i'm not deserving or clever. anyhow ena says her brother likes me _awfully_, better than any girl he ever saw before, and that he thinks me pretty. did you _ever?_ no wonder i like him! i shouldn't mind his knowing that i do, as ena says he thinks no girl could care for him. that sounds pathetic. i let her know that, as he's so despairingly modest, she might break it to him that i enjoy his society. since then he's been much nicer, though, perhaps still a little absent-minded, which may come from being "blue." i should like to know what ena said to him! but i suppose it's all right! your chum and cousin, eily. p.s. they've got a shop in new york. i forgot to tell you that--a huge shop. it's never mentioned here, but petro told me. he's not ashamed, but rather proud of the way the money came. rags wants him and ena to take us to the place. what ena did say to peter was, "poor little eileen is falling in love with you." peter didn't believe it. but it put a strange idea into his head. chapter xiii one man and another "no. 2884 child, w. pay envelope. details under flap," winifred read on the neat, pale-brown packet put into her hand the night when she had served peter rolls for a week--or was it five hundred weeks? "read the other side" was printed in capital letters of white upon a black background on the flap which must be torn open to get at the contents and "details." the latter consisted of "deductions, absent, late fines, keys, mdse., stamps, beneficial ass., and sub. slips." but win had been neither absent nor late. being an extra hand only, and liable to be "dispensed with" at the end of the holidays, she had not needed to subscribe her hard-earned pennies to beneficial assurance, that huge fund made up of weekly coppers, whose interest was to peter rolls almost what "peter's pence" are to the pope. thanks to her good health and good behaviour, "cash enclosed" (as secretly mentioned under the flap) was practically intact. but it had been a nightmare week which seemed longer than all the past weeks of her life added together and if she had earned a hundred dollars instead of six she would not have felt too highly paid. she moved wearily away from the office window, obeying the directions to "read other side," and as she walked down the long corridor (her sore feet causing her to limp slightly) the words "_if sick or disabled, notify employment bureau at once_" sang through her head, keeping time with her uneven steps. she _was_ "reading the other side," the other side of life which appeared to her as separate from the side she had known as the bright was separate from the dark side of the moon; the side about which people seldom troubled and never saw. a few weeks ago, before that "wild spirit" of hers lured her half across the world to find independence, she would have thought, feeling as she felt to-night, that she was both sick and disabled. but now she knew that hundreds of other girls under this very roof felt just as she felt, and that they took it for granted as a normal condition of life. they hardly pitied themselves, and she must be as stoical. if once she lost courage, she might do the thing she had boasted to peter rolls, jr., that she would never do--cry. she thought to find a tonic effect from the sight of money earned, and in taking out her six dollars, she let fall a slip of white paper from the pay envelope. it fluttered away, to alight on the floor, and win's heart beat as she picked it up. her discharge already? what could she have done to be sent off at the end of a week--she who had tried so hard? and how strange that, tired and disheartened as she was, she should actually _fear_ discharge! a minute ago she had been asking herself, "how many weeks like this can i live through?" and wishing that an end, almost any end, might come. yet here she was dreading to turn the slip over (she had retrieved it blank side up) and read her doom. "you are requested to call at the superintendent's private office monday, twelve forty-five," was neatly typewritten precisely in the middle of the paper. win did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. "i'll ask sadie what she thinks," was her quick decision. but sadie was not available this evening. an "old chum" had asked miss kirk out to supper, and miss child having snubbed her faithful lion man for reasons which had appeared good at the time, had no one to give her the key to those dozen mystic words which might as well have been written in cipher. "and even sadie can't tell for certain," she reflected. "i can't possibly _know_ till monday noon." all the fatigue and nerve strain of six dreadful days and six appalling nights seemed suddenly to culminate in a fit of overpowering restlessness. worn out though she was (or all the more because of that, perhaps) she could not go "home" to columbus avenue, where the "l" that sadie said should be spelled with an "h" ran past her window. she was sure if she sat down or went to bed she should think more about her aching back and burning feet than if she walked. she longed for the sweet, kind air of heaven to ripple past her hot cheeks like cool water. she longed for stars to look up to, and for the purple peace and silence of night after the clamour of the store and before the babel of columbus avenue, into which presently she must plunge. "i'll walk in the park," she proposed to herself. "it will do me good. when i'm too tired, i can rest for a few minutes on one of the seats and hear myself think." that was one of the many disadvantages of "home." there you could hear at the same time almost every other sound which could be produced in the world, but you could not hear yourself think. earl usher was not to be seen as she came out into the street, and win was glad. once or twice to-day she had half repented the snub which, perhaps, he had not meant to deserve, but now she thanked it for his absence. swiftly she walked away, though still with the just perceptible limp that most shop girls have in their first few weeks of "business." she did not look up at the giant hands with their blazing rings, as she had looked at first, half admiring, half awed. their gesture now seemed greedy. they were trying to "grab the whole sky," as the lion tamer said. rather would one hurry to escape from under them, and go where the hands of peter rolls could not reach. it was exquisite in the park, and she was thinking how a delicate, floating blue curtain appeared to shut her away for a little while from all the harshness of life, when a small and singularly silent automobile glided by. a lamp showed her the forms of two men in the open car, one in front, who drove, and one behind, who sat with arms folded. "how heavenly to have the air and lean back restfully without needing to walk," thought tired win. she was envying the comfortable figure with its arms folded when the little car turned and, to her astonishment, drew up close beside her. involuntarily she stopped; then, as one of the men jumped out, she regained her presence of mind and walked on at top speed. the man strode along after her, however, and spoke. "don't you remember me? that's very unkind. you might wait a minute, anyhow, and let me remind you where we met. i recognized _you_ as i went by, that's why i came back." wondering if it could be possible that they _had_ met, win ventured a glance at the face on a level with her own. she knew instantly that never had she seen it before. "you're mistaken," she said. "i don't know you. please go." "logan is my name," he persisted. "jim logan. now don't you remember? but you didn't tell me your name that other time." win took longer steps. this active hint did not, however trouble mr. logan. he was an inch or so taller than she, perhaps, and kept step with the utmost ease. "you and i might have been at the same dancing school," said he. "i'm doing the newest stunt--the wango. is that what you're doing, too? or is it the y-lang-y-lango? i could go on like this all night! i hope you're not engaged to anybody else for the next dance?" "as a matter of fact, i am," said win sharply, though it was all she could do not to laugh. "my partner will very much object to you." "that's all right. it's not likely he knows jiu-jitsu as well as i do," cheerfully replied the man, still hurrying on at the same pace. he kept half a step in advance of the girl, as if to be prepared in case she should begin to run; and thus, without seeming to look, win could see him in profile. he was so smartly dressed that, in england, he would have been called a "nut." what was the american equivalent for a nut, she did not know. he had a hawk-nosed profile which might have been effective had not his undercut jaw stuck out aggressively, suggesting extreme, hectoring obstinacy, even cruelty. she had time to see that his hair was an uninteresting brown, and his skin the ordinary sallow skin of the man about town. but suddenly he took her unawares, turning to face her with disquieting abruptness. she caught an impression of eyes sparkling in the lamplight; small and set close on either side of a high-bridged, narrow nose, yet bright and boldly smiling. his voice was that of an educated person and not disagreeable in tone, but win was anxious to escape hearing it again. he seemed to wait for an answer, and when it did not come, he went on: "you ought to go in for an olympic race. you're all for them in england. i'm out of training, but i can stand this as long as you can, i bet. the only thing is, i wanted to take you for a run in my auto, it's such a nice, crisp night. i'll drive you home, if you say the word." "the thing wished for comes when your hands are tied," says the turkish proverb. win had been yearning for a spin. she kept silence and sped on, wondering whether she could surprise the enemy by executing a sudden right-about-face. "have you been in this country long?" he inquired. no answer. "oh, indeed, is that so? i _thought_ you hadn't! are you living in new york at present? don't be afraid to tell me. even if you are, that won't drive me out of the little old burg. see here, you're mighty restless. and you do hate to part with much of your conversation at one time, don't you? you're a peach, all right, but a spiced peach preserved in vinegar." winifred wheeled and began walking east even faster than she had been walking west. in the distance a tall--a very tall--figure was approaching, like a ship under full sail. could it be--yes, it was! bless the light of the lamp that showed him! now indeed she dared to laugh. "here comes that partner of mine at last!" she exclaimed and almost ran to met the lion tamer. "good lord! very well, i can't hope to compete against cigar signs," replied mr. logan. "i was unprepared for goliath. little david will fade away till he gets his sling. you make me forget my name and telephone number, but this is where i get off at. please remember _me_ next time." "i will, when next time comes!" win was tempted to toss after him impudently as, lifting his cap, the motorist took a hasty short cut to the motor. win was actually laughing when earl usher joined her. she felt safe, and not even tired. the little adventure had had its uses, after all! it had been, she thought, just as beneficial and not nearly so expensive as a tonic or a turkish bath. "was that mutt a gentleman friend of yours, kid, or was he some fresh guy? 'cause, if he was playing the fool, i'll break into the game and go for his blood," remarked the rescuer. "it was a mr. logan," replied win hurriedly, making up her mind that she must avoid any chance of trouble. "but--but i don't like him much," she added. "i was very glad when i saw you. and i'm not going to scold you for following me, because i know you meant well--and, as it happened, it's _ending_ well. for a reward, i forgive you everything. and i've just thought of a new name for you, mr. usher." "hope it's some better than sadie kirk's." "what--teddy bear? yes, it's better than that. did you ever read 'quo vadis?'" "not on your life. sounds like a patent medicine." "it's a novel. and in it a great, good giant of a young man devotes himself to rescuing a maiden named _lygia_. _his_ name was _ursus_, and he was so strong he could bring a bull to its knees---" "why, you silly little kid, that's a movie, not a novel. i've seen _ursus_ and his bull, all right. you're makin' me stuck on myself. i feel as if i was it." "well, you are it. i christen you ursus. and thank you very much for taking so much trouble about me." "i didn't take trouble," protested ursus, half afraid that he was being "kidded." "all i did was to beat it after you at what the swell reporters call a respectful distance just to see you safe home if you meant to hoof it. when you shot into the park, thinks i, 'maybe she's made a date to chat with a gentleman friend, so i'll hang back.' but---" "it was quite an accident, meeting mr. logan, i assure you, ursus," said win, still unwilling to confide in him the details of the late encounter, which seemed ridiculous now it was over. "i wanted a breath of air. i've had it, and if you'll be very good and never use such a word again as you did night before last, you may walk home with me if you like." "what word do you refer to? cutie?" "yes. and another still more offensive." "sweetie?" "yes. disgusting! 'kid's' bad enough. but i thought you mightn't know any better. i draw the line at the others." "all right," said ursus rather sulkily, sure that he was being made fun of now. "but when a chap's a girl's friend what _is_ he to call her?" "'you' will do very well, if 'miss child' is beyond your vocabulary." "i don't call that bein' friends. say, is that your mutt's automobile sort of following along in our wake?" "i don't know, for i don't want to look back," said win. (they were out of the park by this time.) "but--i've changed my mind about walking all the way. let's hurry and take a fifty-ninth street car!" * * * * * by day, in the shop, win could laugh when she thought of the columbus avenue house where she and sadie "hung out." but at night, in her room, trying desperately to sleep, she could not even smile. to do so, with all those noises fraying the edges of her brain, would be to gibber! in that neighbourhood front rooms were cheaper than rooms at the back. lodgers who could afford to do so paid extra money for a little extra tranquillity. neither sadie kirk nor winifred child was of these aristocrats. their landlady had thriftily hired two cheap flats in a fair-sized house whose ground floor was occupied by a bakery, and whose fire-escapes gave it the look of a big body wearing its skeleton outside. she "rented" her rooms separately, and made money on the transaction, though she could afford to take low prices. in the street below the narrow windows surface cars whirred to and fro and clanged their bells. in front of the windows, and strangely, terribly near to the six-inch-wide balconies, furnished with withered rubber plants, roared the "l" trains, jointed, many-eyed dragons chasing each other so fast that there seemed to be no pause between at any hour of the day or during most hours of the night. private life behind those windows was impossible unless you kept your blinds down. if you forgot, or said wildly to yourself that you didn't care, that you _must_ breathe and see your own complexion by daylight at any cost, thousands of faces, one after the other, stared into yours. you could almost touch them, and it was little or no consolation to reflect when they had seen you brushing your hair or fastening your blouse, that these travellers in trains would never hear your name or know who you were. as for a bath--but then the great, magnificent advantage of living at mrs. mcfarrell's was the bathroom. it was dark and small and smelled of the black beetles who lived happily around the hot-water pipes. you were not expected to take more than one bath a week, and for that one bath towel was provided free. "oh, i thought you'd _had_ your bath this week!" was the answer win got on her second night, when mildly asking for a towel which had disappeared. but if you were silly enough to pay thirty cents extra for putting water on your body every day, you could do so. and, anyhow a bathroom was a splendid advertisement. one lodger told another: "the use of the bathroom is thrown in." that night, when win had bathed and laid herself carefully down in the narrow bed which shook and groaned as if suffering from palsy, it seemed more impossible than ever to go to sleep. each new train that rumbled by was a giant, homing bee, her brain the hive for which it aimed. her hot head was crowded with thoughts, disturbing, fighting, struggling thoughts, yet the giant bee pushed the throng ruthlessly aside and darted in. each time it seemed impossible to bear it again. she felt as if she had caterpillars in her spine and ants on her nerves. win thought about the superintendent, mr. meggison, and wondered again and again whether she would be discharged or whether he had merely "taken a fancy" to her looks and wished to see if she were flirtatiously inclined. she knew now, from sadie, that meggison's desire was to be a "gay dog," though his courage did not always march with his ambition. the red-haired girl, sadie supposed, had perhaps come to the hands armed with an introduction from some "lady friend." this theory would account for meggison's mysterious murmur of, "that's different." what should she--win--do if father invited her to dine with him, as it seemed he did invite some of the girls? sadie said that if such a thing happened to her she would accept, because she wasn't afraid of father. she "could scare him more than he could scare her," and an extra hand might "get the push" if she refused a civil invitation. with mr. croft, "saint peter's understudy," it was more dangerous. you had to beware of him. if you were a "looker," like win, the best thing that could happen to you was never to come within eyeshot of henry croft. he lived in the suburbs, was married, and the superintendent of a sunday school. his name was on all the charity lists. he was so tall and thin and sprawling that he looked like a human hatrack, and his solemn circle of a face, surrounded with yellowish whiskers, had a sunflower effect. he had written a book, "week-day sermons by a layman"; nevertheless, he was a terror. there were, according to sadie, girls in the store who were of no more use as saleswomen than baby alligators would have been, but they "gave the glad eye" to mr. croft, and accepted his flowers and invitations for moonlight motor rides. nearly every one knew, but nobody told. what use? who was there to tell? croft was "up at the top and then some." only saint peter himself stood above. and who would dare complain to saint peter about his respectable right hand? even if there were any chance of getting near p.r., which there wasn't. he came mostly at night, as if it were a disgrace to show himself in a shop, even if it was his own. if ever he did any "prowling" in business hours, it was with the understudy glued to his side. as for "sweating" and "grinding" there wasn't a cent's worth of difference between croft and meggison, said sadie. nevertheless, win was feeling thankful, as the "l" train bees boomed through her brain, that at worst it was mr. meggison who had mysteriously summoned her, not mr. croft. if only she could go to sleep and forget them both, and the trains and the cars and the man in the park and miss stein, who still had against her a "grouch." if only she could forget even big, blundering ursus, who wanted to treat her to oyster stews that he couldn't afford and take her to a dance hall next sunday! and sadie, too, who knew such strange and awful things about the world and life, although she was so good. but no. impossible to stop thinking, impossible to forget, impossible to sleep. all new york seemed to be about her ears. she could hear the frantic rush of everything which true new yorkers love, and she could feel its sky-scrapers closing in around her like an unclimbable wall. as she thought of the great, noisy city she saw it consisting entirely of vastly high towers, with inhabitants who spent their time in tearing about--people who looked at her in the street as if she were not there, or, if she was, they would rather she were somewhere else. she dared not picture the ship sailing for england nearly every day of the week. if she were free to do what she liked--or almost what she liked--she would go at least as often as every saturday to watch a big liner move out from the dock, just for the delicious torture of it. and yet--did she want to go back home? whenever she asked herself this question--and it was often--invariably for some silly reason, she saw the blue, wistful eyes of that hypocrite, the younger peter rolls. also there came upon her a choking sense of homelessness, a mother-want in a lonely world. but, as sadie kirk agreed with her in saying, "what _was_ the good of squeezing juice out of your eyes just because you happened to be low in your mind?" no, she would not cry! then, after all, she dropped asleep in a minute's interval between trains, and dreamed that she was lost in fifty-ninth street. it was as long as the way to england, and a ghastly street to be lost in. its sky line--if it knew anything about the sky--was as irregular as a wagner dragon's teeth--high buildings and low buildings, and shanties where coloured families lived; little, sinister-looking houses where people could be murdered and their bodies never found, shops where you could buy everything you didn't want and nothing that you did. in the dream black and white children were fighting and skating on roller skates over the pavement. cars were clanging bells. everybody and everything was making a noise of some sort. win was trying to get past the skaters and catch a car. she must, or she would be late for something! but what? this was horrible. she was going somewhere, and could not remember where or what she had to do. she was lost forever, and had forgotten her name and the name of the street where she lived. a roller-skating boy with the face of a black monkey threw her down, and a surface car and peter rolls's automobile were about to run over her when she waked with a jump that shook the palsied bed. another "l" train booming by! despite lack of sleep and a tiredness of body that sunday could not cure, win had never looked more attractive than when, at precisely twelve forty-five on monday afternoon she presented herself at mr. meggison's door. this was his private den, and a visit there, even on a less alarming errand than hers, was far more formidable than pausing for inspection at an office window. sadie, with the best intentions, had been able to give little encouragement there must be scolding or else flirting in prospect. and winifred's eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, her head high, as the superintendent's voice bade her "come in." chapter xiv from scylla to charybdis she went in. mr. meggison sat in front of his roll-top desk. no such world-shaking event as his rising to receive her took place. his stenographer's chair was vacant. the cherubic aspect had for the moment dominated mephistopheles. mr. meggison was smiling. but win did not know whether to fear the smile or to thank her stars for it. little girls--and sometimes big ones--should be seen and not heard, so win waited in meek, flushed silence for the great man to speak. "shut the door, please, miss--er--miss child," said he. and the cherubic eyes gazing from under the fierce contradiction of heavy eyebrows up to the tall girl's face conveyed to her mind that "please" was a tribute. also, she suddenly knew that the superintendent had hesitated over her name on purpose. a man in a high position may wish to be agreeable to a girl beneath him, at the same time informing her that she is of no vast importance. with a certain stiff young dignity win shut the office door. "you may as well sit down. i want to talk to you." she sat down in the chair of mr. meggison's absent stenographer. by this time the pink of her cheeks had deepened to red. she was wondering more than ever what he was going to do, and what she would do when he had done it. but as she sat facing him she realized that she was no longer afraid. she felt a sense of power and resource. "are you surprised that i remember your name, miss child?" he asked. "i don't know the custom," she replied primly. would he expect her to say "sir?" anyhow, she wouldn't! she compromised with a dainty meekness which might be interpreted as respect for a superior. mr. meggison fixed her with a sharp look which would have detected the impudence of a lurking laugh. "that's a funny answer," said he. "you 'don't know the custom!' well, my idea of you is, you don't know much about any business customs, on our side of the water or yours either." as he spoke he watched her face to catch any guilty flicker of an eyelid. "i want you to tell me what was your idea in going for a job with us." "i saw your advertisement for extra hands." "the woods--i mean the papers--are full of advertisements. what made you pick out ours?" "i'd tried to get other things and failed." "so we were a last resort, eh?" "i thought first of being a governess or a companion or getting into a public library or--things of that sort." "why not the stage? you're a good-looking girl, with a figure." "i promised my father i wouldn't go on the stage. but, anyhow, i don't suppose i could have got on--an amateur like me. every place in new york seems full up. and i have no training of any sort." "just a young lady, eh?" win smiled. "i never thought of it as a profession--or a label." he looked slightly puzzled, and when mr. meggison was puzzled by an employee, he was generally annoyed. this case seemed, however, to be an exception. he kept his temper, and even condescended to grin. "i don't want you should think i'm asking all these questions because we have any fault to find with you," he said. "you've done very well. i always know what's going on all over the place. i keep track of everything in every department. i wouldn't be where i am if i wasn't up to that. i called you here partly to compliment you on your smartness in that little stunt of the first day. and you've gone on all right since, _all_ right. these things don't get lost in the wash. but before i come to that i'm bound to tell you that the report's come up to me you're a spy." he threw the cap at her in a way to make her jump if it fitted. but win did not flinch. what she had overheard on the first day saved her now from a shock of surprise. "i caught that word about me from one of the girls," she admitted frankly. "i wondered what made her think me a spy, and i'm wondering still." "i guess she thought you looked a sort of swell, and any one could see you weren't used to work." "but--there must be lots of girls like me in your big shops, just as there are at home." "no, that's where you're mistaken, miss child. there's more chances with us for women than with you, and more places for 'em. we don't get many of your class in the stores. they can do better for themselves. you, being a stranger, though, had no pull. and maybe you haven't been over here long." "i haven't been long. but my money ran short," smiled win, encouraged now, since neither of sadie's prognostications seemed likely to be fulfilled. "still, i don't see why it should occur to anybody that i was a _spy_. what would a spy do in a shop?" "that depends whether the job came from outside or in." "i don't understand!" "well, there's a set of smart alecks who've banded together and call themselves the anti-sweat league, or work people's aid society, or any old name like that. they smell around to see what goes on behind the scenes in a department store, and drop on us if they can." "oh, i see! and you thought they might have hired me---" "i _didn't_ think so, as a matter of fact. i pride myself on spotting folks for what they are the minute i lamp them. there's something about 'em i can _feel_. i was sure you weren't one of that bunch. but i felt bound to mention the report. now that's finished--breakfast cleared away! we'll go on to the next thing." again win waited. and her heart missed a beat, for mr. meggison was looking at her as if he had something very special to say. "most of the extra people we let go the week after christmas," he went on slowly. "even if they're smart, we have enough regular ones without 'em. but perhaps we can keep you if you make good. and if you want to stay. do you?" "yes, thank you. as far as i can tell now, i should like to stay, if i give satisfaction," win answered with caution. "well, we'll see. it's up to you, anyhow. i told you i was going to test your character. that's why i put you where i did. i knew what you'd be up against. now the idea is to test you some more." he paused an instant. this was a catch phrase of his: "the idea is." he often used it. and when he said: "it is my habit," or "my way is," he spoke with the repressed yet bursting pride of the self-made man who has suddenly been raised to a height almost beyond his early dreams. "i may change you into another department next week," he went on, "where you'll have a better time and less work. what do you say to _gloves_?" win felt very stupid. "what ought i to say to gloves?" she inquired helplessly. then the great mr. meggison actually laughed. "gee! you _are_ an amateur, miss child. why, the girls all think the gloves are the pick of the basket. what your london gaiety is to actresses, that the glove department is to our salesladies. it's called the marriage market. ladies' _and_ gents' gloves, you understand. now do you see the point?" "i suppose i do," win rather reluctantly confessed, faintly blushing. "some of the best lookers in our gloves have married fifth avenue swells. it's pretty busy there just now. the young fellows buy gloves by the dozen for their best girls at christmas time when they want to ring a change on flowers. maybe i'll put you into gloves, if you'll agree to make yourself useful." "i'll try to do my best wherever you put me, mr. meggison" said win, sounding to herself like a heroine of a sunday serial, and feeling not unlike one in a difficult situation at the end of an instalment. at home, in her father's house, she had occasionally been driven to read sunday serials on sunday. they were the only fiction permitted on that day. "that's all right. but now i mean something in particular" explained meggison. "i told you what they were saying about you in your department to see how you'd take it. well, you didn't seem desperately shocked at the idea of being engaged by a so-called charitable society to watch out for any breaks we might make. not that we do make any, so your trouble would have been wasted. we give our girls seats and every living thing the law asks for, and our men make no complaints that we hear. but, of course, we ain't omnipotent. things are said, things happen we don't get onto, little tricks that cost us money. folks shirking, and even stealing; we have to keep a sharp lookout. we can't turn the spotlights on to everybody at once. so when we come across a pair of lamps that are bright, a long way above the average we sometimes make it worth their while---" "oh, mr. meggison, please don't go on!" win cut the great man short. "i'd rather you didn't say it, because--i don't wish to hear. i--i don't want to know what you mean." it was his turn to flush. but the change of colour was only just perceptible. he had himself under almost perfect control. his eyes sent out a flash, then became dull and expressionless as blue-gray marbles. he was silent and watchful. win, after her outburst, was breathlessly speechless. "good!" said he at last. "very good. that's the second test. and it's all right, like the first. _now_ do you understand?" "i--i'm not sure. i---" "you just said you didn't want to know what i meant. but _i_ want you to know. i was testing your character again. i'm sure now you're straight. you're a good girl, as well as a smart one, miss child." suddenly, just as she had begun to feel so relieved that tears were on the way to her eyes, meggison bent forward with an abrupt movement and laid his hot, plump hand heavily on hers. up jumped the girl and down fell the hand. she seemed to hear herself excusing herself and explaining her rashness to sadie: "i couldn't stand it. i wouldn't! i didn't care what happened." "what's the matter?" he asked, blustering, his face now very red. he kept his seat and looked up at her with a bullish stare. "nothing is the matter, mr. meggison," she said. "only i think i've troubled you long enough. you--will be wanting me to go." as she spoke she gazed straight and steadily down into his eyes, as if he were an animal that could be mastered if your look never let his go. she remembered how sadie had said that meggison wanted to be a "dog," but his bark might be stopped if you showed him in time that you were not afraid. winifred _was_ afraid, but she acted as if she were not, which was the great thing. and the "stunt," as sadie would have called it, seemed to work--if only for the moment. when his face had cooled, he said: "yes, you can go, miss child. i've nothing more to say to you--at present. except this: it won't be the gloves." * * * * * tingling, burning, whirling with the excitement of her interview--fully felt only after it was over--win started to hurry back to work. it was not a crowded time of the day in the shopping world. many ladies were lunching not buying, and employees, if on business, were permitted to use the elevators, white light going up, red light down. only the boy in smart shop livery, who rushed the lift from roof to basement, was in the mirrored vehicle when win got in at the superintendent's floor. "hats, children's wardrobes, games, toys, books, stationery!" shouted the strident young voice mechanically as the doors whizzed back in their groove at the story below. in streamed some jaded mothers and children, for whom win backed humbly into a corner, and then, just as the doors were about to snap shut once more for a downward plunge, a young man and woman hurried laughing in. winifred child shrank farther into her corner, plastering herself against the wall of the elevator, and turning her face away, for the newcomers were lord raygan and ena rolls. as the wall consisted entirely of mirrors, however, turning away gave little protection. the mothers, refusing to retire with their young before the latest arrivals, "swell" though they might be, miss rolls and her companion were forced to push past the forms which kept the door, and by the time the elevator had shot down a story or two farther the pair were close to win. still she kept her face twisted as far over her shoulder as it would go, at risk of getting a cramp in the neck, and her heart was beating with such loud thuds under the respectable black blouse that she feared lest they should hear it. "why, hello--it's the lady in the moon!" exclaimed lord raygan gayly, just when win had begun to hope she might reach the ground-floor level without being discovered. involuntarily ena turned with a slight start, recognized win, pretended not to, and presented the back instead of the side of a wonderful hat. an aigret jabbed viciously at the tall shop-girl's eye, and miss rolls said hastily: "what lady in the moon? i don't know whom you're talking about, lord raygan. but oh, here's our floor! this is where i want to get out." "never mind, let's stop in and come up again," commanded raygan in the masterful way which ena loved for its british male brutality--when it didn't interfere with her wishes. "it's miss--oh, _you_ know, from the _monarchic_. don't you remember her in the moon dress? how do you do, miss--er--er? who would have thought of meeting you here?" they were crowded almost as closely together in the lift as sardines in a box, and it was impossible not to answer. "how do you do?" responded win desperately, and miss rolls, making the best of a bad dilemma, found it obligatory to recognize miss child. if she had not done so lord raygan would have thought her snobbish, though it was not entirely from snobbishness that she had wished to escape the girl of the _monarchic_. her heart was beating almost as hard as win's. her brother peter and lady eileen were somewhere in the shop. this was the day chosen for the sightseeing expedition insisted upon by raygan. ena had hated the idea of it, hated having to be associated in raygan's eyes with the hands. she had felt a presentiment that something horrid would happen, but she hadn't supposed it would be quite so horrid and upsetting as this. a dozen times petro had asked if she'd ever heard from miss child. only day before yesterday--the silly fellow _never_ seemed to forget! and any moment now he and eileen might come. they had made a rendezvous at the jewellery department, not far from this row of elevators, on the ground floor. hang the girl! how little delicacy she had shown in taking a place in peter rolls's father's store after that conversation on the ship! and how was she to be got rid of in a desperate hurry without making lord raygan cross? chapter xv the lady in the moon it was a difficult situation for miss rolls. dimly it had dawned upon her more than once that rags regarded certain speeches and ways of hers as "snobbish"--speeches and ways which to her had seemed aristocratic. neither rags nor eileen nor lady raygan had ever so much as mentioned the word "snob" in connection with any member of the rolls family or their friends. but they had lightly let it drop in connection with others, and ena's extreme sensitiveness on the subject her extreme desire to be everything that raygan liked, made her quick to put two and two together. she began to see that many of her favourite tricks at home and abroad--with servants, with her parents, with acquaintances, and the public in general--were not proofs, in raygan's eyes, that she was to the manor born, rather the contrary, and that hurt. she was straining to understand and observe the finest _nuances_. never had it been more difficult than to-day, during this visit she detested to the great department store of peter rolls. if she had declined to come, that would have been snobbish. if, having come, she refused the "glad hand" to one of her father's shop girls whom raygan chose to greet as an equal--that, too, would be snobbish. and to be snobbish was, in raygan's language, to be "beastly vulgar." if she were not snobbish--if she treated miss child with warm cordiality, asked her a dozen questions, and listened kindly to the answers, petro would come with eileen and find his long-lost friend. would lord raygan go so far in his dislike of snobbishness as to welcome an assistant culled from his bride's father's shop as a sister-in-law? ena thought not. besides, she was not sure yet that she would ever be his bride, and any risk she took might turn the scale against her, so uncertain seemed the balance. just at present the danger was that she might fall in the slippery space between two high stools. "why, yes, of course, lord raygan," she said, able in the midst of alarums to enjoy the repetition of his title, which made people stare. "we'll stay in the elevator and talk to miss child, and go up again when she has gone. are you really working here in the store, miss child, as--as--a---" "yes, i'm in the blouse department," win replied, quite as anxious to escape as miss rolls was anxious to blot her out. "i've been up to see the superintendent on business, and now i'm hurrying back to work." "you never wrote me," said ena, thinking it was better to chatter than let lord raygan talk, perhaps indiscreetly. and there were still more floors at which the elevator must stop before reaching the ground level. "i--i do trust you _would_ have written if you'd wanted anything done that i could do." her tone tried not to be too patronizing, lest patronage should be considered to verge on snobbishness. "thank you. i never did want anything that you could do. though it was kind of you to offer," win returned, and was aware that every one was listening. oh, why had she believed mr. lã¶wenfeld when he vowed that the one secure sanctuary against the rolls family was in peter rolls's store? if only she had not come here; by this time surely she would have found something else and all would have been well. "well, it's very nice to see you again, lady in the moon," said raygan. "do you like this place better than nadine's?" "there's more variety," replied win. "not homesick yet for our side of the water--what?" "i haven't time to think about it," she fibbed. "now i must say good-bye. we're coming to the ground floor." "let's go along with her, miss rolls, and see her home," suggested rags. "i want to know whether the blouse department beats that _monarchic_ room with all the mirrors--what?" ena's face showed distress. her eyes actually appealed to the cause of it to save her, and win was only too ready to respond. "please don't come," she protested earnestly. "it wouldn't do. it's against the rules to talk to--to any one you know, except on business. i'm new here still, and i'm sure you wouldn't want to get me into trouble. i'd much rather go alone, though it's very nice of you to offer. good-bye!" the lift had at last reached the ground floor, and all win had to do was to let herself be borne out on a warm tide of females. ena pressed her body against the wall, and lord raygan must, perforce, stand by her. "good-bye!" she cried. "we have to go up again, you know." "we'll sail by, anyhow, and see where you hang out later," raygan called after the disappearing form in black. "and we'll bring rolls and my sister." by this time the elevator had emptied itself, save for those bound for the basement and ena and rags. it was impossible for win to forbid the party to "sail by," or to make any answer at all, over the decorated heads of many women. but she felt as if she would rather die than have peter rolls see her working in his father's store. he might easily think that she had taken a place there because of knowing him, and that, regretting the snub delivered at parting, she had hoped he might some day find her in the hands. "i just can't bear it," she said to herself. "i'll have to pretend to be ill, and get permission from mr. thorpe to leave the floor again--to go to the hospital room--anything to get away." but--wouldn't that be like the ostrich hiding its head in the sand? evidently lord raygan and lady eileen were being shown things. if they hadn't been there already they would be sure to take a peep into the hospital as well as the rest room. not the restaurant perhaps! if mr. rolls junior and his sister had any idea what that was like, they would avoid it with their distinguished guests. still, even there one would not be safe. the only sure escape would be to go home, and she would have to look very ill indeed before she could obtain leave of absence for the rest of the day. wondering what on earth was to be done, win suddenly recalled the look in ena rolls's eyes, which had said as plainly as spoken words: "for heaven's sake get me out of this scrape, and do or say something to put lord raygan off dragging me with him to your horrid old blouse department." "she won't let them come!" win told herself. "somehow she'll prevent it. i'll stick to my guns." so she went back to her place as if nothing had happened and returned to mr. thorpe the permit he, as aisle manager, had given her to leave her duties and go off the floor on which they were carried out. it was a small paper slip signed by him, and thorpe would have been responsible had she outstayed the time asked for. but she was safely within it, and she had herself well enough in hand, after her adventure, to answer his kind, sad smile with gratitude. "what will miss rolls do to stop lord raygan from wanting to come--and from saying anything about me to the others?" she wondered. she could not guess. yet she grew more and more confident of ena's finesse as the long afternoon wore on. what miss rolls did was very simple, if you had the clue. but the clue was what win lacked. "i thought we were due to meet eily and rolls about this time, and look at those wonderful pearls your father says he gets straight from the fisheries," rags reminded ena when the elevator dropped to the basement and began to bound up again. "so we are," she admitted, "but there's something i _must_ tell you before we see petro. that's why i made the excuse about getting out--only, of course, you didn't understand. you couldn't! any floor will do, really--but we'll think of the one likely to be the least crowded. i can't explain if creatures are pushing us about. oh, 'upholstery and furniture!' they'll do." the two wormed their way out of the lift, which was becoming more congested at each stopping place, the legitimate hour for luncheon now being over. the floor chosen by ena had a series of "ideal rooms," furnished according to periods, and she led raygan into a dutch dining-room with a high-backed settle which, if they sat down upon it, would screen them from passers-by outside the open, welcoming door. besides, the old oak made a becoming background for a blue velvet dress and silvery ermine stole. "it's about that girl i want to speak," she said, when she had enticed lord raygan into this secluded retreat. "who, the lady in the moon?" he was staring at delft plates on panelled walls. "yes. i wished for a minute she'd been the lady in jericho. perhaps you noticed that i didn't seem overwhelmed with joy at sight of her?" "well, it did occur to me that you might have been more enthusiastic if she'd been a miss vanderbilt." "it wasn't that at _all_," ena assured him eagerly, almost piteously. "i didn't mind having to speak to her because she's a shop girl, but because i was afraid if we stopped and talked, my brother might come along. i wouldn't have had that happen for anything." "why on earth not?" "i can't tell you, lord raygan. please don't ask me. you'll embarrass me very much if you do. but will you just trust me that it would be a very bad thing if they were to meet, and not insist on our going to look her up at the waist counter or wherever she is?" "certainly i won't insist," said rags. "i don't care, you know, whether we look her up or not. only she was rolls's chum on the _monarchic_, and i thought if he---" "dear lord raygan, please don't think about it any more. and if you want to be very kind, and make me real happy and comfortable, don't tell petro we met the girl--or even mention her. you _will_ promise not, won't you?" "of course, if you ask me, that's enough," said rags, looking rather sulky. he was curious to know what she actually meant, but, of course, could not ask, and somehow the whole affair--ena's deep solemnity and secrecy, her hints which mustn't be questioned, began to seem silly and even rather repulsive. he had never liked her less. vaguely conscious that she was not "making a hit," and more than ever angry with the hateful necessity for this excursion, which was to blame for everything, ena rambled on, "hoping he wouldn't misunderstand," and floundering into half explanations which made the situation less comfortable every minute. at last, when the subject was torn to tatters, and raygan had begun to betray impatience, she got up to go. "petro and lady eileen will be waiting for us in the jewellery department now, i expect," ena said drearily. "let's hurry and meet them, and then we can get away. i'm bored to death with the stuffy old place, and you must be, too. i can't bear anything commercial. if there's a lovely concert or a tango tea somewhere to finish up the afternoon, it will be nice. or almost anything!" there was a tango tea, and it was nice. rags, however was far from nice. he did not seem at all himself. "i'm afraid the poor old store wasn't as much fun as you thought it would be," said petro, half apologetically, when he began to realize that rags had a "grouch." petro had liked the plan to visit the hands, and had liked the visit, too. the place had seemed a beehive of industry and the bees--selling bees and buying bees--had all looked happy and prosperous enough. on the surface, dad's methods appeared to be the right methods. but peter wondered if it would be a betrayal of his promise if he wandered through the store alone sometimes, when it was less crowded and things more normal. he had surrendered his conviction that he "ought to help," and as peter senior had stipulated for no interference if peter junior truly trusted him, one must be careful about interpretations. petro's ideas for a "start in life fund" were occupying a great deal of his attention and were crystallizing into concrete form. he hoped that he might soon cease to be a drone, and end by being of some real use in the world. but as peter junior passed out of the shop, his promise to keep "hands off the hands" seemed one of the things to regret, whether selfishly or otherwise. he would have liked to know more of the place, so passionately interesting to him, apart from its business side; and he was unable to understand how raygan, the one whose curiosity had drawn all four to the hands that day, could have managed to be bored. "blouses" pulsed with excitement. miss ena rolls and her brother were said to be "showing their father's shop to an english lord." how the thrilling tale began to go the rounds nobody in "blouses" could tell. but whenever any famous personage--a millionaire's daughter or an actress, a society beauty or the heroine of a fashionable scandal--enters a big department store, the news of her advent runs from counter to counter like wildfire. in some shops the appearance of an astor, a vanderbilt, or a princess patricia would send up the mercury of excitement forty degrees higher than that of a miss or mr. rolls. but at the hands, peter the great's son and daughter would have drawn all eyes from the reigning czar and czarina of russia. it was rumoured that they had lunched early in the pompeian restaurant. the waitress who had served them had not known until too late. she would regret this all her life. mr. michaels, of "jewellery," who had been honoured by showing them pearls, was envied by all his fellows, and the same with miss dick, of "candy," and miss wallace, in "perfume." girls in all departments grew quite jumpy in expectation that the party might appear, and under the intense nervous strain of trying to recognize them in time. "rubberneck!" one hissed to another, and giggled if she made her start. even miss stein, now somewhat resigned to fate and looking more kindly at fred thorpe, became condescending and communicative in the general flurry. "keep your eyes peeled for a good-looking, short guyl in blue velvet, with an ermine muff and stole that's a beaut from beautville," she said to win. "thorpe saw her. he's had her pointed out to him at the theayter, so he knows. her brother's dark and thin, but blue eyed. i saw in the sunday supplement he's goin' to marry the sister of that lord." * * * * * there was a dinner at sea gull manor that night in honour of the rolls's guests, and just as eileen had finished dressing, her brother raygan knocked at her door. "want me to say your tie's all right?" she chirped. "no, my child, i do not," said rags. "i wouldn't trust your taste round the corner with a tie. you're looking rather pleased with yourself--what?" "i'm pleased with myself and everybody else," replied eileen. "this is one of my happy nights." "i wonder why? there's sure to be a dull crowd at dinner. i've found out now the rollses know all the wrong lot." "i found that out _long_ ago. but i don't care. and i'm going to sit by petro. so i shall be all right." "you've jolly well been with him the whole blessed day. aren't you sick of his society yet?" "no. and i shouldn't be till doomsday. he talks to me of such interesting things." "has he ever by chance said anything to you about the lady in the moon?" "good gracious! no, nor the man either. nor the green cheese it's made of. is that the sort of conversation ena's been treating you to? if it is, no wonder you look bored stiff. you never could stand romance from any one but darling pobbles." "don't speak of kathleen in this house. it makes me want to bolt for home. not that she'd look at me if i did. but the contrast between her and ena rolls--good lord, it doesn't bear thinking of! nothing doing about the lady in the moon so far as i'm concerned. it's rolls who got moonstruck--according to his sister. now can you guess whom i mean?" eileen's pleasant, plain little face flushed up. "oh, the nadine girl on the ship! the one who looked so nice in the moon dress. petro bought it--for ena. and she gave it to that fascinating girl. she--ena, i mean--told me all about it." "and about the girl, too?" "what was there to tell?" "blamed if i know. but ena was hinting dark things this afternoon. that's why i was wondering whether he'd opened out to you. you're such pals." eileen shook her head. she was not looking quite so bright as when rags had first come into the overheated, overlighted, overdecorated room. but perhaps this was only because he had set her to thinking intently. "no, he's never spoken of the lady in the moon. let me think--what was her name?" "miss child." "_you_ seem to remember very well--you, who mix up all the wrong names with the right faces." "but i saw her to-day. i forgot--i haven't told you of that yet, have i?" "no. where was it?" "wait a minute. strictly speaking, i oughtn't to tell you, i suppose. all the same i will--for a reason--if you'll promise first not to mention it to rolls. never mind why not, but promise, if you want to know." "of course i want to know. you make me fearfully curious. i'll promise not to breathe a word to petro." "where the girl is or anything about her?" "'where the girl is, or anything about her.' honour bright. is that enough? well, then--go on!" "she's in the shop--employed there, it seems. we met her in the lift, ena and i. it was a surprise all round. ena wasn't overjoyed. no more was the lady in the moon. they got rid of each other quickly and skilfully. afterward, ena buttonholed me and sat me down on a hard settee in a beastly furnished room like a rathskeller, with price tags on everything, and made me solemnly swear not to split to rolls." "about your meeting miss child?" "_ra-ther!_ and all the rest of it." "what rest?" "a lot of rubbish. i don't know what she was driving at, i'm hanged if i do. but if i didn't like rolls, i'd suspect." "but you do like him. and so do i." "i've noticed that. so would mubs, if she ever noticed anything that didn't wave suffragette colours." "and i shall go on liking him--'right straight on,' as he'd say himself. nothing that ena or anybody else could tell me would make me believe a word against him. and the girl's nice, too. i'm sure she is. but how too endlessly quaint she should be in the shop." "she intimated politely, when we asked her questions, that it was a last resort." "i should think so, indeed! she was--well, not a beauty exactly, but too weirdly fascinating." "she hasn't changed. only she looked scared at the sight of us. and she's thinner in the face. her eyes seemed to have grown too big for it. ena said petro mustn't find out where she is. rather rum--what?" "is this the thing that's made you so grumpy ever since?" "i don't know that i've been grumpy. only a bit reflective. the fact is---" "what?" "never mind. it wouldn't sound very nice." "who cares how it sounds? you might tell me, now we've got so far." "well, then, sometimes i wonder whether--the game's worth the candle. whatever the rotten old proverb means!" eileen had no difficulty in understanding the allusion. "she's got heaps of good things about her," the girl reminded him, being as loyal as was humanly possible to her hostess. "heaps. they're simply piled up in the corners of her nature. but i seemed to have wandered into an empty place to-day. by jove, eily, i thought i'd made up my mind. i'm fond of the old place at home, and i'd like, to see it done up properly. it isn't as if i'd ever care tuppence again about any girl on earth after--kathleen. so what does anything of that sort matter? at least that's what i've been asking myself." "i'm afraid ena thinks you'll soon be asking _her_." "heavens! i suppose she does. not that i've said a confounded word. i'm hanged if i know what to do! i tell you what. i'll wait and see how things go to-night. and then--maybe i'll toss up a penny." "we ought to go down now, anyhow," said eileen, still very thoughtful. "come along, then, and face the music." "you go. i'll follow in a minute. i want to put this wonderful pink orchid in just the right place in my dress, and i shall be nervous if you watch me." "what a ripper! where did you get it?" rags pretended that he cared to know the history of a wonderful, live-looking flower that lay on his sister's dressing-table. "petro. he bought it for me in the florist department of his father's shop. he said it was the latest addition--the department, not the orchid." "don't you get thinking too much about rolls," grumbled lord raygan. "there _may_ be something in that affair, after all. one can never be sure. anyhow, i thought i'd tell you." on that he closed the door, shutting himself out. "petro--and the lady in the moon," eileen whispered, just above her breath, as she found the right place for the orchid. chapter xvi the seed ena planted ena was glad when she saw eileen wearing the orchid that petro had bought for her in the gorgeous new department at the hands. rags had at the same time purchased some gardenias for miss rolls, she having mentioned that the gardenia was her favourite flower. both girls tucked these trophies into the front of their coats, and wore them home. also, they wore them again for dinner, a far more conspicuous compliment to the givers. ena meant it to be taken as such, and faintly hoped, in spite of the afternoon's failure, that the thing she prayed for might happen that night. perhaps lord raygan needed a little more encouragement, for, after all, she was rich and he was poor, and men did hesitate about proposing to heiresses--in novels. nothing did happen; but there was still time, for the guests were staying on for a cotillon, and there was a meeting at which lady raygan had faithfully promised to speak. it was a shame, however, that the effect of the orchid as well as the gardenias should be wasted, and the morning after their visit to the hands, ena made an opportunity of speaking to petro alone. he was in his own "den," one of the smallest rooms in the house, meant for a dressing-room, and opening off his bedroom. he had fitted it up as a nondescript lair, and indulged in ribald mirth if ena tried to dignify it with the name of "study." all the pictures of the big animals he hadn't killed were there--beautiful wild things he felt he had the right to know socially, as he had never harmed them or their most distant relatives. in an old glass-fronted, secretary bookcase of mahogany, the first piece of "parlour furniture" his parents had ever bought, were the dear books of petro's boyhood and early youth, and above, on the gray-papered wall, hung a portrait of mother, which her son had had painted by an unfashionable artist as a "birthday present from his affectionate self" at the age of sixteen. an ancient easy chair and a queer old sofa still had the original, slippery, black horsehair off which petro and ena had slid as children. petro had named the sofa "the whale," and the squat chair "the seal." both shiny, slippery, black things really did resemble sea monsters, and had never lost for petro their mysterious personality. there were some cushions and a fire screen, the bead-and-wool flowers of which mother had worked in early married life, and on the floor, in front of the friendly wood fire which petro loved, lay a rug which was also her handiwork it was made of dresses her children had worn when they were very, very little, and some of her own which petro could even now remember. nobody save he, at sea gull manor, cared for a grate fire; or if mother would have liked one, instead of a handwrought bronze radiator half hidden in the wall, she dared not say so. but she came and sat in petro's den sometimes, crocheting in the old easy chair, when he was self indulgent enough to have a fire of ships' logs. the rose and gold and violet flames of the driftwood lit up for him the secret way to dreamland and the country of romance. what it did for mother, she did not say; but as her fingers moved, regularly as the ticking of a clock, her eyes would wander over the old furniture she had loved and back to the fire, as if she were trying to call up her own past and her son's future. this morning petro was not in a good mood, for he had been reading in the newspaper an interview with him which he hadn't given. it was all about the "start in life fund," and sounded as if he were boasting, not only of the idea, but of the way in which he meant to carry it out. nobody likes to be made to appear a conceited bounder when his intentions are as modest as those of a hermit crab, and a hundred times more benevolent. therefore, when ena came, using as an excuse a dire need of notepaper, and stopped to dawdle, lighting one of his cigarettes, petro felt an urgent desire to be cross. she had on some perfume which he hated, and a split skirt, and was altogether so inconvenient and uncongenial that disagreeable things to say sat on the end of his tongue. he bit them back, however, for he knew he should be sorry afterward if he were a beast. "you look as if you'd like to snap my head off," said ena, fumbling among his cigarettes. "so i would. but i won't," said he. "it isn't you i mind. it's only something that raygan would call bally rot in the paper." "something about us?" ena was alert in a moment. "only about me." "is _that_ all! you're so silly about having things in the paper! almost anything's better than nothing, i feel, as long as they don't go raking up father's and mother's past. oh, i know you think their past's the best thing about them. let's not argue. does it say again that you're engaged to eileen?" "no, thank heaven. i don't want to punch heads in her defence." his sister laughed, and tried to make herself comfortable by putting her feet up on the slippery whale. the split green cloth skirt fell apart and showed a pink ankle clad in a tight-fitting film of green silk stocking. ena gazed at it appreciatively and liked the look of her foot in a high-heeled green suã¨de shoe with a gold buckle. "my private opinion is that dear little eileen was tickled to death by the mistake. the only thing she didn't like about it was--its _being_ a mistake." "if you talk like that, i'll wish the whale was jonah's," said petro. "she does love you!" ena got out hurriedly, fearing to be stopped, or caught up in the surprisingly strong arms of petro, and gently set down on the wrong side of the door. "she does! she does! i've thought so a long time. now i know it. i mustn't tell you how." "you oughtn't to tell me how. it isn't true and it isn't kind--to either of us. i hate hearing such darned nonsense about a girl who likes me as a friend. and she'd be mad as the dickens if she could hear." "perhaps she'd be mad," ena admitted, "because it _is_ true. if it weren't she'd only laugh. you're a simple simon not to see. everybody else with eyes does see. and they'll all be sorry for her if you don't speak." "any one would think i was a dog and she was a bone," growled petro. "speak, indeed! i wish you'd mind your own business, ena." "i am minding it as hard as i can," said his sister, "and you ought to thank me for taking an interest in yours, too. don't you _like_ poor little lady eileen?" "very much; same way she likes me. we're good chums." "if you don't believe what i say, petro, there's a splendid way of finding out. ask her." "see here, my dear girl, haven't you got anything better to do this morning than to loll all over my sofa and talk drivel when i want to write a letter blowing up somebody? i felt a fool when you came in. now you've made me feel a double-dyed idiot. kindly go away and dig a hole in the ground with yourself." ena went. but she felt that, despite discouragement, she had already dug a tiny, tiny hole in very hard ground, not for herself, but for a little seed which might perhaps send out its shoots later. it did not precisely do that; but as the ground raked over was petro's heart, the seed his sister had left made him uncomfortable. it burned and stung and felt alive, and something had to be done about it. of course ena was wrong. he was the last fellow in the world a girl could care for. he had learned that to his sorrow. a girl couldn't even like him. there was something about him that bored her nearly to death as soon as she began to know him fairly well, and made her want to bolt. he was as sure, he told himself, of the exact nature of nice little lady eileen's feeling for him as of his for her. nevertheless, that night at a dance, when he and she (for the best of reasons, they didn't know how) were sitting out the tango, he found himself becoming confidential. this was strange, for petro had one of his father's characteristics if no other--he did not confide things in people. peter senior kept his own secrets because it was wise to keep them. peter junior kept his partly because he thought they would bore every one save himself. so even where the two were alike, they were miles apart. for some vague reason, however--which, if he had stopped to define it, would have convinced him that he was disgustingly conceited--petro was moved that night, in a new-fashioned conservatory resembling a jungle, to tell lady eileen one or two things about himself. how it started he was not quite sure, but with some awkwardness he had tried to lead up to the subject, and suddenly eileen had begun to help him out. "i used to think a man would have to know a lot about a girl," he said, "before he could be sure she was the sort he could fall in love with. i thought love at first sight wouldn't be love at all, but only infatuation. now i see that i didn't know what i was talking about. it isn't a question of whether you _could_ love her. you've just got to. you can't do anything else. it's like seven devils or seven angels entering into and possessing you. there they are before you know what's happened. afterward, when you find out what's struck you, maybe it's too late. or maybe there'd never have been any hope, anyhow." "'while there's life, there's hope,'" quoted eileen. "but what if life's parted you from her?" "i wouldn't let it, if i were a man. i wouldn't allow the girl to go out of my life. it doesn't sound a _strong_ thing to do." "it might be, though, in some circumstances. for instance, if a girl showed you very plainly she couldn't be bothered with you, it would be weak to run after her, wouldn't it?" "i wonder," said eileen, "if a man's a good judge of why a girl does things that she does? of course, i don't _know_ much. but i feel he mightn't be. it's so difficult for girls and men to understand each other, really. now there's my brother rags and our cousin pobbles--i mean, portia. pobbles is her nickname. you know we're great on the most endlessly quaint nicknames in our family. she's quite a distant cousin of ours, otherwise she wouldn't have such lots of money as she has. _we're_ church mice. we'd be church worms if there were any! but rags was in love with pobbles for years, and she wouldn't believe it. she thought, because she's not exactly pretty, it must be her money he wanted. they never understood each other a bit. you mustn't say anything about this, and i won't say anything about what you tell _me_. you _will_ tell me about the girl, won't you? maybe i can help. you see, though i don't know so very much about men yet--except rags--i know a whole lot about girls." "there isn't much to tell," said petro. "i met a girl in rather a queer way--sort of romantic, it seemed to me. and the minute i saw her she stood out quite different from any one else i'd ever seen, like a red rose in a garden of pale-pink ones. i couldn't get her face out of my mind, or her voice out of my ears. she was like my idea of a dryad. it seemed she might turn into a tree if a man looked at her too long. but i didn't know i was in love. i thought she just appealed to me, fascinated me somehow or other. and i wanted to do things for her all the time. i was always thinking of some excuse to be where she was. i was looking forward to doing a lot more things--i suppose it was only selfishness, because i wanted to make her like me, but i didn't realize that till after she was gone." "gone?" eileen encouraged him. "yes. she didn't want me to do those things i'd been planning for her. she wouldn't have what i could do, or me, at any price." "did you--had you--told her you _cared_?" "great scott! no. i hadn't got nearly so far as that. i told her i hoped to see her again, that if there was something i could do to help, i--but she wasn't taking any. she seemed friendly and kind before that, which made it worse when she turned me down so hard. i suppose she hadn't minded much at first, but the more she saw of me the more she couldn't stand for the shape of my nose or the way i talked, maybe. she just got to feel that the sight of me hanging around would poison new york for her, and she intimated that her health would be better if i kept at the other end of the city. you wouldn't have had me continue to butt in, would you?" "i don't know. what happened then?" "oh, she went away." "you let her go?" "what else could i do?" "you could have found out where she went in case she changed her mind. but perhaps you did find out?" "no. for she didn't seem like the kind of girl who would change her mind about a kind of fellow like me. besides, i was sort of stunned by the difference in her manner just at the moment. when i came to myself--i mean, about wondering if i could have done anything better, and realizing what a terrible lot i cared, she was gone. then i hoped ena would hear from her. i think she promised to write. but it appears that she never did so." "is she in new york still?" "i wish to heaven i knew!" "couldn't you find out?" "i might, if i wanted to be a cad." "why--what do you mean?" "i dare say a private detective would undertake the job. sometimes i've been tempted--yet no, i don't believe i ever did come near to playing the game as low down as that." "but it might be for her good---" "that's the way i argued with myself. i almost got myself convinced sometimes. but i knew in my heart it was only sophistry. you see, it isn't as if she would let me do anything for her, even if she wanted anything done, which i've no particular reason to suppose she does. she's english, and a stranger over here, but she told me--when we were friends--that she had letters of introduction to good people and that she'd plenty of money till they found her a job. i can't bear to think of her needing a 'job' when i--but i'm helpless! no doubt she's all right, and getting along like a house on fire. she was the sort of girl who would. or maybe she's engaged by this time to some chap worth ten of me. but i can't forget. i think of her by day, and i dream of her by night." "what do you see her doing in your dreams?" eileen asked in a new tone of voice. not more interested, for she had shown deep interest before, but with a quaver of excited eagerness. "dreams go by contraries, luckily," said peter, "otherwise i should worry. i always see her in some kind of trouble. if it isn't one darned thing it's another. and i look for her by day when i'm up in town. i think, what if i should see her face framed in some car window? this afternoon i even looked for her in our store--though feeling to me the way she did, it would be the _last_ place where she'd go to spend a cent, if she associated the name of rolls with mine. i bet she'd rather go without a cloak on a cold day than buy it there!" "our dance, lady eileen," said another man, who had tracked a missing partner through the tropical jungle. eileen rose reluctantly, but graciously, throwing petro a good-bye look. there was a sympathetic, understanding smile on her pleasant, freckled face which seemed to say: "don't give up. you may find her yet. and girls _do_ change their minds about men. anyhow, i'm glad we've had this talk." she was glad, though she was sad, too--just a little sad. it would pass, she knew, for she had not let herself go far. in spite of all that ena had said, it had never felt true that peter cared for her. she could have loved him, and been happy with him, and have made him happy, she thought, but since he didn't want her, she must set herself to work hard not to want him. she must take her mind off the little deep-down, bruised hurt in her heart by thinking of a way in which she could make him happy--a way in which, by and by, he might recognize her handiwork and send her his thanks across the sea. "i should like him to know i did it," she said to herself. "and then through all his life he would have to remember me because of his happiness, which, without me, he might have missed." of course, petro had mentioned no name, and eileen had asked no questions. if it had not been for raygan's revelation she might not have guessed; but now she did guess, and was almost sure. it seemed to her that a girl who could have petro's friendship and then drop it like a hot chestnut didn't deserve him for a friend, much less a lover. but there must have been some reason. it wouldn't have been human nature, to put things on their lowest level, for a girl in miss child's position to "turn down" a young man in peter rolls's for a mere whim. could ena have done something to put them apart? eileen wondered. it would--she had to admit--be like ena. and if ena had been treacherous or hateful, then it would be a sort of poetical justice if she lost raygan through making her brother lose his dryad. even now eileen did not know what rags would do; and since their day at the hands, he had seemed somehow "off" the affair with ena. but whatever happened in the end--which, one way or the other, must come soon--between ena and raygan, peter mustn't lose the lady in the moon because of a stupid promise exacted and made to get his sister out of some scrape. eileen wouldn't break the promise, because a promise was one of the few things she and her brother rags had never broken. raygan wouldn't release her, even if she begged him to do so, but there might be another way--a way which might lead petro straight to the lady in the moon, if he were really in earnest about finding her. that was the clever part of the inspiration which suddenly came to eileen that same night after starting up from a dream which was "endlessly quaint." "i'll do it when i say good-bye to mrs. rolls," she told herself. and the idea seemed to her so original, so filled with possibilities of romance, that it was as soothing to the bruise in her heart as an application of peter rolls's balm of gilead. she guessed that he had put aside his reserve and told her about the "dryad girl" because ena had put him up to think that she--eileen--had "begun to care." the mortifying part was that it had been--almost true. but eileen wasn't going to mind. she was going to say to herself, if ever the pain came back: "if i can do this for him, surely, when he knows, he'll be glad he told me, and glad that i cared enough to help." it was only next morning, when the world showed its practical side, that she realized how seldom in real life romances can be worked out to a happy ending--or, at all events, the kind of happy ending the people concerned are striving after. "i'll do my best, though," she reiterated, "for petro's sake and for mine." for her the lost dryad was but a shadowy figure in the background, necessary to the picture, perhaps, yet not of poignant, personal interest. it was only of petro she thought. chapter xvii toyland from her own point of view, the lost dryad was a prominent figure in the middle of the foreground; for life was strenuous for those in the grasp of the hands, and it was only at night, when her body could lie quiet while her brain was still terribly active, that other figures assumed their due importance for win in the great, bright picture of new york. it was something to be thankful for that she had escaped peter the day of that visit of inspection to the store. not that she was afraid of him or anything he could do if they should meet. that would have been too silly and victorian! girls were not like that nowadays, if they had any sense, no matter how "dangerous" men might be. but she had liked him so much, and had been so bitterly disappointed to learn from his own loving sister that he was not the "mr. balm of gilead" created by her imagination that it would be unbearable to meet him again, to see him "giving himself away," and thus proving his sister right. to be sure, after seeing miss rolls in the lift, certain kind protestations of friendship had been contradicted by a frozen smile, a cold, embarrassed eye. if peter's sister were insincere in one way, why not untrustworthy in others? this was one of the questions that darted into win's brain at night through one of the holes made there by the giant bees of the "l" road. but the answer was obvious. miss rolls might be superficial, insincere, and snobbish enough to dislike claiming acquaintance with a girl of the "working classes," but there was no motive strong enough to make her traduce her brother's character. even untrustworthy people told the truth sometimes. it was rather fortunate, perhaps, that win had another exciting thought to engross her attention at this time, though it was no more agreeable than the thought of peter rolls. after her conversation with mr. meggison, she confidently expected to find her dismissal in the next pay envelope. it was not there; but, suddenly and without warning, she was dragged out of blouses and neckwear and dumped into toys. this was as great a surprise to sadie kirk and earl usher as to win herself. she dropped upon them as if she had fallen out of the sky--or at least from the top floor. and nobody knew why: whether it was a punishment or a reward. for toys gave harder work for the hands without a capital h than blouses and neckwear, even when miss stein was badly "peeved." also, mr. tobias, the floorwalker concerned with the toy department was "a spalpeen and a pie-faced mutt from 'way back," whereas fred thorpe was a well-known angel. yet, on the other hand, not only were more than half the toy assistants men, but many of the customers also were men. this made the department more lively to be in than blouses, and some girls considered toys next best to gloves. it was almost like coming into a strange shop when win arrived with sadie before eight o'clock in the morning for her first day in toyland, as earl usher facetiously named it. the december morning hardly knew yet that it had been born, and though already there was life in the hands--fierce, active life--those pulsing white globes which made artificial sunshine whatever the weather, had not yet begun to glow like illuminated snowballs. shadowy men were lifting pale shrouds off the counters. voices chattering in the gloom were like voices of monkeys in a dusky jungle--a jungle quite unlike that fairy place where peter rolls had talked of win to lady eileen. out of the gloom wondrous things emerged to people, a weird world--the hands' world of toys. as win strained her eyes to see through the dusk, forth from its depths loomed uncouth, motionless shapes. almost life-size lions and teddy bears, and huge, grinning baboons as big as five-year-old boys, posed in silent, expressive groups, dangerously near to unprotected dolls' houses with open fronts--splendid dolls' houses, large enough for children to enter, and less important dolls' houses, only big enough for fairies. dolls' eyes and dolls' dresses and dolls' golden curls caught what little light there was and drew attention to themselves. some of them stood, three rows deep (the little ones in front, like children watching a show), on shelves. others were being fetched out by the chattering shadows, as if they were favourite chorus girls, to display their graces on the counters. they were placed in chairs, or motor cars of doll land, or seated carefully in baby carriages. there were walking dolls and talking dolls and dolls who could suck real milk out of real bottles into tin-lined stomachs. some exquisitely gowned porcelain parisiennes, with eyelashes and long hair cut from the heads of penniless children, were almost as big and as aristocratic as their potential millionaire mistresses. humbler sisters of middle class combined prettiness with cheapness, and had the satisfaction of showing their own price marks. these delicate creatures, lovely in pale-tinted robes or forlorn in chemises, were the bright spots in the vast, dark department, shining out through the dusk as stars shine through thin clouds. as win became one of the band of shadows, under sadie's direction, gradually she grew accustomed to the gloom, and her gaze called many of the strange objects forth into life. she found long-haired shetland ponies big enough to ride, glorified hobby horses clad in real skins, and unglorified ones with nostrils like those of her landlady in columbus avenue. biscuit-coloured jersey cows, which could be milked, gazed mildly into space with expensive glass eyes. noah's arks, big enough to be lived in if the animals would move up, seemed to have been painted with bakst colours. fearsome faces glared from behind the bars of menagerie cages. donkeys and chinese mandarins nodded good-morning and forgot to stop. dragon broods of miniature motor cars nested in realistic garages. dramatic scenes from real plays were being enacted in dumb show on the stages of theatres apparently decorated by rothenstein. the russian ballet had stopped in the midst of "le spectre de la rose." suits of armour, which ursus called "pewter raincoats," glimmered in dark spaces behind piled drums and under limply hanging flags or aeroplanes ready to take flight. almost everything was mechanical--each article warranted to do what it pretended to do in order to have its appeal for the modern child. win was a child of yesterday; yet the big girl has always the little girl of the past asleep in her heart, ready to wake up on the slightest encouragement, and she felt the thrill of toyland. if when she was small she could ever have dreamed of spending her days in a place like this, she would have bartered her chance of heaven for it--heaven as described in her father's sermons. it was another of life's little ironies that her lot should be cast in a world of toys when she was too old to prefer it to paradise. sadie and ursus had used up the little time they had in warning her what she would have to expect in toys. "there are some punk fellers who'll try it on with you--pinch or tickle you as you pass by, and say things not fit for a dandy guyl like you to hear," the lion tamer had hurriedly explained. "but don't you stand for it. you don't have to! just hand 'em along to me, and i'll make 'em sorry their fathers ever seen their mothers." sadie's story of girl life in toyland was on the same lines, but with a different moral. "don't you tell tales out o' school, no matter what any of the chaps _do_," was her advice. "i kin hold my own, and i bet you can. you may be a looker, but you ain't anybody's baby doll. if a feller calls you 'childie' or 'sweet lamb' or tells you you're the peacherino in the peach basket, don't you answer back, but just smile and wend your ways. if he goes so far as to put his arm around your waist or take a nip with his nails out of your arm or hip, why, then you can land him one on the napper if nobody's lookin'. but all the same, the chaps mostly ain't so black at heart. they just try to decorate their gray lives a bit, and if those sort of things didn't happen to me once or twicet a day, why i'd be discouraged and think i'd lost my fatal beauty." for some subtle reason, however, "chaps" did not pinch or tickle win or slip arms around her waist. one confided to another that he guessed there was nothing "didding" in that direction, and he'd as soon make love to the statue of liberty as an english maypole; which was as well, for from the first moment of her entrance on the scene, the lion tamer kept his eyes open. there were all sorts and conditions of men in toys, but he was among them as a giant among pygmies; and even if the ex-ship's steward, the ex-trolley driver, the conjurer out of a job, and the smart young men who had been "clerking since they were in long pants," had wished to try their luck with win, earl usher would have shown them the wisdom of turning their eyes elsewhere. the news soon ran round toyland that "winsome winnie" was usher's girl. the male "assistants" did no worse than call her by her christian name (they must have caught it from sadie), and that was no cause of offence to girl from man in a department store. every girl in a department shared by men was "kitty" or "winny," "sadie" or "sweetie," while the men expected to be addressed as mr. jones or mr. brown, except by their own particular "petsies." sadie was popular with all, even the "permanences," who considered themselves above the "holiday extras." the ex-steward, a good-looking young german, had offered to get her a dandy place as stewardess when he felt ready to sniff salt water again, and though she wasn't "taking any," and often boxed his ears, she made "dates" with him for dance halls after business hours, especially one called dreamland, which was too lovely for "wuyds." there were movies, and you could dance till 'most morning. real swell gentlemen, who wore red badges to show "they was all right," came up and asked if they could "interdooce" other gents to you, in case you'd come in alone and didn't have friends. but sadie always did have friends. the red-haired girl, who had from the first been a haunting mystery for win, was in the toy department. her name was lily leavitt, and--as sadie had already told win--she was "chucking herself" at earl usher's head. at first miss leavitt "lamped" miss child "something awful." but on the english girl's third toy day a thing happened which converted the enemy into a friend--an all too devoted friend. it was now so near christmas that in the department devoted to toys and games you could not have placed a sheet of foreign notepaper between mothers (with a sprinkling of aunts and grandmas) unless you wanted it torn to pieces before you could count "one!" children were massed together in a thick, low-growing underbrush, and of their species only babies were able to rise, like cream, to the top. the air, or rather the atmosphere (since all the air had been breathed long ago), was to the nerves what tow is to fire. nobody could be in it for ten minutes without wanting to hit somebody else or push somebody else's child, little brute! out of the way. what with heat, the rage for buying, impatience to get in and impatience to get out, the fragrance of pine and holly decorations, the smell of hot varnish and hot people and cheap furs, the babble of excited voices and shrieks of exhausted children, it was the true christmas spirit. peter rolls's store in general, and the toy department in particular, were having what would be alluded to later in advertisements as an "unprecedented success." before win came the folding chairs for "assistants" had all been broken or out of order. but (no doubt, said sadie) because of some lingering suspicion that she might, after all, be an anti-sweat spy, the springs or hinges were mysteriously repaired throughout the department. by law any girl could sit down. by unwritten law she mustn't, yet there were the chairs as good as gold and fresh as paint. they were even pointed out to win, but in the whirl of things the moment after she forgot their very existence and never had time to remember it again. that third day in toys was the most appalling she had known of all the long, wild days at peter rolls's since coming in as an extra holiday hand. dozens of customers clamoured for her at once. each female creature seemed to have as many hands as briareus, all reaching for things they wanted, or gesticulating and brandishing money, or snatching for change. if each distracted girl had had half a dozen highly trained astral bodies with which to serve these terrible ladies, it would not have been enough. more ladies would have come. yet (win noticed with wondering admiration) some of the girls, those most experienced and less easily rattled, did find opportunities to polish their nails and pat their hair. they would turn as if to find something "in stock," stoop quickly, taking advantage of the crowd behind the counters, snatch out of their stockings tiny mirrors and bags of powder or rouge, and "fix themselves," while their anxious customers supposed they were diving for a toy. these were the girls who kept their own perfumed soap and scent bottles in their lockers and could afford becoming hats, whether or no they had money to buy new underclothes and stockings when the old ones gave out. win, however, had neither experience enough nor desire to find time for personal matters. she gave her whole soul to her work and wore that pleasant christmas smile which floorwalkers wish to see on salesladies' faces. but her smile was only skin deep. she had never liked her sister women less--cross, silly, snapping, inconsiderate things, strutting and pushing about in skins and plumes of animals far more agreeable and beautiful than themselves! dangling all over with poor little heads of dead creatures, just as if they were moving butcher shops, and apparently without a sense of humour to tell them what idiots they looked. yes, idiots! that was the word. and if they had enough humour to put on a thumb nail, _could_ they wear the stick-out and stick-up ornaments on their hats they did wear, to prod each other's eyes? no, they couldn't! and what with feathers standing straight out behind, and long corsets down to their knees, they could never lean back against anything, no matter how tired they were. so, what with tight dresses and high heels and thin silk stockings and low shoes and blouses on winter days, no wonder men wouldn't let them have the vote! win turned from an incipient suffragette into a temporarily venomous woman hater when a customer made her show nine dozen dolls, and then minced away saying that peter rolls never did have anything worth buying. another patronizingly bestowed five cents upon win for her "trouble" after making her change three toys bought yesterday and taking half an hour over it. altogether, when winifred child happened to think of mrs. belmont's building with the great figure of a woman falling down the front of it, she would have liked the statue to drop to earth with a crash. once in a while, contriving to pass near, ursus tried to whisper a word of encouragement: "you're a wonderchild, you are! say, it don't spoil your looks bein' tired. you're the picture postal, you are! never you mind these dames. say the word and we'll make up with a large time to-night. i'll blow you through all the best movies and stake you to an ice-cream, soda. do you get yes?" despite his well-meant solicitude, however, win's vitality was at an exceedingly low ebb toward five o'clock in the afternoon of the third day. there had been no time to go out for an alleged luncheon and a breath of fresh air. she had eaten nothing since her breakfast of hot chocolate at a soda fountain, save a poached egg in the employees' restaurant, and, as sadie said, it wasn't safe to accept an egg from the hands unless you'd met the hen socially and knew her past. since four o'clock the exile had been thinking passionately of england, with its millions of women sitting down--actually sitting down!--to tea. and then, suddenly, a man pushed aside a female thing who was being cross because she couldn't find a doll that said "papa" and "mama" in german. "as you can't get what you want, madam, i'm sure you won't mind my taking your place," apologized a cheerful voice. "madam" was so dumfounded that she gave way. and win, thankful for a change of sex in her customer, had put on her polite saleslady air before she realized that she was face to face with jim logan, her motoring acquaintance of the park. "howdy do?" he inquired, and hastily added: "i want a doll. i don't care whether she can talk german or not. though i do want a little conversation--with somebody." money could not be lost to the house of rolls because one of its female servants wished to snub an admirer. mr. logan was even better dressed than when win had seen him before. he looked rich enough to buy peter rolls's star doll, price five hundred dollars, with trousseau. nevertheless miss child determined to outwit him. "what kind of a doll?" she asked in a business-like tone, showing no sign of recognition. "for a small girl or a large girl? and about what price do you wish to pay?" "doll for a middle-sized girl," replied the customer, his twinkling eyes on the young woman serving him. "i like large girls best, girls exactly your size and age, twenty at most, and warranted to look seventeen if given a day's rest and a pretty hat and a supper at sherry's--with the right man. i don't mind how much trouble i take looking for a doll any more than i mind the trouble of looking for a girl. this is a little sister of mine who has to have a doll. i like other men's sisters better, but---" "i think i know just what you want," said win briskly. "if you'll be good enough to wait here half a minute; i'll see that you get it." like a flash she was off, looking for sadie. but sadie was too far away. win didn't want the redoubtable tobias to scold her for neglecting customers, as she had heard him scold lily leavitt the day before, when lily was trying to flirt with earl usher. close by was miss lily leavitt herself, looking bored to the verge of extinction by an old lady who wished advice in choosing five presents for five grandchildren. "miss leavitt," win whispered, "would it be possible for you to take my man, who wants a doll for a middle-aged sister--i mean, middle-sized--and let me attend to your customer?" miss leavitt threw a green-eyed glance at the man indicated, and said: "ginks! ye-h!" as quickly as she could draw breath. the immediate and brilliant success of the stratagem was as reviving to tired win as the encounter in the park had been. her splendid vitality came bubbling to the surface again, and she showed such an interest in selecting the five grandchildren's presents that the old lady thanked providence for the exchange. no time, no trouble, was too much, and grandma joyously wallowed in layers of toys produced for her inspection. now and then, when the old lady was choosing between an aeroplane and a train of cars, or a schoolroom and a noah's ark, win took an eyelash-veiled look at miss leavitt and her customer. he had apparently bought one doll, veiled like a harem woman, and was hesitating over another. the grandmother of five was not the only person needing advice, it seemed. the brother of one middle-sized sister was evidently demanding it from miss leavitt. in any case, their heads were close together over a tango tea doll who tried to look as if she had been dressed by poiret. it stood to reason that a man might want a woman to tell him whether that was the sort of thing a middle-sized child would like, but though their heads were bent over the doll, their eyes turned occasionally toward miss child. "keep the change and buy yourself and your friends some little thing for christmas," win heard logan say at last when, discouraged by the interminable length of grandma's visit, he had resigned himself to go away. the girl glanced involuntarily at miss leavitt's hand, which was clenched into a fist. in it was a crisp-looking new greenback on which at one end she thought she saw the word "ten." ten dollars! the man had made lily leavitt a present of ten dollars, and she had accepted it! would he have tried to do the same with _her,_ or would he have attempted to be even more generous if she had not been chaperoned by the grandmother of five? also, was it just the christmas spirit, or had lily done something special to earn the money? chapter xviii the big bluff lily leavitt's gratitude was immense. she was a changed girl from that moment. not that she ceased to like earl usher, who awkwardly resented her overtures and was boyishly ashamed of them, but her jealousy seemed, after the handing over of mr. logan, to lose its bitterness. she no longer glared and talked "at" miss child, asking if she "wore her hair that way for a bet," and "why some people wanted to take up all the room clerking in stores when they could get better money doing giantess stunts in a bowery show?" instead she did her best to make friends with win and her smart little watchdog, sadie kirk. she brought them presents of hothouse fruit and chocolates, which win refused and sadie nonchalantly accepted, wondering "where the leavitt creature picked 'em up. they didn't grow on blackberry bushes, no fear. and _she_ wasn't going to let 'em spoil!" as the desperate days before christmas raged furiously on, win was still unable to guess mr. meggison's real motive for putting her into the toy department. her duties were more exhausting than they had been downstairs that suggested penance. on the other hand, they had more variety and amusement, for there were five hundred different kinds of toys to sell to five hundred different types of people. that suggested benignity. perhaps, thought sadie, meggison wanted to see how much the new girl could stand. perhaps he wished to "sweat out of her" all the work of which she was capable, the full wage worth she could give to peter rolls before casting her aside forever. or--it was just possible that, instead of exciting resentment she had won his respect by "cheeking" him. that had been known to happen in the most unexpected, though now historic cases. and girls who had awaited their discharge had been promoted, mounting slowly higher and higher over the bodies of those who fell by the wayside, until they had become head buyers, receiving ten thousand dollars a year and a trip to paris every summer. in any case, win liked toys better than blouses, though mr. tobias (whose hair "left off where it began," and who wore his eyes in bags) was a very "different proposition" from fred thorpe, the kind and handsome floorwalker who loved dora stein, yet was fair to her rivals. if tobias saw a young woman stop to breathe he came up and reminded her that this wasn't a matinã©e--they weren't having a party that day nor serving five-o'clock tea. the girls, too, were often rough in their ways and pushed each other rudely about. they were surlily suspicious sometimes and seemed temperamentally unable to trust one another, but they were good-natured at heart. "snap and let snap" was the unwritten law in toyland, and though they all squabbled among themselves, if a girl were ill or had bad news her companions were ready in an instant to help or console. they mimicked win and gave her the same nickname she had gained downstairs, "miss thank-you," "beg-your-pardon," and "if-you-please." but soon she found herself popular, and saw the girls, and even the men, adopting the gentler ways she brought among them. they seemed half unconsciously to fall into the soft manner they made fun of, which was a score for win. besides, there was cupid, and he alone, she thought, would have been worth the move from blouses into toys. cupid was an errand boy, employed to run with messages from one department to another; but, though in toyland there were some dolls larger, there were none more beautiful than he. his real name happened to be billy slate, but he rejoiced in several others more appropriate such as "bud," "christmas card," and "valentine" that of "cupid" was added to the list by miss child, who had more scientific, mythological knowledge of the youth in question than any one else at the hands perhaps, though most of the others could boast a more intimate personal acquaintance with him in modern life. billy, _alias_ "bud," _et cetera_, was a permanent fixture at peter rolls's, having been in his present position for some time and possessing no ambition to better it, though he had reached the mature age of "twelve, going on thirteen." he had resisted the blandishments of all the prettiest girls in the store, but for some reason fell a victim to miss child at first sight; perhaps because she was english (his parents came from manchester), or perhaps because she treated him, not like a little boy, but like a man and an equal. he adored her promptly and passionately, and she responded, out of which arose a situation. cupid sometimes received presents of violets or malmaison pinks from admiring customers, gifts which he spurned with the weary scorn of a matinã©e idol for love letters, but had been willing to barter for sums varying from one cent to five, according to the freshness of the flowers. when win drifted into his life, however, all tribute which cupid received was laid upon her altar. he would take no money--her smiling thanks were worth more to him than the brightest copper coins from others--and an offer of candy was politely but firmly refused. "pooh! miss child, i can get all of that stuff i want, on my face, off the girls in the candy dep," he explained with a blasã© air. "you keep it for you and your friends, and i'll get you more. i'm tired of sweet things myself." and from that time on win's attenuated meals were eked out by cupid's presentation chocolates and marshmallows. of the latter--a novelty to her--she and sadie were very fond. they seemed nourishing, too, or, at all events, "filling," and came in handy when you had allotted yourself only five cents for luncheon. as soon as cupid learned his loved one's penchant for marshmallows he contrived to produce a few each day, even if he had to "nick" them when the "candy girls" weren't looking. the morning of christmas eve (the day which, win knew, would decide her fate at the hands) cupid appeared with a whole box of her favourites instead of the five or six crushed white shapes he generally offered in a torn bit of clean paper. "why, cupid, how did you come by this gorgeousness?" asked win, who had half a minute to spare in the luncheon lull. "don't you worry and get a wrinkle, kid," replied the youth, who had permission to apply any pet name he pleased. "the stuff's mine, all right. and now it's yours. unless you think i sneaked it. then you can chuck it away, box and all. see?" "of course i don't think you sneaked it. you wouldn't do such a thing. but--ought i to take it? that's the question." "'it's foolish question 786245,'" quoted cupid with his weariest sneer. "i'm the guy what put the nut in cokernut! i guess there'll be more where this come from in the sweet by and by." win eyed him anxiously. now where had she heard that quotation about the "foolish question?" why, it was a slang phrase of mr. logan's. he had used it only that morning, about half an hour earlier, in gay, bantering conversation with miss leavitt. he "blew in," as he called it, nearly every day now to buy something more for his "little sister's christmas tree," something that he had forgotten yesterday, or to inquire earnestly after the sale of a mechanical frog, which he claimed as his own invention and patent. he had never succeeded in getting win to serve him, but he was as free to look at her as a cat is free to look at a king. apart, however, from telling glances which miss child never seemed to see, mr. logan appeared quite satisfied with the attentions of miss leavitt or sadie kirk, who had waited upon him once or twice when lily was not available. suddenly an idea flashed into winifred's head. "did a man give you this box for me?" she inquired. "ain't i man enough?" cupid tried bluff to hide a flush that mounted to his yellow curls. "answer me. you _must_." "ain't you some chicken to go on askin' silly questions about a good thing? you just take it, kid, and be thankful" "i can't, cupid. i thought you liked me." "you bet i do, sweetie." "then you wouldn't want to cheat me about such a thing, would you? i'm fond of you, cupid, and we're friends, so i can accept presents from _you_. but i don't take them from strange men, and i should hate to feel you cared little enough for me to play such a joke. it would get me misunderstood." flattered by this appeal to and acceptance of his manhood, cupid confessed. "well, don't have the nasty old stuff, then," said he. "i thought i was doin' you a good turn. thought gells liked strange men makin' 'em presents. the feller said 'twould be good business for you as well as me. and he tipped me fifty cents to pass you on the box. suppose i must hand it back to him now." "do, cupid dear," urged win. "but you shan't lose by that. i know you meant no harm, and i'll give you fifty cents myself when i get my pay." "what kind of a jay do you take me for?" snorted cupid. "men don't accept no lucre from ladies where _i_ live. i'll go chuck the guy back his marshmallers and his dirty money, since you put it that way, my baby doll." "where is he? waiting for you somewhere to hear the news?" cupid tossed his curls in the direction of the moving staircase, which in toyland was known as the "oscillator." a bored-looking youth was stationed officially at the top in order to catch any ascending lady who might threaten to fall; but as only the oldest and frailest ever did so, his bored expression had become chronic. "chap's down at the foot o' that," confessed the boy. "but say, won't you just look and see if there's a note under the cover? maybe he's slipped in a christmas gift of a hundred-dollar bill or a diamond tiarey." "i've no curiosity," said win. "you may tell your friend that, and---" "oh, _i_ know! tell him he'd darned better not try the same snap again." "yes," laughed win. "exactly." cupid darted away with the box, striding down the "osculator" as it came rolling up, a feat forbidden. but the boy was a law unto himself and was seldom scolded. when he had gone win wished that she had thought to ask how the man had found out her liking for marshmallows but perhaps he had invited a suggestion from cupid. or the marshmallows might be a coincidence. she did not for an instant doubt that the would-be giver was mr. logan, and she half hoped there was a note inside the box, in order that he might feel the mortification of getting it back unopened. she hoped, also, that the disappointment might be a lesson which mr. logan would take to heart, and--unless he were prepared to transfer his attentions to miss leavitt or some one else equally ready to receive them--that he would not again invade the busy land of toys. an hour later, however, he returned and loitered about, ostentatiously waiting until miss leavitt should be free to serve him. win was showing dolls to a fussy woman who could not be satisfied with the most beguiling porcelain or waxen smile. at last, having looked at several dozens, she flounced away, announcing that she would go to bimgel's. this threat, being uttered in a voice intentionally shrill, was overheard by the hovering floorwalker, mr. tobias. he had never yet had occasion to scold no. 2884; and, as a matter of fact, had noted her as a "lively proposition." he had seen that if 2884 had a few minutes to spare, she usually occupied them, not in polishing her nails or talking about last night's dance, as not a few of the girls did, but in "looking over stock," peeping into boxes, and peering into the background of shelves in order to see for herself what was available without having to question salespeople who had been longer in the department than she. this was the sure sign of a "winner"; and besides, 2884 had the right way with customers. she kept her temper, even with the most irritating "lemons." her charming enthusiasm about the toys and her knowledge of their mechanism (when they had any) often hypnotized customers into buying expensive things they had not intended to take. with remarkable quickness she had picked up slang danger signals by which one "assistant" can warn another of impending trouble. she understood the warning cry of "ishra ankra" for a "crank," and could give the pencil taps telegraphing from counter to counter that a notorious "pill" or an "i'll-come-back-again" was bearing down on the department. she seemed to know by instinct when she could offer to send a toy c.o.d. for a stranger without fear of "cold pig"--having the thing returned unpaid--and she could give enough of her own vitality to a tired woman to make her want to buy. all these virtues mr. tobias had discerned in 2884, and with such heart as he had, he admired her. he intended, if she went on as she had begun, to "set the good word going" which would reach those "at the top." but now, at a moment when he happened through acute indigestion to be in a particularly fretful mood, he believed that he had found out the "bright girl" in a grave fault. it was too late to inveigle the lost client back, but while win was hastily replacing dolls in boxes before taking another customer, mr. tobias pounced. "why did you let that lady go without showing her any of our best dolls?" he inquired, angling for guilt in her soul's depths with a fishhook glare. "i showed her everything of the price she wanted, and even some a little higher," 2884 excused herself. "what about the doll you all call 'little sister?'" tobias threw out the question as if it were a lasso. "i hear you've said that you won't part with that one if you can help it." win grew pink, though she firmly gave him back look for look. little sister was her favourite doll, and it was an open secret that miss child didn't wish to sell it unless she could be sure of finding it a suitable and happy home. in fact, she hated the thought of a sale. many teddy bears and other interesting personalities she had learned to like, and to miss when they went the way of all good teddy animals; but little sister she loved, and to barter that adorable sunny head, those laughing brown eyes and dimples, for money seemed almost as bad as the auctioning of a child in the slave market. if she had had twenty dollars to play with she would have bought the doll for herself. as it was, she had to plead guilty to mr. tobias's charge. she changed her look of self-defence to one more deprecating yet half mischievous; not the look of a scolded girl to an accusing floorwalker, but that of charming young womanhood to man. "i'm so sorry," she said. "i didn't forget; but i felt sure that lady wouldn't spend twenty dollars for a doll. and i _know_ i can find a better--i mean, i know i can get some one to buy it." "i'll buy it," said mr. logan, stepping up. this time he had safely caught his tantalizing rainbow trout, which had not a chance even to wriggle. there was 2884 without an excuse in the shape of another customer, and there was tobias, with whom, on the strength of the alleged "invention," mr. jim logan had already scraped acquaintance. the eyes of the girl and the man met. logan saw that miss child had already guessed what he meant to do, or that she thought she had. but he believed that he had a card up his sleeve whose presence even her sharp wit had not detected. he looked forward joyously to the scene about to begin. "get the doll i spoke of and show it to this gentleman," commanded mr. tobias, lingering to see that he was obeyed, for there was that in the flushed face of 2884 which told him she was capable of a trick. little sister lived in a large, open-fronted box lined with blue silk and fluffy lace, in a desirable but not too conspicuous (win had seen to that!) corner of a shelf devoted entirely to dollhood. there she stood now, the sweet, smiling child, the image of the ideal two-year-old baby which every girl would like to have for her own "when i'm married." in reaching up her hands to take down the box win hesitated. next but one was another doll, not unlike little sister to the casual eye, especially the casual eye of a mere man. its dress was also white; its hair was of much the same gold, though not quite so radiant; its eyes were as brown, if more beady; and it was larger, more elaborately gowned, therefore more expensive. if mr. tobias recognized the difference, would he not praise rather than blame the saleswoman, since instructions were to force high-priced articles on customers whenever possible? win darted a cornerwise glance at tobias to see if he were suspiciously watching her. he was, with the expression of a cloud about to emit a flash of forked lightning. little sister must be sacrificed! just then, as win reluctantly placed the box on the counter for logan's twinkling inspection, cupid went by on one of the endless errands which, as he said, "kept him jerking up and down all day like a churn." he knew little sister, for had not his beloved "kid" ruffled his feelings by remarking on a likeness between her pet doll and himself? _infra dig_ as was the comparison, he had forgiven it when the kid explained her affection for the type. now that fresh guy who had nearly "got him disliked" for fifty cents was going to buy the doll! cupid "spotted" the trick at once and saw its cleverness. the boy "made big eyes" at win as he stumped past, and wondered whether she "was fly enough to catch on" to what he wanted them to say. she was not. at that moment, when she found herself outwitted by logan, cupid's big hazel eyes and yellow head seemed irrelevant. "the price is twenty dollars," she announced mechanically. these were the first words she had uttered to logan since passing him on to miss leavitt the day of his first appearance in toyland. "that's all right," said her smiling customer. "rather cheap for such a handsome doll, isn't it? i think the young person i intend to give it to will be pleased, don't you?" "i can't say, i'm sure," returned miss child with aggravating primness, her eyes cast down. "why, you might give me your advice!" the glare of mr. tobias was turned upon her again, like a two-dollar electric torch. "it's quite one of our prettiest dolls," she admitted under the searchlight. "good! i'm glad you think so. well, here's the money, all in small bills, i'm afraid. would you mind just counting it over? i've got on my gloves." she had to take the money from him, which gave him a chance to touch her hand, and he made the most of it. if mr. tobias saw what was going on, he ignored it tactfully, for the great thing was to keep a good customer at any price. if the price were a flirtation, why all the better for the girl, provided the man were chump enough to give her a good restaurant dinner now and then. peter rolls had to think of his dividends, since he and his manager were not in business for their health, and to make them satisfactory salesfolk had to be got cheap. it was "up to" the girls to take care of themselves. what they did out of business hours, peter rolls and mr. tobias did not care and didn't want to know. no. 2884 required the address, which mr. logan seemed eager to give. "write clearly, please," he gayly commanded. "miss--winifred--child. and now the number of the house. i know it as well as my own." "i can't accept this," she said, not taken by surprise, because she had been sure all along of what he meant. only it came as a slight shock that he should have found out her whole name and the street and house where she lived. "but see here," argued logan, still in the low tone to which both voices had fallen, "i bought the doll for you when i heard you liked it. why not? no harm in taking a doll from a friend." "you're not a friend," she broke in. "i want to be. what will that floorwalker chap say if little sister is thrown back on peter rolls's hands? it might get you into trouble." "i can't help that," win was beginning desperately, when earl usher came hurrying up from the other end of the department, where he had been selling automatic toy pistols. "excuse me, miss child," said he briskly, "but that doll is sold. i ought to have marked it, but forgot. my fault. while you was away to lunch it happened. the purchaser is going to look in to-night, between six and six-thirty, to pay and take the parcel away." mr. tobias, hearing this announcement, came bustling into closer earshot again. "very remiss--very remiss not to have marked the doll as sold," he sputtered. "i don't think we can let the deal stand. _this_ gentleman has offered to purchase in good faith, and here's his money. your customer may as like as not go back on the bargain." "he won't," said ursus firmly. "it's a man. he's often here doing business. he'll be awful mad, and we'll lose him certain sure if we throw him down like that. i'll be responsible." "you!" sneered tobias, impressed nevertheless. "why, you ain't more than a ten-dollar man, if you're that. this doll costs _twenty_ dollars." "i know, and i don't pretend to have saved up a million. but this mix-up is my fault, and the man was my customer, so i ought to stand the racket. look here," and he proudly drew forth from some inner pocket on his enormous chest a handsome gold watch destitute of a chain. "presentation," he announced. "you can see my name _and_ the date. i've hocked this more'n once and got forty. will you keep it till my customer turns up?" "no," returned tobias magnanimously. "if you're so sure of your man, i guess it's all right, and the sale'll have to stand. i'm sorry, mr. logan. but you see how it is. can't one of our young ladies show you something else?" "no, thank you, not to-day," said logan, his long, sallow face red and the twinkle gone out of his eyes. "it was little sister or nothing for me." but though he gathered up his mass of greenbacks and stalked away with his smart hat on the back of his incredibly sleek head, tobias was not greatly worried. the young swell was sweet on child, and wasn't above a flirtation with red-haired leavitt at the same time he was trying to spoon the english girl. he would come back, and soon--no fear!--to see how his invention was going. "lordy! but that was a big bluff i put up!" sighed earl usher to cupid, as he slid his watch into the little boy's hand. "if tobias had taken me, i'd 'a' bin up a tree! sure you can get off, sonny?" "dead sure, for they'll be sendin' me out. they always do. i'll manage the biz for you." "good bud! you get a quarter for yourself, see?--for puttin' me on to the job in time." mr. tobias happened to be at a distance when usher's customer came in and paid. but when the floorwalker inquired, at six-thirty--characteristically remembering a small detail in the terrible christmas rush--the transaction had been completed and little sister was gone. even win had not seen the purchaser. ursus had come in a hurry, his client's twenty dollars in hand, and had taken away the box that contained the doll. there had not even been time to ask if the man who had bought it looked kind and rich; but win was too thankful to have been saved from her "scrape" with logan to care passionately, after all, for little sister's fate. that night, a few minutes before ten o'clock, the employees of the various sections were lined up (men in one aisle, girls in another) to receive their pay envelopes and, in most cases where the "holiday extras" were concerned, their dismissals. just in front of winifred child was sadie kirk, and win knew that for her friend it was a question almost as important as that of life and death whether she were to stay or go. after holiday time it was dreadfully difficult to get work, she not being the stuff of which stewardesses are made, and sadie had more pluck than physical strength. never had she entirely recovered "tone" after that attack of grippe which had lost her a good position, and the strenuous work during these weeks at peter rolls's had pulled her down. if she were to be "out of a job" things would be very bad for her; yet, as she moved up slowly, step by step, to the desk of destiny, she was reading a novel, calmly straining her eyes in the trying light. over her shoulder win could see the name of the book, "leslie norwood's wife." page after page sadie turned, not with a nervous flutter, but with the regularity which meant concentration. she was bent on finding out what happened to _leslie norwood's_ wife before the moment came to find out what was about to happen to sadie kirk. she was near the end now. but was she near enough? win began, in her nervous fatigue and anxiety on her own account, to wager with herself as to whether sadie would finish that book before her turn came to take the fateful envelope. would she? would she not? "i bet she _will_!" win thought. "if she does, it'll mean luck for us both!" and she did. just as the girl ahead of sadie clasped her pay envelope with a slightly trembling hand, sadie read the last word on the last page, shut the volume, and tucked it under her arm. then she took her envelope and gave place to win. they were among the few lucky ones out of the extra two thousand. most of the others received with their pay little printed slips signed "peter rolls," announcing that it was "necessary to readjust our force down to the normal at this time." those dismissed were politely informed that their record was on file. should vacancies occur where they might be placed in future, they would be "notified to that effect." meanwhile they were thanked for loyal service. and--that was the end of them as far as peter rolls was concerned. he still had use, however, for winifred child, sadie kirk, earl usher, and two or three other "live" workers in toyland. they compared notes joyously; but despite her sense of relief, win's heart was heavy for those left out in the cold. the girls who were disappointed hurried away in silence, but many of the men whom no. 2884 had not thought of as friends, scarcely as acquaintances, came up to say good-bye. they held out their hands and remarked that they were "glad to have known her." some of her ways and some of her sayings were pretty good, they guessed, and they wouldn't forget her, although they didn't suppose that they'd ever meet again. suddenly win realized that they had been kind and pleasant, so far as it had lain in their power, and she, staying on, would miss the faces that were gone. she choked a little over these men's appreciation of the difference between her "ways" and those of some other girls, and was half ashamed that it should surprise her. "i expect i'll have to take to the sea again," sighed the ex-steward. "i wanted a little more time on land, but it ain't to be. don't forget, you and your friend sadie, that i can get you jobs on one of the big greyhounds." "what a christmas eve!" win said to herself aloud, as she almost fell into her room at eleven-thirty. "in half an hour more it will be christmas, and i don't suppose there's one soul with a thought for me in all europe or america!" but on the ugly red cover (warranted not to betray dirt) of the rickety bed were two parcels--a big box and a little one. somebody must have been thinking of her, after all! revived, she cut the strings on both boxes and opened the little one first, on the childlike principle of "saving the best thing for the last." "lilies of the valley! why, how lovely! who could have sent them?" there was no name, and a question asked itself in win's mind that spoiled all her pleasure--but only for a moment. she unwrapped the big box, and on the cover (which looked curiously familiar) she read, evidently scrawled in furious haste, with pencil: "from ursus to lygia, with respectful regards and wishes for a merry christmas. also please accept lilies." (miss leavitt had testified her admiration for the blond giant by sending him a box of her name flowers, bought with some of the "change" mr. logan had told her to keep. the admired one had promptly "passed them on." but win did not know this, and he didn't see why she ever should. anyhow, flowers were flowers!) the girl was so pleased to know that the lilies came from ursus, not another, that she could almost have kissed them--but not quite. then, in her relief, she lifted the cover of the large box and gave a cry which was not unlike a sob. there, in silk and lace, with eyes closed and smiling lips, lay little sister. "oh, his watch--his presentation watch!" she gurgled. and sitting on the bed, with the great doll in her arms, she let fall on the unresponsive head a few tears of grief and gratitude. she understood everything now, even the "big bluff." what had been or had not been in miss leavitt's pay envelope win did not know until the morning after christmas, that strangest christmas of her life, which she spent resting quietly in bed. returning next day to toyland, where everything looked half asleep in the early gloom, she saw the glitter of red hair. "hello!" said miss leavitt. "here we are again! did you have a merry---" she stopped short, her eyes fastened on a tiny spray of pearly bells half hidden in the folds of the other's black silk blouse. for an instant she forgot what she had meant to say, gasped slightly, closed her lips, opened them as if to speak, shut her teeth together with a snap, swallowed heavily, and went on where she had broken off--"christmas?" win thanked her, said "yes," and asked politely how miss leavitt had spent her holiday. this gave the girl with red hair time to control the temper which accompanied it. but if, in that brief interval of uncertainty, she had burst out with the fierce insult which burned her tongue, never again could she have ventured to claim friendship with winifred child. and if she had lost her right to claim it, all the future might have been different for one of them. chapter xix "yes" to anything at last it was july, and new york felt like a vast hermetically sealed turkish bath into which all were free to enter, but once in, must remain, as there were no exits and no closing hours. most of the people you read about in the sunday supplements (except those who commit murders and such things) had escaped to the sea or mountains before the turkish bath opened for the summer. but there is never anything in sunday supplements about the assistants in department stores, for they are fashionable only in restricted districts, and they do not commit murders and such things, though they might occasionally enjoy doing so. it had been, said the newspapers, an exceptionally gay winter and spring. seldom had there been so many beautiful and important dã©butantes. lovely girls and admiring men had decorated each page of the calendar, like rose petals. there had been cup races for automobiles, and football and baseball matches for men and girls, and other matches less noisy but almost as emotional. there had been dinners and balls, first nights at the opera, washington's birthday week-end house parties in the adirondacks, and easter church parades for those who had not gone abroad or to florida. among those who chose florida (there had been a great deal about this in the sunday supplements) were miss rolls and her brother. ena had collapsed under an alleged attack of grippe after lord raygan went away and his engagement with portia (_alias_ "pobbles") gregory--the rich miss gregory--was announced. some people were mean enough to say that it was not grippe but grief which laid ena low in the height of the season; and if there was anything in this gossip, the grief would have been greater had miss rolls known that she herself was (indirectly) responsible for the happy ending of raygan's romance. a letter written by lady eileen while at sea gull manor to her cousin pobbles had (so pobbles confessed later) suddenly opened the lady's eyes to her own true feelings. she began to wonder if rags had loved her "for herself," after all. and, anyhow, she didn't want a girl like ena rolls to get him. so she met the ship on which lady raygan, rags, and eileen returned to ireland, in order to "make a dead set" at the man she had once discarded. an engagement was the consequence, and in the first letter rags wrote to thank his kind host and hostess on long island, he asked for congratulations. it was the same day that ena began to sneeze so dismally that the only place for her was bed. and when she could leave its seclusion the next only place was palm beach. she said she would die unless she could go to palm beach, so mother took her, and peter took them both, not to speak of ena's maid. he did not wish to play courier. to turn his back on new york interfered seriously with his plans and half plans and hopes and half hopes. but father would not go, and mother and ena could not without a man. peter was the only one available at the moment, and it was april when ena felt well enough to face the north again. by this time the news of her engagement to the marchese di rivoli had been copied from all the principal papers into the little papers, and even the most confirmed cats must be acknowledging far and near that to lose an earl and gain a marquis is a step up in life. it was, of course, not ideal that the marchese di rivoli had no remaining family estates of which his _fiancã©e_ could talk, and there were creatures ready to swear not only that he had come to palm beach to pick up an heiress, but that the penniless princess who introduced him to miss rolls had received a commission. still there are always family estates in the market, and where a coronet is there is gossip also. only the cat tribe start or believe it, and even cats purr to a _marchesa_, lest they may want to visit italy next year. in the turkish bath which was new york that july, peter rolls's department store was one of the hot rooms. miss rolls did not come over from long island to choose her trousseau there, as a badly informed newspaper announced that she would do. she went to london and paris instead, because it was cooler as well as smarter to put the atlantic between her and "new york with the lid off." she ran over with the divorced italian princess who had made her acquainted with the marchese di rivoli, and mother and peter were released. no doubt other big stores were as hot or hotter than peter rolls's that july; but it seemed to winifred child that the tropic of cancer might have breezes which the hands missed. those of the salespeople who did not look as if at any moment their eyes might come out and all their veins burst, were living advertisements for somebody's anti-anemia mixture before the mixture was taken. win was of the latter type. she had become so pale and thin that sadie kirk compared her to a celery stalk. sadie herself had, according to her own criticism, "shrunk and faded in the wash," but the two girls had now few chances of "passing remarks" on each other's appearance, for, though sadie was still in toys, win had been put into mantles. this in itself was a solution of the meggison mystery. the girl's "cheek" had frightened the would-be "dog" and reminded him that a model superintendent must never lose a born saleswoman. but he had not sent for win again, and gloves were not for such as she. sadie, having "sauced" her landlady, found it wise to change her quarters. she had taken a room in an apartment house two blocks removed from her former home, and win, not being able to afford a "flit," remained at the old address. at first, when her pay was increased by two dollars a week, she had intended to save and follow sadie. one had, however, to live mostly on ice-cream soda in the hot weather, which cost money. besides, even had she possessed the dollars, she lacked energy of late. it was easier to keep on doing what one had done than do anything new. and, in any case, nothing that one did seemed to matter. as for the lion tamer, peter rolls's shop saw him no more. he had "got his nerve back" and had returned to lion taming, not because the old life drew him irresistibly, but because there was far more money in dominating real lions than in selling teddy ones. in the birth of earl usher's adoring love for win the demise of the animal who had "died on him" was forgotten. "nerve" and courage and love and the desire to conquer were one in his heart. when a "good summer job at coney" came his way, through an old friend in the "show business," he took it. reluctant as he was to leave peter rolls, which meant leaving "his girl," a change of position offered the only hope of obtaining her in the end. and despite every discouragement from his lygia, ursus did secretly cherish this hope. as she no longer lived in toyland when he went, the wrench of parting was not what it would have been to leave her at the mercy of any man who could afford to buy a doll. there was no excuse for men to "butt into" mantles, unless accompanied by female belongings, and thus accompanied, their sting was gone. at coney island ursus was earning thirty dollars a week instead of ten, and was encouraged by crowds of admiring girls (who watched his performance and bought his photographs) to consider himself exceedingly eligible on that income. many indeed made it plain to him that he would have been worth taking for his face, his muscles, and his spangled tights alone. sometimes on sundays sadie kirk persuaded win to "go to coney for a blow." the crowd on the boats was alarming and on the beach when you got there, but the air was splendid, and poor ursus beamed over his lions' heads with pride and pleasure. these few excursions, however, had been winifred's only outings, except a play or two seen from a gallery, since she came to make her fortune in america; and as each day the heat pressed more heavily upon her with its leaden weight, she felt that she would collapse and "do something stupid" if she could not have a change. anything--anything at all that was different and would break the monotony! lily leavitt, who was in the mantles, too, had never ceased to be friendly, and had often invited win to go out with her in the long summer evenings, but always in vain, month after month, until one day in mid-july, when the heat wave had surged to its record height. it just chanced--if there be such a thing as chance--to happen on the day when the girl's craving for a change had become an obsession, almost an illness. it was a little past noon, and the seniors in mantles had gone out to lunch. they were rather by way of being aristocrats, these seniors, for the mantle department, jewellery, and some others worked "on commission." salaries were no larger than elsewhere, but a handsome percentage was paid on sales; and those tigers and tigresses who were strong and ferocious enough to grab meat from under their weaker comrades' noses did extremely well. the mantles girls who had gone out were champion tigresses. they could afford to eat at something like real restaurants, and as there was nothing worth rushing back for, they would not return until the last moment. lily leavitt, who was qualifying as a tigress, had just snatched a sale which ought to have been win's, but that did not count in their private relations. it was business, and win was "welcome to play the same game"--if she could. only, there was no danger that she would. win was not of the stuff from which tigresses are made, and was incapable of seizing for herself anything--be it a seat in the subway or the chance to sell a mantle--which some other human creature was striving to get. win bore lily no grudge for having "bagged" her customer and gained in three minutes three dollars which should rightfully have found their way to her purse. she listened without resentment to the description of a hat which lily intended to buy with the money--a "sticker" it had proved in hats, and was now marked down to half price. lily had had an eye on it for some time, and would, of course, get it "ten per." off. "i bought me a sweet party dress last week--a bargain," miss leavitt went on, seeing that win had no intention of "slanging" her for what she had just done. "it came outta commission on that green chiffon evening cloak and that white yachtin' i snapped off kit vance when she was daydreamin' and let me catch onto her customer like you done just now. things is down to no price this hot weather. it's an ill wind blows no one good, and now is us guyls' time to get a bit of our own. p.r. always manages to make his hay, rain or shine. and even with our ten per. off, it's forty per. profit for him. when you think there's two thousand folks forced to buy on the premises, you savvy what he squeezes outta us! if we do pick up a bargain, it's a rare chance. i wonder you don't hustle more'n you do and make enough com to buy yourself sumpin' nice. your sheryt waists are the wuyst in the dep, if you don't mind my sayin' so, and the guyls speak of it. now if you had a party dress to doll up in, i could give you the time of your life to-night." "could you?" echoed win, more in the desire to turn miss leavitt's attention from her "shirt waist" to something else than because she wished to hear about the great opportunity. miss leavitt had offered her numerous opportunities of alleged entertainment, none of which, though glowingly described, had ever tempted her to acceptance. at first she had been afraid of lily's fruit and chocolates and theatre tickets, which, like the marshmallows, might have come from mr. logan. but for the last three or four months, since the two girls migrated together into mantles, logan had been conspicuously absent. apparently he had not invented a cloak as well as a toy! win no longer connected lily leavitt's occasional invitations with him. her refusals were prompted merely by a disinclination for lily's society out of business hours and the conviction that her friends would be no more congenial than herself. winifred now, however, particularly wished to show her companion that she bore no animosity for the filched commission, therefore she became loquacious. "i don't need to spend my hard-earned dollars on a party dress, as it happens," she said. "i can save all my pennies for the hire of my typewriter, which is going to lead me from the hands some day along the road to fortune. i've got the most gorgeous gown you can possibly imagine. i don't believe _cinderella's_ godmother could give her anything better. there's only one trouble. i shall never be invited to a party good enough for it." "i've invited you to as swell a party as there could be in little old new york," boasted miss leavitt. "i ain't foolin'. that's straight. honour bright, cross my heart." "oh, but you didn't invite me. you said you would if i had a dress. you've got only my word for that," win reminded her. "i meant to invite you all the same, dress or no dress," lily confessed, "i'd o' lent you one. have you really got something swell? if you have, now's your chance to show it off. it's an artist gives this party. i sit to artists sometimes, sundays, for my hair. i guess you offen seen it on covers o' magazines. this artist friend o' mine's the best o' the whole bunch." "man or woman?" win wanted to know. she expected the answer to be "man," but lily did not seem to hear. her face looked dreamy. "it's the loveliest house where the party'll be," she said. "'tain't the artist's own. it's some relation's that's lent it for the summer while they're away at the seashore. i bin there. it's in the fifties, just off fift' av'noo. tonight it'll be cool as snow, and everything'll be iced for supper. iced consummay, chicken salad cold as the refrigerator, iced champagne cup flowin' like water; ice-cream and strawb'ries, the big, sweet, red ones from up north, where they keep on growin' all summer, and lilies and roses from the country to give away to us when we go home." win forgot the question that had not been answered. she seemed to see those strawberries and to smell the sweetness of roses and lilies in a house "as cool as snow." "heavenly!" she sighed. "i didn't remember there were such things in the world!" "well, come with me to-night and remind yourself," coaxed miss leavitt. "you needn't be afraid, because i said it was artists, to butt into some rowdy crowd. they'll be as quiet and refined as mice. they're more your kind than mine, i guess." "but who invites me?" win made another bid for information. "my artist friend said i could bring any one i wanted to bring, and i want to bring you. i don't just know who all'll be there, but i guess not many, and it's a real swell house to see. you always refuse everything i ask you to, but i do think you might say yes this one time and show you're not proud and stuck up. it'd do you good!" "i believe it would, and i'll go!" cried win. she was in the mood to say "yes" to anything. "hully gee! that's the best thing's happened to me since the measles!" exclaimed miss leavitt jovially. "i'll call for you at your place half-past nine this evening, so you can have a good rest before you begin fixin' yourself up." "it's an engagement," said win, with a kind of self-defiance. she had wished for a change, "anything for a change," and presto! her wish had been suddenly granted by fate. rather spitefully granted, it would seem, because to go to a "party" with lily leavitt was the very last thing she would have chosen. and spitefully, also, as if to punish her own foolishness in wishing, she accepted such goods as the gods had mischievously provided. "you've said yes, and now you must stick to it," she told herself in preparation for a wave of regret, but to her surprise the day wore on and the expected tide of repentance did not set in. the girl realized that she was looking forward, actually looking forward to the evening. it would be like walking wide awake into the hall of dreams to put on a dress beautiful enough for a princess, and eat ice-cream and big red strawberries in a house "cool as snow" instead of sitting in her hot bedroom practising on the hired typewriter or panting on her bed, dead to everything in the world except a palm-leaf fan. when she had been a little girl, invited to children's parties, it had not been of the slightest importance whether she liked the child or not. the party was the thing. now history was repeating itself in her nature. the blank monotony of life and work had given back that childish eagerness for fun, no matter whence it came. she did not care whose ice-cream and strawberries she was going to eat, provided she got them and they were good. besides, it would be like finding an old lost friend to look into her mirror (it was cracked and turned one's complexion pale green, with iridescent spots; but that was a detail) and see a bare-necked, white-armed girl in evening dress. there was a new way of doing the hair which win had noticed on a smiling wax beauty in peter rolls's window-world and had dimly wished to try for herself. only dimly, because if her hair were glossy and trim it suited those plain, ninety-eight-cent shirt waists better than the elaborate fashions affected by lily leavitt and one or two of the more successful tigresses who cheaply copied expensive customers. now there was an incentive for the experiment and win laughed at the eagerness with which she looked forward to the moment of making it, laughed patronizingly, as she might have laughed at a child's longing for christmas. "anyhow, it's something that i _can_ laugh," she thought, recalling, as she often did, her boast to peter rolls, jr. "and i haven't cried yet!" she had not guessed how vividly the sight of the moon dress and putting it on would bring mr. balm of gilead to her mind. but as she stood gazing into the greenish glass, with her hair very successfully done in the new way and the moon gown shimmering night-blue and silver, it was as if peter rolls came and looked over her shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror. yes, she saw him for an instant as clearly as that. he was there. he was her friend, the nicest, most altogether delightful man she had ever seen; the one she knew best and needed most, though their actual acquaintanceship was but a few days old. the kind blue eyes were true and brave, and said: "i dare you not to believe in me, as i believe in you!" then the vision (it had almost amounted to that) was gone like a broken bubble. win felt physically sick, as if the one thing worth having in the world had been shown her for a second, then suddenly snatched away forever. the silvery sheen and the faint, lingering perfume of that nadine model gown had woven a magic carpet of moonbeams and transported her back to the mirrored room on the _monarchic_ for an instant. but it was only for an instant. then the columbus avenue bedroom, with its window open to the roar and rush of the "l," had her again, and made the moon dress and the moon-dress dreams seem ridiculously unsuited to life. win touched a switch which shut off light from the one unshaded electric bulb hanging like a lambent pear over her head. then, palm-leaf fan in hand, she sat down in the blue summer darkness to await the coming of miss leavitt. for the first time she repented her promise to go out. monotony was preferable to the party as she pictured it--a silly, giggling crowd of crude young people among whom she, the stranger, would be like a muted note on a cheap piano. should she stay at home, after all, and tell lily that the heat had made her too limp to stir? it would be quite true. but no. if she stayed she would not have the courage to undress for a long, long time. she would just sit there in the dark by the window in the moon gown, its perfume surrounding her with the past, shutting her up, as it were, in the mirror room with mr. balm of gilead who had never really existed. yet, had he not? what had the eyes in the cracked glass said just now? why shouldn't she believe them instead of ena rolls's dreadful hints? why might not a sister, even with the best intentions, be mistaken about a brother? these were exactly the sort of questions that were upsetting and altogether useless to ask one's self, and win jumped up to turn on the electric light again. she _would_ go with lily leavitt! five minutes later a taxicab--a real, live, magnificent, unthinkably expensive taxicab--stopped and chortled in front of the apartment house in which mrs. mcfarrell's flat was one of many. heads flew out of windows, for the thing was unbelievable, and among other heads was win's. instinct cried that the chortling was for her. the balcony where the rubber plants had died and mummied themselves, being scarcely more than a foot wide, she was able to see a face, crowned with red hair and white as a _pierrette's_ in the lights of the street, looking anxiously up from the cab window. its expression implored the guest to hurry down, because each heart-throb meant not a drop of red blood, but several red cents. win caught the message, and seizing the ancient though still respectable evening cloak which had spent months in a trunk with the "new moon," she flew downstairs. "what an extravagant creature!" she gasped, breathless when after a wasted sixty seconds at most the taxi was _en route_. "i had a present from a gentleman friend," said lily in a self-satisfied voice, adding hastily, in deference to miss child's "stuck-up primness," "a filopena present, to choose myself anything i liked with. i thought us bein' in party dress, and you sort o' tired out, a taxi'd be just about the best thing goin'." this reduced win to the necessity for gratitude, and after months of the "l," the subway, and the crosstown car, the girl could not help revelling in a taxi. she refused to be depressed by the gloomy spectacle of lower-class new york in the throes of a heat wave--pallid people hanging out of windows or standing at corners to be eased of their torture by the merciful spray from fire hydrants; barefooted half-naked children staring thirstily at soda fountains in bright, hot drug stores they could never hope to enter--every one limp, lethargic, glistening unhealthily with horrid moisture, all loathing themselves and indifferent to each other. sometimes win felt that these were her true brothers and sisters, the only ones who could understand, because they were the only ones who really suffered; but to-night she dared not think of them. if she did, because of what they endured she could not enjoy the ice-cream and strawberries in the snow coolness of the artist's borrowed house. new york not being her own city, its different divisions lacked for her the meaning and importance they had for those at home; therefore she was disappointingly calm when lily made the taxi stop in front of a house only three or four doors off fifth avenue. miss leavitt had the fare ready, with a small tip for the driver, and the two were out of the cab, standing in the street, before win noticed a thing that struck her sharply and quickly as being very strange. "why!" she exclaimed, "we must have come to the wrong place. all these houses are shut. their doors and windows are boarded up!" chapter xx the closed house "it's all right," said lily. "don't you remember i told you the house was lent to my artist friend by the folks who own it and who've gone away for the summer to the seashore? the front door and windows were boarded up, i guess, like they always are, before the house was lent. my friend lives in the back part, and the caretaker looks after everything, but it's awful nice. you needn't be afraid you're goin' to waste your grand dress. say, it's some swell street, ain't it?" lily talked fast and slid an arm through win's in the thin silk kimono cloak, encouraging her to mount the steps. but win objected to being hustled. she paused to look up at the house front which--like all its neighbours except a big, lighted building at the corner, that had the air of being a club--had apparently been put to sleep for the summer months. the dark-brown faã§ades were expressionless as the faces of mummies. smooth boards had been neatly fitted into the window frames and made to cover front doors. there seemed at first glance to be no way in, but as winifred slowly ascended the steps of the fourth house from the corner, she made out the lines of a little door cut in the boards which protected the big one. there was no handle to break the smooth, unpainted surface of wood--old, well-seasoned wood which had evidently served the same purpose year after year--but there was a small, inconspicuous keyhole, and into this miss leavitt deftly fixed a key which she took from her hand bag. "my friend sent me this," she explained, "to save us waiting, 'cause there's only one servant, and he might be busy. say, this is real fun, ain't it?" "it's--it's quite like a sort of adventure," win answered "i had no idea the house would be shut up, or---" "it'll make it all the cooler," said lily. she had got the little door open, and the space between it and the house door it protected could be seen in the street lights, like a miniature vestibule. "squeeze in and feel around till you find the electric bell," she went on. "some one'll open the real door, and i can lock up behind us." "why lock up?" argued win, hesitating. "aren't there others coming?" "my, yes, unless they're all here. but it wouldn't do to leave a cover-up door like this standing open. if the police happened along and saw, they'd think there was something wrong and make my friend a whole lot of bother." win saw the force of this explanation, and stooping to pass through the low aperture, found herself close to a pretentiously carved portal. the electric bell revealed itself to groping fingers, and to her surprise a few seconds after she had touched it, without hearing a sound, the door opened. in the dimness of a hall or large vestibule the figure of a man loomed black against dark gray. win could see of him only that he was tall and straight and prim, like a well-trained servant, and his voice was a servant's voice as he said: "please be a little careful, miss, not to trip. we have to keep it rather dark here, but there's plenty of light inside let me show you through the hall." win thanked him, but turned inside the door to ask: "aren't you coming, miss leavitt?" (they had never been upon christian name terms.) "yes, i'm just turning the key," replied lily. "go along. i'll follow." win went on through the dusk, dimly seeing panelled walls. she heard the door shut sharply behind her and supposed that lily had come in, but at the same instant another door opened ahead and a soft wave of rosy light flowed out. "walk in, if you please, miss," requested the tall servant standing attentive, and mechanically win obeyed. lily leavitt had not exaggerated--this was a "swell house," and "cool as snow." the room into which she had been ushered was a dining-room, and at first glance was all one rosy glow--walls, drawn curtains, thick, mossy carpet, brocade-upholstered furniture, lamps and candle shades. the table was a shining bunch of lilies in a garden of deep-red roses seen at sunset, and the glitter of silver and gleam of glass was a bright sprinkle of dewdrops catching the red western light. it was so long since win had been in a pretty room or had seen a charmingly decorated table that for a few seconds she lost herself in the sheer joy of beauty. the sunset-garden simile flashed into her mind and pleased her. she was glad that she had come. the guests might be uninteresting, of the lily leavitt sort, and the artists might be so called only by themselves. the room might be over-gorgeous by daylight, but it was beautiful thus lighted, with a rosy radiance from above, bringing out the whiteness of damask, the snow purity of camellias crowding a crystal bowl, and the ruby splendour of strawberries piled on their own leaves. what a wonderful sight after months of the hands restaurant and free lunches with five-cent chocolate in busy drug stores! oh, yes, she was glad she had come, and she must look, look, look at this beautiful picture, so that she might remember its details and hold it before her eyes, like a delicately painted transparency, in front of future realities. but it was in carrying out this intention, in taking in the details, that win's heart suddenly bounded and then missed a beat. the table had two chairs drawn up to it. it was small and round, and on it only two places were laid. win turned her head and looked for lily leavitt. lily was not there, neither was the tall, respectable servant. but a smiling man in evening dress was just coming into the room with the ingratiating air of one who is a little late for an appointment. "how do you do, miss child?" jim logan cordially inquired, holding out his hand. "this is mighty good of you!" a thousand thoughts whirled after each other through the girl's head, like the mechanical horses on a circular toy race course, such as she had often sold at peter rolls's. round and round they wildly turned for an instant, then began to slow down. this house was closed for the summer. the front was boarded up, and perhaps the back windows also. no lights could be seen, and probably no sounds heard. two places only were laid for supper. lily, then, had gone--had always meant to go and leave her here, had been bribed to bring her and go. oh, but it must have been a big bribe this time, for surely lily leavitt would never dare look her in the face again! one of them would have to disappear from the mantle department of the hands. was logan giving lily enough money to make up for a sacrifice of all those commissions, or did lily think that after to-night she--winifred child--would never come back to peter rolls's? as that question asked itself loud bells jangled in win's head. she felt as if she were losing her senses. but no, she must not--must not do that. never in her life had she so much need to keep them all as now, in this locked house, where she had no help to hope for save what her own wits might give, and no one could hear or see what happened to her except this smiling man and his well-trained servant. for all outside this was an empty house. she steadied herself, the more readily because something in the narrow eyes twinkling into hers said that jim logan had expected her to scream and make a scene. never until now had she imagined it possible to be afraid of him. in the park, when he had stopped his car to follow and speak to her, she had been a little startled, a good deal annoyed. then, when ursus had opportunely arrived to frighten him away as easily as the _spider_ frightened _miss muffet_, she had been impishly amused. in toys at peter rolls's she had been vexed, irritated, but never hotly angry. the young man's persistence had not seemed serious enough to call "persecution." she had rather enjoyed "shunting" him off upon lily leavitt, and thwarting him through cupid and earl usher. it had never occurred to her that behind the unfailing smile and the twinkling gray eyes the brutal ferocity of the animal might lurk. she had thought that he had forgotten her long ago and turned his attentions elsewhere. what girl, unless silly and victorian, would be afraid of a dude who lived for the sleekness of his hair and the spick-and-spanness of his clothes? yet now win was afraid, and she did not think it was because she had suddenly become silly or victorian. this aquiline-faced young man with the prominent jaw was looking at her as the primitive brute looks at the prey under his paws, and if he smiled and twinkled, it was but as the primitive brute might purr. winifred thought of this, and she thought, too, that when the prey had presence of mind to feign sleep or death the brute was said not to kill, after all. she did not put her hand into the hand that logan held out, but neither did she turn to run from him. "this is quite a surprise," she remarked quietly. "a pleasant surprise, i hope," he suggested. "a sort of practical joke, i suppose," the girl said. "well, yes, that's just what it is," logan smiled, evidently wondering at her calmness and not sure whether to take it as a good or bad omen. "it seemed to be the only way i could get you to accept any invitation of mine." "rather a high-handed way!" said win, shrugging her shoulders. "still--here i am. this seems to be a nice house. is it yours?" "it's my father's. we're all supposed to be somewhere else for the summer. but i run in sometimes. my servant looks after me. he's as devoted as the servants in books. i pay him to be. there's nothing i want done that he wouldn't do." "he appears to have made you a very nice supper." win's eyes rested on the table. "nothing could be too good for you. if i've got you here--well, sort of under false pretences--there'll be no false pretences about anything else now i _have_ got you. there's a little surprise in those flowers by your plate. i hope you'll like it." "a peace offering?" suggested win lightly. "yes. and a love token. you know i've been in love with you, you bewitching thing, just madly in love, since that night in the park. i never rested till i saw you again at peter rolls's. and then i knew i couldn't rest until---" "wait!" exclaimed win, putting out both hands to hold him off as he came close. "wait--_please!_" she still spoke lightly. "i'm your guest. i quite understand that 'might makes right!' but there's another law--the law of hospitality, isn't there? this is--a great adventure. let me get into the spirit of it before you say or do any more. give me time--to breathe. where may i put my cloak? perhaps you've a long mirror somewhere? i want to see if i'm beautiful enough for my background." logan yielded to the hands which pushed him away. it charmed him that this tall, spirited creature was taking things in a debonair way. he thought it splendid that she should talk of an adventure and of entering into the spirit of it. if she had made a fuss and tried to escape and refused to eat supper with him, there would have been some pleasure in conquering, but not the same pleasure there would be in a jolly little supper with a pretty girl who gayly acknowledged that the "joke was on her," and then making love to her afterward. not that he quite trusted the strange creature yet. she might be like a kitten that submits to be petted while lying in wait for its chance to spring. but this kitten might lie in wait as long as it liked. the chance to spring wouldn't come. by and by the kitten would discover that fact if the hope were in its mind, for he meant business this time. "there's a room next door my mother and sister use for their boudoir," he said graciously. "it's full of long mirrors, and you can have all the electric light you want, but the furniture's covered up. the dining-room and my den are the only places that are shipshape, i'm afraid." logan walked out into the hall and threw open one of the doors that opened into it. "here you are!" he announced, switching on a blaze of electric light that showed a small room shrouded in white covers. "the first thing you see is a life-size picture of yourself. i guess that's what you want." "you have guessed right. you deserve a prize," win answered. in the lighted boudoir a mirror faced the door. "will you give me a few minutes to myself?" she asked. "i may just as well confess that this surprise of yours has--gone to my head a little, as your champagne probably will--when i drink it. the hot weather has been taking it out of me horribly, and i'm not very strong. if i may sit still for five minutes and shut my eyes and think, why--i'm sure i shall be a more amusing guest at supper." logan, who had touched the electric-light switch inside the door, stood on the threshold, barring the way. win did not try to push past him, nor did she show any impatience, nor even eagerness. he stared her in the eyes as if to ask: "what trick do you hope to play, i wonder? do you think i'm such a blamed idiot as to leave a way out open after all the trouble and expense i've put myself to on your account?" but being perfectly sure that there was no way out, no trick in her power seemed worth worrying about--unless she had some melodramatic little bottle of poison concealed about her which she would drain and die, like the heroine of an old-fashioned play. he was certain that the brave, vital young creature who had seized his fancy would do nothing of the kind, however, and he felt that it was safe to humour her. "you can even go to sleep on the sofa, if you like, provided you'll promise to dream of me," he said, "and if you'll let me come and wake you up. oh, i've caught you looking at the keyhole! there's no key in it, you see, for me to lock you in--or for you to lock me out." "neither of us would be so medieval, would we?" she laughed. "that would be a silly way to begin the evening. now that i am here i am going to make the very, very best of it, i promise you!" "that's right! you're the girl of my heart!" said logan, and, stepping away from the door, let her walk into the lighted boudoir. gently and slowly, almost coquettishly, she shut him out, smiling into his face until the oak panels had closed between him and her. chapter xxi the telephone the boudoir was stuffy and smelled of moth powder with its ivory-white walls and masses of sheeting it looked crudely bright in the glare of electricity switched on by logan. a glance at the closed bay window showed that outside the glass was a screen of unpainted wood. there was no door save that through which win had just entered. all the furniture was pushed against the walls, except a writing-desk with gilded legs, which stood in the embrasure of the big window, and to this the girl ran softly, on tiptoe, across the bare parquet floor. it was covered with sheeting, which she turned carefully back that nothing might be disturbed and, in falling, make a noise. almost she had reached the limit of her strength and had no breath even to whisper the "thank heaven!" she felt, seeing what she had prayed to find--a telephone and directory. it was the hope of this that had upheld her through the scene which already seemed dreamlike. but though telephone and book were here, she was far enough yet from being out of danger. she had not seen the house number, as the boards which covered the front door covered it also. knowing the street and the name of the man who owned the house (if logan had told the truth), she could find the telephone number in the book, but it meant a waste of time. and then, logan might have lied. this might not be his father's house. or, if it were, the telephone might have been cut off for the summer in the family's absence. she could not be sure of that till the last moment, for the instant logan heard her talk he would try to tear her away from the telephone. if only there were a key or a bolt--the frailest, slightest bolt, just strong enough to keep the man out for five minutes! but it was useless to wish for what could not be. she must do her best with the ammunition at hand, and be quick about it, for here was her fort of refuge, and she must hold it while she fired her one shot. on the desk lay a large tortoise-shell paper knife. that, thrust under the door as a wedge, would be almost as good as a lock. at least she might count on it to protect her for those so necessary five minutes. but if she pushed it through to the other side jim logan would see the flat, brown blade stick out like a defiant tongue over the door sill, if he were in the hall keeping watch. knowing that she could not escape, perhaps he had returned to the dining-room, perhaps he was giving instructions to his servant--perhaps any one of a dozen things, yet she could not count on any of them! she took the paper knife, and holding it firmly by its carved handle, she put the blade under the sole of her foot and thus snapped it off short. the thick end, still attached to the handle, was just not too thick to push part way under the door. win could only hope that it might hold when need came. now for the book! as she began turning over the pages she found that her hands were trembling. she had to repeat the alphabet from the beginning before she could remember where the letter "l" came in. yes, there was the name--logan. there were many logans, but only one in this particular street. with a blunt pencil attached to a small writing-pad she scribbled down the telephone and house number to have them before her eyes, lest in her frantic excitement she might confuse the two in her mind. these preparations made, the girl's heart quickened as the fateful moment came. the prompt response from central was heavenly music. the logan family had not studied economy and cut off their telephone. "give me the nearest police station quick!" she added to the number, and at the sound of an hysterical note in her voice logan's hand was on the door knob. if the wedge failed she was lost. but bending over the desk, the receiver at her ear, she dared not turn to see what was happening. "you young devil! let me in, or you'll be sorry all your life!" logan shouted through the door, giving the heavy oak panels a kick. "is that the police?" win spoke loudly that logan might hear. she gave the number of the house, then hurried on: "for god's sake send at once. the house is shut up, but by a trick a girl has been brought in by young mr. logan. she's in great danger. it's she who is calling--begging for help--quick--quick--he's here!" _crash!_ the door flew wide and banged against the wall, logan almost falling into the room as the wedge shook loose. slipping on the smooth parquet, he lost his balance for an instant, and before he could reach the girl to snatch the receiver from her hand, she had dashed through the door and into the hall. there she would have been stopped by the servant if she had not dodged under his arm and darted into the dining-room. once in, she slammed the door shut in the face of logan's man, and fumbled wildly to turn the key her trembling fingers found. something was wrong--or else it was the fault of those shaking fingers. the key would not turn. win set her shoulder to the door and pushed against the panels with the whole strength of her slim body. but it was not enough. the door gave and pushed her back. then, realizing that she could not hold it against superior force, she suddenly let go and ran to stand at bay behind the table. when jim logan, all the latent brutality in him wide awake, came bounding over the threshold she faced him across his silver and flowers and glittering glass. "come here!" he said in a voice curiously unlike the jovial tones she had known as his. "no!" she panted. "i'll stay where i am till the police arrest you as a kidnapper." "you'll not stay!" he flung at her. "if you won't come out of that, i'll fetch you." the girl stood behind one of the two chairs drawn up to the table and both hands convulsively clutched the high, carved back. but seeing him spring toward her, she lost her nerve for the first time. trying to make a screen of the chair, she felt the floating gauze of her dress catch on some unseen nail or splinter of broken woods struggled to tear it free, and found herself in logan's arms. the shrill sound of ripping stitches and tearing gauze mingled with the sharp blow of the girl's palm on the man's ear, and his oath breathed hot on her cheek. "you fool, do you think i wish to keep you after what you've done?" he blurted out. "all i ask is to be rid of you before those fellows get here. i thought i'd have one kiss--but i wouldn't take it now if you gave it to me. sims, run down into the basement and let her out that way. now, you young devil, after him, if you don't want to be choked and buried in the cellar." hardly knowing what she did, win obeyed. tripping in the rags of her torn gown, she followed the man, who opened a door that led to a narrow stairway. next came a vague vision of a basement corridor and a disordered kitchen. a minute later she was pushed into a dark area, a door was shut behind her, she was stumbling up some stone steps; then, hurrying along the street as fast as she could go, conscious only that danger was behind her, that she must fly from it and put a long distance between her and that closed house. if win had known that the door had shut upon jim logan also, and that he had walked out of the house almost on her heels, she would have hurried even faster. but she did not know. and luckily he took the opposite direction, making straight for the new cosmopolitan club at the corner, which she had noticed when passing in the taxi. hardly five minutes after he had interrupted his guest in her call to the police, jim logan was inquiring of the hall porter whether mr. fred fortescue had come in that evening. "he came, sir, but has gone out again," replied the man, thinking that the immaculate mr. logan--one of the best-dressed, best-groomed members of the new cosmopolitan--appeared to be feeling the heat severely. "jove, i'm sorry to hear that," and logan's expression confirmed his words. "i wanted to see him badly. let me think. who else is here? what about mr. pindar?" "hasn't been in, sir, for weeks," was the reply. "gee!" muttered logan. he seemed worried, and in the brilliant light of the fine hall--white-panelled, and hung with clever caricatures of well-known men--his face was pale and even drawn. he looked, it occurred to the hall porter (a man of imagination), rather like a caricature of himself, not so well coloured as those on the walls. evidently conning the names of friends who might be useful in an emergency, logan's eyes were fixed on the stairway, as if thence inspiration or salvation might come. he had the air of having sent his astral body hastily upstairs to reconnoitre the reading and smoking room, but at that minute peter rolls, jr., appeared on the landing, and logan and his astral body joined forces again. "hello, rolls!" he called out. "you're just the man i want. will you do me a great favour in a big hurry?" petro, whose inmost self had also been absent on some errand, came to earth again with a slight start. "hello!" he echoed, hastening his steps. he did not care much for logan, who had been a classmate of his at college, and whose acquaintance he had not cultivated since. still he had nothing against the fellow except that he was a "dude" and something of an ass, whose outlook on life was so different from petro's that friendship was impossible. they met occasionally at the new cosmopolitan club, of which they had both been members for some years, and at houses where their different "sets" touched distantly. if they talked at all, they talked of old times, but each bored the other. petro, however, could never bear to refuse any one a favour, even if granting it were an uncongenial task. this peculiarity was constitutional and too well known for his comfort. "what do you want me to do?" he asked in a tone polite, but void of personal interest. "to come home with me quick and get me out of a horrid scrape. no trouble for you--but a lot for me without a pal to see me through. i won't keep you more than a few minutes, if you're engaged anywhere." "i'm not engaged. but--" petro began, only to be cut short. "come along, then, for the lord's sake. tell you everything when we're there." and taking rolls affectionately by the arm, the other rushed him out of the club. "house shut up, you know. but i stay there. my man'll let us in the basement way, if you don't mind," logan explained disjointedly as they hurried along the street to the dwelling four doors away. sims, obedient to instructions flung at him over his master's shoulder when the girl had been let out, now awaited logan's return at the tradesmen's entrance. the two young men were admitted and the door locked behind them. a minute more and they were in the rosily glowing dining-room, where the white table still offered attractive refreshment. "sit down," said logan, and as he said it a great knocking began somewhere. listening in surprise, petro forgot to accept the invitation--which might have been more tempting if he had not, about half an hour ago, finished dinner. logan repeated the words, however, and even pulled out a chair for petro, who took it. logan seized the other, and petro, following his host's example, drew up to the table. still the pounding went on, more loudly than before, if possible. it began to seem rather like something in a play when you had missed the first scene and didn't quite understand what it was all about. "i think, sir, it's some one at the door," calmly announced sims, raising his voice decorously, to be heard over the noise. "shall i see who it is, or shall i let them knock and go away?" "see who it is, and if it's the police, make no objection to their coming in. be surprised, but not frightened, and say mr. logan has a friend supping with him. savvy?" "yes, sir," responded sims, and vanished. "no time to let you into this stunt on the ground floor," went on logan. "but i will as soon as the turn's over. for all sakes, keep mum while i talk." before petro could answer, if he had an answer ready, there were deep voices in the hall. then the door was opened by sims, and two plain-clothes policemen stepped briskly in. "hello! what's up? house on fire?" exclaimed logan, pausing in the act of handing a dish of iced caviar to his guest. "we're not from the fire department," said the elder and smarter looking of the pair, civilly, yet with a certain grimness. "i guess you know that well enough. we've been sent here on a hurry call on your 'phone to the police--a girl supposed to be detained in the house against her will." and keen eyes took in the details of the room. logan broke into a jovial guffaw. "girl? well, of all--the freak--stunts!" he chortled. "say, rolls, are you the great female impersonator? ha, ha!" "sorry to interrupt you and your friend," remarked the detective, still grimly, though he had caught and been slightly impressed by the name of rolls, as the speaker had, perhaps, intended. logan as a name also carried some weight in new york. one was not rude to a logan until sure how far and fast duty compelled one to proceed. "but i gotta ask you straight whether there's a girl in this house, and you'd better answer the same way." logan stopped laughing. "really, i thought at first you were some of the fellows from the club got up in disguise for a joke," he said. "of course i'll answer you straight. there's no girl in this house so far as i know, and hasn't been since my sister went away with the rest of the folks, 2d of june. i can't think how such a--but gee! yes, i can! the silly old sucker! i bet it's a put-up job." "what d'ye mean?" the plain-clothes man wanted to know. "why, does the name of frederick doland fortescue mean anything to you?" "we know who he is." "well, then, i guess you know he's the champion practical joker of this burg. he was here a while ago--hasn't been gone a quarter of an hour. went just before mr. rolls came in. asked if he could use the telephone. i said yes, and my servant showed him into my mother's boudoir next to this room. i heard him ring up some one, but didn't get what he said. i noticed when he was through he came out chuckling, and then he was off like a shot--told me he had a date uptown somewhere. that's all i know, but it would be like him to play just such a fool trick on you and me." "seems 'twas a woman's voice at the 'phone." "gee! i did sort of get onto it, he was mimicking a girl! sounded kind of shrill, but i didn't pay attention. he's always up to some lark. you're welcome to go over the house, though, if you don't believe me." "it ain't a question of believing or not," said the detective. "but we'll have to look around." "all right!" returned logan, still with that perfect good nature which was having its effect on the two intruders. "would you rather do the job by your lones, or shall my man show you the way? i suppose you don't mind us going on with our supper if i spare you sims and we help ourselves to food?" "you can stay where you are," was the answer. "thanks. but when you're satisfied that a mosquito or so's the only live stock on the premises, i should like you both to crack a bottle of champagne with us." "it wouldn't be quite in order---" "hang order! the police and i are pals. now you'll do me proud if you'll look in on your way out. bring the girl, if you find her!" and logan laughed at his own joke. "don't think i've let you in for anything!" he turned to rolls as the door shut. "they'll find no one, for the good reason that there's no one to find. all the same, i should have been in a mess if you hadn't come right along like a brick and helped me out." "i don't quite see yet how i have helped you," rather dryly remarked petro. "but i guess you're guessing." "if i've guessed right, i'm not enjoying the joke." "then maybe you _haven't_ guessed right! give me the benefit of the doubt till those good men and true are the other side of the front door, will you? i'm as rattled as they make 'em now! say, this is a raid, ain't it? wonder if they've got the black maria outside? can't you eat any caviar? wish you would. well, shall we skip along to the consommã©?" "i've just got down my dinner," said rolls, who was guessing too hard to taste anything with salt in it, in his old classmate's house. "well, a little of this champagne cup, anyhow? it's girls' drink, but not bad this weather, and old sims is a nailer at mixing---" "no, thanks, nothing at all." "you must let me half fill your glass, or those chaps will get onto it that you're playing dummy!" as he spoke logan poured champagne cup into peter's tall tumbler and his own. the latter he filled with the ice-cold, sparkling liquid which, as he said, was "girls' drink," and then, seizing the glass, emptied it in one long draft. it was he who did most of the talking that whiled away time till the policemen returned from their tour of the house; and when they opened the door of the dining-room once more he was eating chicken salad while peter crumbled toast. "i don't see the lady!" logan exclaimed facetiously, with his mouth full. "neither did we," said the man who had taken the lead. "hope you did the thing thoroughly while you were about it! garret to cellar and all the rest?" "you bet we did," returned the policeman, allowing himself the relief of a grin now. "i guess you was right about the practical joke. but you must excuse us if we look behind these curtains." "under the table, too!" laughed logan, jumping to his feet. "stand and deliver, rolls!" petro obeyed rather reluctantly, feeling that he had been made a fool of, at best, in his stupid wish to be good-natured. it might be a joke, as logan insisted, but something told him it was not. the look on the fellow's face as he gulped down the champagne cup had not been funny. it was in petro's mind that he had been brought in to cover up with his presence an unpleasant incident and ignorantly to trick the police. of course, if there were a girl in the house, the police would have found her. but--there was something queer. he meant to have it all out with logan when the police were gone. meantime, however, he behaved loyally and stood up to leave the table clear while one of the detectives did actually bend down to peer under it. as the policeman stooped peter mechanically pulled the chair back, and doing so he caught sight of a thin blue streak lying, like solidified cigarette smoke, across the red brocade cushion. in this smoke-blue streak there were little things that glistened--little silver things shaped like crescent moons set at regular intervals from each other. peter had been unconsciously sitting on the smoke wreath, and as the policeman rose he deliberately sat down on it again. he felt suddenly sick, and his heart was large and cold in his breast, where it did not beat, but floundered like a caught fish. chapter xxii the fragrance of fresias winifred child had been in this house, or else she had sold or given the moon dress to another girl who had been here. thoughts were flashing through peter's brain with the sharp quickness of motion pictures following one another to a far conclusion. of the girl he could not be sure. the lost dryad, needing money more than she needed a smart evening gown, might well have disposed of ena's gift. and yet petro had--strangely enough it had seemed to him then--thought of winifred and the mysterious "dryad door" on the _monarchic_ the moment he came into this place. the perfume of the mirror room was here--the perfume which made all nadine's model dresses delicately fragrant of spring flowers; fresias, the youngest dryad had said they were; and since then peter had asked for fresias at the florist's, requested the scottish head gardener to plant fresias in the garden, and had kept fresias in his room to call back old dreams. if the dryad had sold her dress, would the fresia fragrance haunt it still? petro thought not. the other woman would have given it her own special perfume. only in the possession of a dryad would it have retained this scent. winifred child had been here, then--in logan's dining-room, near logan's table laid so alluringly for a supper _en tãªte-ã -tãªte!_ this idea, passing through several phases, had shaped itself clearly in peter rolls's mind by the time the policeman's round black head had come up from under the table. and it was because of the idea that he sat down deliberately on the film of chiffon. he did not want questions to be asked, or winifred child's name to be mentioned in this business, at all events, until he had made up his mind what to do. there was still time to make it up, and speak, if necessary while the detectives were on the spot, for logan had offered them champagne and they had accepted now they were sure that all parties had been victimized by a practical joker. "girls' drink" was not for the guardians of new york, and sims was opening two frosty-looking bottles of the "real thing" just produced from some household iceberg the men would not go for several moments yet. winifred child had listened to ena rolls's warnings and had taken them deeply to heart. it had seemed to her impossible that a sister could, for any motive whatever, calumniate a brother whom she loved. and then, win had reminded herself that her own ignorance of men was profound they were said to be "all alike" in some dreadful ways, even those who seemed the noblest, the most chivalrous--or more especially those. so she had believed ena's words, against her own instinct, and had not told herself that she lacked her favourite virtue--loyalty. but with peter it was exactly the opposite. he trusted his instinct before everything, and though he thought that his lost dryad had been in this shut-up house with jim logan, he knew that she had come innocently. somehow logan had met her, admired her (that went without saying), and tricked her into the place. when she had understood the trick she had, of course, tried to get away. (why, if proof were needed, was not the torn wisp of chiffon enough?) her quick intelligence had suggested the telephone, and somehow she had contrived to call the police before she could be stopped by logan. yes, that was like her! then logan had been scared and let her go, lest she should be found and he should get into disgrace. this was the natural thing for such a man to do in the circumstances, and equally natural that he should dash out to find a supper companion--some accommodating fellow whose presence would account for the table with its two places. but that he--he, of all men in new york, should be the accommodating fellow found to screen the beast from punishment! this was the astounding thing--the terrible thing--and yet, the providential thing. through logan and the coincidence which had brought them together at a certain moment in the hall of the new cosmopolitan club, petro told himself that he would by and by reach winifred child. it was a hateful combination of circumstances; but finding her thus would be no worse than discovering a rare jewel in a toad's head. while the two detectives tossed off their champagne peter rolls sat still, his thoughts flashing on behind a face deprived of all expression, as a screen of motionless dark trees can hide the white rush and sparkle of a cataract. his vague contempt for jim logan had turned in the last few minutes to active loathing, even to hatred. he wanted the fellow punished, as he would have wanted a rattlesnake to have its poison fangs drawn. he wished to speak out and tell the now laughing policemen the brief story of logan's hurried visit to the club. down would go the half-full champagne glasses on the table. the cheerful grins would be wiped from the two strong faces as by an artist who, with a stroke, changes the expression of a portrait. peter rolls's word was at least as good as jim logan's. questions would be asked. jottings would be made in notebooks. perhaps they would both have to go to the police station. the girl's name would be demanded; logan might be forced to tell it. that would be one way of finding winifred--but it would be a way intolerable. if only peter were certain--as certain as he was of her innocence--that she wasn't hidden in the house, he would let the detectives go quietly and get the truth out of logan himself afterward. but--could he be certain? had he a right to take such chances when the girl's safety might depend on police knowledge of her whereabouts? it was reasonable to suppose that logan had put her into the street after the giving of the alarm and before he ran to the club. yet he might not have done so. she might be fainting, or even dead. the most terrible, melodramatic things happened every day in new york. one saw them in the papers and felt they could never come into one's own life. supposing there were some hiding-place? the fishlike flopping of peter's heart slowed down as if the fish were losing strength. the thought was too hideous to finish. yet he would not dismiss it until he had played his hand in the game. so far he had hardly spoken since the sight of the blue smoke wreath on the chair had set his brain whirling. but when logan suddenly challenged him to drink a health to the new york police, he took the glass of champagne sims offered. "here's to you!" he said. "i never had such a good chance to appreciate the thoroughness of your methods! by jove! think of looking even under the table! now that would never have occurred to me." "i guess it would," one of the men encouraged him, "if you had our experience. it gets to be second nature to be thorough. we never, so to speak, leave a stone unturned" "well, it's mighty smart of you, that's all i can say!" young mr. rolls went on. "what do you call being thorough--not 'leaving a stone unturned?' here, for instance how can you be sure you've looked in every hole and cranny where mr. logan might have stowed a young woman in a dead faint, if he wanted to fool you?" both men laughed. "you ought to bin with us when we went on our trip around the house!" "i wish i had! it would have been a sort of experience," said peter. "i sometimes read detective stories and wonder if they're like the real thing. when you were out of the room i was thinking if we'd had a girl hidden in here--behind the curtains, for instance--we might have sneaked her away when you were upstairs or down in the basement." they laughed again, patronizing the amateur. "you must take us for uncle ezras from wayback!" genially sneered he who claimed leadership. "we didn't 'both' go upstairs--or in the basement. while i waited in the hall my mate slipped down and locked the door that lets into the area and brought away the key on him. what's more, he did something to the keyhole--a little secret we know--that would have told us if any one had used another key while we were gone. but no one did. good guard was kept, and if a mouse had tried to slip by we'd 'a' caught it." "but what if a mouse had tried to hide?" suggested peter rolls. "we'd 'a' found it. there ain't a closet or a pair o' curtains or a shower bath or bookcase or a screen or bureau or table or bed that's had a chance to keep a secret from us---" "did you ever hear the song of 'the mistletoe bough?'" inquired the doubter. "you bet we did. you don't have to show us! we snooped all around the trunk room and rummaged in every box big enough to hold a dwarf. none of 'em was locked, but if they had been--why, we go around prepared." "you don't look as if you'd done much prowling in the coal cellar, anyhow!" laughed peter. "that's because there ain't enough coal in it to dirty a dove," explained the policeman. "why, we even had a squint into the wine bins and the kitchen pantries and under the sink and into a laundry basket. there ain't a fly on the wall in this house but we wouldn't know its face if we met it again!" they all laughed once more, and none more loudly than logan, though he had given peter rolls a puzzled glance for each new and apparently aimless question. "if i wrote those detective stories, i'd use this for a plot," petro went on; "but it wouldn't be much good to the magazines the way it's turned out. i think i'd have a girl hidden behind a sliding panel, or a picture that came out of its frame, or something, and the hero find her." "then you mustn't lay your plot in this house," retorted the officer. "there ain't any pictures a full-sized cat could crawl through, and as for mr. logan's panels, they look real nice, but i guess they're the kind you buy by the yard. and there ain't a room with a wall that could open to hide anything thicker than a paper doll." he earned a laugh again on that climax. peter said that he would have to go to some old country on the other side to write the kind of story he meant. the men finished their champagne and had more. then they finished that with a gay health (proposed by their host) to freddy fortescue. and at last there was no doubt that the time had come to go. logan shook hands with both and pressed gifts of cigars and cigarettes upon them. if peter intended to give logan away, now was the latest, the very latest moment. but he said not a word. satisfied that the girl could not possibly be concealed in the house, her name must not be risked. while logan accompanied the guardians of the law to the front door, opened by sims for their benefit, peter annexed the blue smoke wreath. a splinter of wood (the furniture was only imitation jacobean) had impaled the rag of chiffon, and almost tenderly releasing it, rolls folded the trophy away in a breast pocket. his imagination had not tricked him. the stuff did smell of fresias--which he proved by holding it to his lips for an instant--the very scent that had come out to him whenever the dryad door opened, in reality and memory, the scent he had grown intimate with while the moon dress hung in his wardrobe during those days when he had awaited a chance to present his offering to ena! when logan came back he turned to tell sims at the door that he would not be needed again, at any rate, for the present. then he shut himself and peter into the rosy glow of the dining-room. "at last!" he exclaimed, sinking contentedly into the chair opposite rolls. "i feel as if i'd earned a whole bottle of drink. but all's well that ends well." "it hasn't quite ended yet, has it?" remarked peter. "no, thank you, no champagne!" "not ended?" repeated logan, bottle in hand. "oh, i see what you're at!" and he began filling his own glass, already emptied half a dozen times during the visit of the detectives. "you mean you want an explanation of this hanky panky. well, i promised it to you, didn't i? i said you must give me the benefit of the doubt till those chaps were out of the house. i hope you have. but i thought once or twice you looked a bit thick, as if you weren't sure what i'd let you in for. but i'm not the kind of chap to get a pal in a fix to save my own face. i'm going to explain, all right. only first i want to thank you again for---" "you needn't," said peter. "sure you won't change your mind and take a little fizz? we've been through some hot work for this weather." "_you_ have. no--not any!" "one go at mine, then, and i'm yours. a-ah! that was pretty good. well--there _was_ a girl, of course. but she came because she wanted to come. then the trouble began. there was a little misunderstanding about a pearl dog collar she admired in a jeweller's window. she seemed disappointed to find that this wasn't to be the occasion of a presentation. said i'd promised. i hadn't! i never do promise beforehand to give girls things. girls would love to have the same effect on your money the sun has on ice. not that this one's like all the others. she's worth a little expenditure. a real stunner! any fellow'd be wild over her. an english girl, tall and slim, but gorgeous figure: long legs and throat, and dark eyes as big as saucers. you'd turn and look after her anywhere! a lady, and thinks herself the queen, though she works in a new york department store. i've been running after her since one night we made acquaintance in the park--great chums--called each other jim and winnie and held hands from the first. "but to-night, just because i said i'd never promised a dog collar or anything like one, she went mad as a tiger cat and took revenge by ringing up the police with a beast of a story that i'd kidnapped her. she got it out before i could make her stop, and for just a minute i was in a blue funk. new york's rampagin' so just now on the subject of kidnappers. but i had wit enough to chuck her into the street and run to the club for help. i thought of freddy fortescue (by the way, i must get him to stand by me with a story in case he's questioned. i can count on him every time!), but he wasn't in. i tried another man or two, same result, and just then i saw you coming downstairs--ram caught in the bushes." "for the sacrifice," peter finished. "well, not too much of a sacrifice, i hope," logan temporized "you don't regret standing by?" "no, i don't regret it." "yet your tone sounds sort of odd, as if you were keeping something back. i don't see why, either. i've kept my promise. i've explained--put the whole story in a nutshell, not to bore you too much with my love affairs gone bad. and what i've told you is the gospel's own truth, old man, whether you believe it or not." "i don't believe it," said peter. "i know it to be the devil's own lie." as he spoke he rose, and logan jumped up, hot and red in the face. "by jove!" he sputtered. "i don't know what you mean." "you know very well," rolls insisted. "i mean--that you're a liar. a damn liar! the girl didn't come here because she wanted to come. and she wouldn't take a pearl collar or a _paper_ collar from you if you went on your knees." "you must be crazy!" logan stared at him, paler now. "if you weren't my guest, in my house, i--i'd knock you down." "try it," peter invited him. "this is your father's house, i believe, not yours. and i don't call myself your guest. neither need you. i'm a sort of out-of-season april fool. at least, i was. i'm not now." "i tell you--you're bughouse!" stammered logan. "you stand up for a girl you don't know a damn thing about---" "i'd stand up for any girl against you," he was cut short again. "but i do know this girl. i won't say how. i know you're the dirt under her feet, and if i hadn't made sure every way that she was out of the house, i'd have set the police onto you as--as i _wouldn't_ set terriers onto a rat." "you--you can't tell me her name--or anything about her--i'll bet!" "you won't bet with me. and neither of us is going to speak her name here. shut your mouth on it if you don't want it stuffed down your throat and your teeth after it. you've been a villain. that's the one thing that stands out in this business. god! do you think you could make me believe anything wrong about that girl--_you_? why, if an angel looped the loop down from heaven to do it i wouldn't. tell me what store she's working in. that's what i want to hear about her from you, and nothing else." logan was not red in the face now. he had grown very pale. in truth, he was frightened. but he was angry enough to hide his fear for the present. he determined that rolls should not get a word out of him. "that's _all_ you want to hear, is it?" he mimicked. "if you know so much about her, you can jolly well find out the rest for yourself or keep off the grass. i don't intend---" the sentence ended in an absurd gurgle, for the hand of peter rolls was twisting his high collar. it was horribly uncomfortable and made him feel ridiculous, because he was taller and bigger and older than rolls. he tried to hit peter in the face with his fist, but suddenly all strength went out of him. the hated face vanished behind a shower of sparks. "you're murdering--me!" he gasped. "i've--got--a weak heart." peter let go and flung him across the room. he tottered toward the door. and his servant, who had been breathlessly listening outside, opened it opportunely on the instant. logan saw his chance, as sims meant him to do, half fell, half staggered out, and the door slammed in peter's face. it took the latter no more than thirty seconds to wrench it open again and drag sims, who was holding desperately to the knob, into the dining-room. "don't hurt me, sir!" the man pleaded. "i only did my duty." "hurt you!" repeated rolls with a laugh. "don't be afraid. where's the other coward?" "if you are referring to mr. logan, sir," sims replied politely, "he is gone. if you look for him, i think you will find he has _quite_ gone. i had the front door open, all ready, in case it should be needed." peter reflected for an instant, and then shrugged his shoulders. "let him go!" he said. "i'd as soon step twice on a toad that was hopping away as touch him again. _br-r!_ this place is sickening. i'll go, too--but not after him." "yes, sir, certainly," returned sims with alacrity, slinking along the hall to the vestibule. "i'll open the front door for you. this," he added with a certain emphasis "will be the fourth time i've done so to-night. once to let mr. logan in, once when the young ladies came, and---" "ah, there were two of them!" rolls caught him up. "yes, sir. and though i did my duty just now helping mr. logan--if i may say it, sir, without offence--helping him out of _danger_, i am ready to assist you, sir, by answering any questions you may wish to ask. i do not consider my doing so disloyal to my employer. my statements won't hurt him, i assure you. and if you would--er---" "would 'make it worth your while,' i suppose you're trying to get out," peter disgustedly prompted him. "i have a wife to support, sir, and a child. i keep them in the country, and it comes expensive." "give me ten dollars' worth of talk," ordered peter, "and i'll believe as much as i choose." he was half ashamed of himself for stooping to bribe the fellow who perhaps, after all, was only trying to delay him. yet he might have something worth hearing. he could not afford to lose a chance. "two young ladies came as far as the door, sir," said sims, pocketing the greenback, "but only one came into the house--a tall, handsome young lady, different looking from most, with a thin yellowish silk cloak over a blue dress. she walked right in, but when she found her friend was gone she seemed surprised, and the next thing she was in the boudoir telephoning. mr. logan went in and she came out. they had a little dispute, i think, and though he'd been expecting her to supper, he told me to get her out of the house as quick as i could. i showed her through the basement, and she walked, rather briskly i should say, sir, down the street, while mr. logan went in the other direction--toward the corner, where the club is. as for the young ladies themselves, i can give you no information, except that the one who didn't come in to-night has been here before on several occasions. the one who came in and--er--used the telephone, i have never previously seen. that's all i know which you don't know yourself. but i hope i've been of some assistance to make up for doing my disagreeable duty, sir?" "i've had ten dollars' worth, thank you," said peter. "and now for the fourth time of opening that door." he went out, satisfied that he was carrying with him the only trace of winifred child from the shut-up house. to-morrow he would begin with the opening of the shops and look through every department store until he found her. chapter xxiii mother peter rolls, as it oddly happened, had run up to new york that hot night in order to see a girl do a "turn" at a vaudeville theatre--an english girl about whom he had read a newspaper paragraph, and who might, he thought, be winifred child. the girl's stage name was winifred cheylesmore. the newspaper described her as "tall, dark, and taking, with a voice like devonshire cream." she was a new girl, of whom nobody had heard, and peter had been thrilled and impatient. her "singing stunt" was to be heard at ten o'clock, and peter had dined at his club, meaning to be early in his seat at the theatre. but a man he knew, sitting at a table near, was a budding journalist, an earnest amateur photographer. he began passing samples of his skill to peter rolls, calling out rather loudly the names of ladies snapshotted. among them was winifred cheylesmore, whom he had interviewed. she was no more like winifred child than marie tempest is like ethel barrymore. consequently peter gave his ticket away and sat longer over his dinner than he had meant. if he had started out even five minutes earlier he would have missed jim logan and the adventure in the shut-up house. he would not have known that there was hope--indeed, almost a certainty--of finding the lost dryad in one of new york's great department stores. he was excited, and would have liked to spend half the night walking off his superfluous energy in the streets or the park where that lying beast said he had made miss child's acquaintance. peter would have felt that he was marching to meet the dawn and that the day he longed for would come to him sooner if he walked toward the horizon. but father was in town that night--presumedly at his club, and peter did not like to leave mother alone. she had exacted no promise--she never did exact promises, for that was not her way. peter had said, however, that he would motor home after the theatre, and though mother mustn't sit up, she would know that he was in the house. he determined to keep to this plan, which, of course, would not prevent his returning to new york early enough next day for the first opening of the first shop. he wished there were not so many shops. unless luck were with him on his search, he might not reach the dryad for days. in spite of all that had happened, midnight was not long past when peter tiptoed softly through the quiet house at home and opened the door of his own den. he had expected to find the room in darkness, but to his surprise the green-shaded reading lamp on the book-scattered mahogany table was alight, and there in the horsehair-covered rocking-chair sat mother with her inevitable work. close by the window was wide open, and the night breeze from over the sound was rhythmically waving the white dimity curtains. the sweetness of home-coming swept over peter with the perfume of wallflowers which blew in on the wind--a sweetness almost as poignant as that of fresias. half unconsciously he had been wishing to see his mother--perhaps not even to speak, but just to see her placid face in its kind womanliness. it was almost as if his wish had been whispered to her telepathically and she had answered it. she made a charming picture, too, he thought, in the shadowy room where the pale, moving curtains in the dimness were like spirits bringing peace, and all the light focussed upon the white-haired, white-gowned woman in the high, black chair seemed to radiate from her whiteness. mother looked up, pleased but not surprised, as the opening door framed her son. "howdy do, deary!" she smiled at him. "i thought you'd be coming along about this time." peter threw his hat and coat at the whale, whose large, shining surface hospitably received them. mrs. rolls's small, plump feet in cheap japanese slippers rested upon a "hassock" on whose covering reposed (in worsted) a black spaniel with blue high lights. this animal she had herself created before the birth of peter or ena, but it was as bright a beast as if it had been finished yesterday. no one at sea gull manor except peter would have given fido house room. but he liked the dog, and now sat down on it, lifting his mother's little feet to place them on his knee. "you oughtn't to have waited up," he remarked, having kissed her snow-white hair and both apple-pink cheeks and settled himself more or less comfortably on fido. "i thought i would," she returned placidly. "i like being here. and i had just this to finish." she held up a wide strip of crocheted lace. "it's 'most done now. it's go'n' to be a bedspread for ena. but i don't know if she---" mrs. rolls did not finish the sentence, but it was a long, long ago established custom of hers not to finish sentences. except when alone with petro, she seldom made any attempt to bring one to an end. it was life at peter senior's side which had got her out of the habit of trying to complete what she began to say. as he generally interrupted her when she spoke, even in their early years together, she had almost unconsciously taken it for granted that he would do so, and stopped like a rundown mechanical doll at about the place where her quick-minded husband was due to break in. peter junior, who never interrupted (though he, too, had a quick mind), knew as well as if she had gone on that his mother meant: "i don't know if ena will think a homemade coverlet of crocheted lace smart enough for a real, live _marchesa_, but i feel i should like to make my daughter some bridal present with my own hands." "oh, yes, she's certain to. it'll be beautiful, if it's anything like the one you did for me," petro assured her when the long pause had told him that mother had no more to add. "just think of ena getting married!" "yes, indeed," sighed mrs. rolls. "and it seems only a little while since you were both---" peter knew that the missing word was "children." "anyhow, she's happy, i think," he reflected aloud, a far-away look in his eyes. "i guess so," mother agreed. "she'll like real well being a--i wish---" "_marchesa"_ was easy for peter to supply mentally, and would have been much easier for him to pronounce than it was for mrs. rolls, who had had small education in the management even of her native tongue. she made dear little, cozy, common mistakes in grammar and other things. peter adored her mistakes, and ena was ashamed of them. but in those good manners which are taught by the heart and not by the head, no queen could have given mrs. rolls lessons. as for the next sentence, beginning with "i wish---" and ending in the air, that was more difficult. even mother, so placid, seemingly so contented, must have many wishes. and so petro ventured on a "what?" "i wisht i could be just as sure _you_---" "as sure that i'm happy?" "yes, dear." peter had been looking at his mother's feet in those blue japanese slippers, whose cheapness was rather pathetic. (with all their money, she never enjoyed wearing expensive things herself. it was as if she felt lost and un-at-home in them.) but suddenly he glanced up. the pink-and-white face was as calm as usual, yet her tone had meant something in particular. a chord seemed to vibrate in his soul, as if she had softly, yet purposely, touched it with her finger. "don't you believe i am happy?" he asked. "not--just like you used to be," she said. their eyes met as she lifted hers from her work and began rolling it up, finished. she blushed beautifully, like a girl. peter pressed both the little feet between his hands, pressed them almost convulsively. he did not stop to think how strong his fingers were, though logan had had cause to realize their strength two hours ago. the pressure hurt the small toes so lightly covered. and the mother of this strong, though slight, young man gloried in the hurt. she was proud of it, proud of peter, the one thing in the world she felt was really hers. "mother!" he said in a low, tense voice. "_what_ told you?" "why--just bein' your mother, i guess. i was wonderin'---" "wondering what?" "whether some day you'd say something." "i wanted to. i wanted to talk to you about--about it all. but i was afraid it might make you sad. i like to think of you always happy, dearest. and i couldn't bear to be the one to chase away your smile i love so much." "it's thinking of you helps me to smile, petie," said his mother, reverting to the pet name of his childhood as she stroked his smooth, black hair. "if 'twasn't for knowing i've got you--and your loving me--i do believe i could never smile." "you're not unhappy?" peter cried out, startled. it would be a dreadful pain to know that the placid reserve of this sweet, loved woman meant unhappiness. "not while i have _you_. but---" "you must go on, dear. tell me what you feel. we're here together, all alone in the night, talking out our hearts. it seems as if it was meant to be--my finding you waiting here." "i guess maybe it _was_, petie. something kind of said to me, 'you wait up for him. he wants you.' and i--why, i always want you, boy." "darling! we've got each other fast." "thanks be, dear! my! you don't know the times i've sneaked in and set in this room when you was away. and even now, if you're go'n' to be out pretty late, i bring in my work 'most always when your pa's out. i generally slip back to my room before you come in, because i know you think i oughtn't to be sittin' up. you mightn't just understand that 'twas because this is my only real home." "your only real home? why, mother!" "the rest of the house is so big--and so _awful_ new-fashioned and grand. not like me a bit," she apologized meekly--but not with the flurried meekness of her apologies to peter senior. "here you've saved all my dear old things i had in the days before everything was big. i never _can_ get used to it, and i never will now. it's the bigness, i guess, that's seemed--somehow--to take your pa and ena away from me--long ago. but i've got you. and you let me come here. so i am happy. i'm a real happy woman, petie. and i want you to be happy the way you used to be--or some better way, not all restless like you are now. i guess if there was some one you loved different from me you wouldn't make a new life for yourself without a little place in it for mother, would you--just a weenty little place i could come and live in sometimes for a while?" "i'd want you in it always," said peter. he leaned up and wound his arms around the plump, formless waist in the neat dressing-gown. "so would _she_--if there were a she. i hate the 'bigness,' too--the kind of false, smart bigness that you mean. we'll have a little house--she and you and i. for your room will be there, and you'll be in it whenever father'll spare you. but i'm running away in what i used to call my 'dreamobile!' i haven't found her yet. that is, i found her once and lost her again. i'm looking for her now. mother, do you know what a _'leitmotif'_ is?" "no, dear, indeed i don't. i'm afraid i don't know many of the things i---" "there's no reason why you should know this. in wagner's operas, which i don't understand, perhaps, but which i love with thrills in my spine--and that's a _kind_ of understanding--whenever a character comes on the stage he or she always is followed by a certain strain of music--music that expresses character, and seems even to describe a person. well, wallflower perfume might be your _leitmotif_. can't you _hear_ perfume? i can. just as you can seem to see music--wonderful, changing colours. the wallflower scent's all around us now. it's you. but through it i imagine another perfume. it's here, too. it's been with me for months. because i've got to feel it's her spirit, her _leitmotif_. the perfume of fresias. do you know it?" "i thought maybe she liked it," mother said calmly. "what put that idea in your darling head?" "why, because you've been havin' fresias planted in the garden--and in your room--as long as they lasted through the spring. you'd never thought of 'em before as i know of." "you witch! you notice everything. who'd believe it, you're so quiet?" "of course i notice things about you. i wouldn't be fit to be your mother if i didn't. now, do you feel like tellin' me things about her?" "i'm longing to," said peter. they forgot it was late at night. he told her everything, beginning at the moment when he had plunged through the dryad door and going on to the moment when he had lost, not only the girl, but her friendship, though he said nothing of the moon dress or the shut-up house. even then he did not stop. "i must have done something inadvertently," he went on, "to make her stop liking me all of a sudden. for she did like me at first. there was no flirting or anything silly about it. i felt there was a reason for her changing, and ever since, every day and every night, i've been trying to make out what it could have been. i've thought the idea might come to me. but it never has. that's partly why i'm so anxious to find her--to make her explain. i was too taken aback, too--sort of stunned--to go about it the right way when she changed to me at the last minute there on the dock. once i could understand, why, i might start with her again at the beginning and work up. it would give me a chance--the chance i once thought i had, you know--to try to make her care. maybe it would be no use. maybe i'm not the kind she could ever like that way, even if things hadn't gone wrong. but--but, mother, it's been just agony to think that all this time she's hated me through some beastly misunderstanding which might easily have been cleared up." "my poor boy!" the kind voice soothed him. "i guess that's the worst pain of all. i knew there was something hurting you, but i didn't know 'twas as hard a hurt as this. but 'twill come right. i feel it will--if she's really the right girl." "she's the only girl!" exclaimed peter. "you'd love her, and she'd adore you." "tell me just what she looks like," commanded mother, shutting her eyes to see the picture better. peter excelled himself in his description of winifred child. "nobody ever even dreamed of another girl who looked or talked or acted a bit like her," he raved. "she's so original!" "why, but that's just what somebody _did_!" mother cried, throwing off the cloak of her placidity. "lady eileen." "lady eileen did what?" "dreamed about such a girl. it must have been a real interesting dream, because she couldn't get it out of her head and told me all about it. she saw a tall, dark girl, with wonderful eyes and a fascinating mouth and graceful sort of ways like you've been telling me about. hearing lady eileen talk was almost like seeing a photograph. in the dream you were in love with the girl--english she was, too, like the real one--and ransacking new york for her, while all the time she---" "yes--yes, dear! all the time she---" "lady eileen said particularly i was to tell you about her dream and let you know she wanted you to hear it, because it seemed kind of dramatic and made her almost superstitious, it was so real every way. but she made me promise i wouldn't say a _word_ unless you spoke first about such a girl as she dreamed of--and told me you loved her and wanted to find her again. if _i_ began, it would spoil the romance, and there wouldn't be anything in it. that was how lady eileen felt." peter listened, but his spirit had rushed on past these explanations. lady eileen had chosen this method of leaving a message for him. it was a strange method, and he did not understand why she had not herself told him of the dream. but she was a kind and clever girl, a true friend. there must have been a good motive for the delay. loyal himself, he believed in her loyalty and was grateful. but he could not stop to think of her now. "where did lady eileen see my dryad girl--in the dream?" he asked. "at father's place," said mother simply. "at the hands." chapter xxiv things exploding lily leavitt did not come back to mantles next morning. she sent no word, asked no leave for illness--and the rule at the hands was discharge for such an omission. if she appeared again her place would be filled--unless she had a strong enough "pull" to keep it open. win, who arrived promptly, as usual (just as if last night's adventure had been a black dream) heard the other girls talking about lily. she listened and said nothing; had no opinion when asked what she thought. but not a soul pitied miss leavitt. the general idea seemed to be that she was one "who knew which side her bread was buttered." she would not be stopping away without notice unless she had done better for herself. probably she had secretly married one of those swell beaus she was always boasting about! win, pale and absent-minded (but that might be the heat), was giving the finishing touches to a cloaked group of figurines when a letter was brought to her by a messenger boy. it was not yet time for peter rolls's doors to open to the world, but the girl had to finish her task before reading the note. a glance at the envelope showed sadie's handwriting, and as sadie ought at that moment to have been making the toilets of dolls upstairs, win realized that something unexpected must have happened. perhaps sadie was ill and wanted her to explain to the management. she must make short shrift with the figurines and be ready to help sadie before strenuous life began. five minutes later five headless ladies in perfectly draped wraps were showing off their finery to the best advantage, and their tiring maid was standing as still as they, an open letter in her hand. "what's the matter?" asked a pretty, snub-nosed girl who laughed oftener than win in these days. "you look as if you'd lost your last friend." "i'm afraid--i have," winifred replied in a strange, withdrawn voice which made daisy thompson's eyes widen. "say! i'm real sorry! i hope it ain't your beau." win did not answer, because she did not hear. sadie! sadie! the dear little old sardine! "good-bye, deerie," she read again. "i coodn't of said this to yure fase. i only noo for shure yesterdy. its cunsumsion and they won't have me back for fere of my giving it to others. i gess thats right tho its hard luck on me. it aint that i care much about living. i dont, becawse theres sum one i love who loves another girl. shes a lot better than me and werthy of him so thats all right too but it herts and id be kind of glad to go out. dont you be afrade of me doing anything silly in the tabloyde line tho. i wont. im no coward. but i got to leeve this house for the same reeson as the hands. i mite give my truble to sum one else. its a good thing we found out in time. ive hurd of a noo plase where they take consumps for nuthing, and ive got to steer for it. its in the country but i wont tell you where deerie or you mite try to see me and i dont think i cood stand it the way i feel now. but i love you just as much. good-by. yure affecshunate sadie." win was overwhelmed. lately she had seen little of her friend. neither girl had much time, and the weather had drunk all their energy. she ought to have guessed from sadie's thinness that she was ill. she ought--oh, she ought to have done a dozen things that she had not done! now it was too late. but no, it mustn't be too late! she would find out where sadie was. it ought to be easy, for the verdict which had sent the girl away from the hands must have been that of a young doctor who attended the employees. there were certain hours when he came to the hospital room which win had seen on her first day at peter rolls's. one of these hours was just before the opening of the shop. perhaps he hadn't yet got away. the floorwalker who controlled mantles was one of the smartest men in any department, somewhat of a martinet, but inclined to be reasonable with those who had any "gumption." miss child had gumption, and though it was nearly time for the public to rush in (there was a bargain sale that day) he gave her a permit of absence. "nothing worse than a headache, i hope, takes you to the h.r.?" he questioned, scrawling his powerful name. "we need everybody to get busy to-day." "i'm going to beg for some _sal volatile_," answered win, and determined to do so, as even white fibs were horrid little things, almost as horrid as cowardly, scuttling black beetles. poor sadie had giggled the other night: "you stick even to the _truth_ this hot weather!" the doctor had not gone, but he did not know of the new place sadie referred to, and, not knowing, didn't believe in its existence. he had told sadie kirk yesterday that her lungs were infected and that she had become "contagious." of course she had had to be discharged. these things were sad, but they were a part of the day's work. it was a pity that miss kirk hadn't been longer with the hands. her insurance money wouldn't amount to much. "do you mean to say that they've sent her away to die and haven't given her anything?" win gasped. "not to die, i hope," said young dr. marlow. "she's curable. but she wouldn't get more than a week's salary with her discharge, i'm afraid. old saint peter isn't in this business for his health." "or for any one else's," the girl retorted. marlow shrugged his shoulders, bowed slightly to the pretty but unreasonable young woman, and went away. winifred also should have gone. she had got her _sal volatile_ and her information. but life was lying in ruins around her--sadie's life, if not her own--and she did not know how to set about reconstructing it. "what man does she love who loves another girl?" she asked herself. then, suddenly, she knew. it was earl usher, and he loved her, winifred, who could never be more to him than a friend. win had heard of a "vicious circle." it seemed that she and sadie and ursus were travelling in one, going round and round, and could never get out. "but i must go down," the mechanical part of herself kept repeating. she had involuntarily paused near the door to think things out in peace. there were no patients for the two narrow white beds, and the nurse--a small, nervous woman with sentimental eyes--was heating water over a spirit lamp. she suffered from headache and had prescribed herself some tea. the water had begun to boil, and despite the throbbing in her temples she hummed monotonously: "you made me love you." winifred heard the tune through her thoughts of sadie and earl usher, and it seemed to make everything sadder and more hopeless. but suddenly the singing broke off--the thin voice rose to a shriek, and was lost in a loud explosion. in the act of going out win turned, bewildered and expecting horror. head down, her hands covering her burned face, the nurse came staggering toward the door. hair and cap were on fire. all over the white dress and apron were dotted little blue tongues of flame that had spouted out from the bursting lamp. often such an accident had been lightly prophesied by this very woman. the spirit sent up for the hospital was of the cheapest. peter rolls was "not in business for his health!" dazed by the deafening noise, and shocked to the very heart by the woman's shriek of pain, win was not conscious of thought. she did not tell herself to spring to the nearest bed, tear off the covering, stop the nurse before she could rush wildly into the corridor, and wrap her in the blanket. all she knew for a moment was that she had done and was doing these things, that she was using her strength to hold the maddened creature, and all the while calling out for help. the doctor had not yet reached the end of the long corridor, and the explosion and cries brought him and others running. vaguely win was conscious that there were women there, maids who cleaned floors and windows, and that there were two or three men besides dr. marlow. she thought that he ordered some of them out and gave directions to others, but the scene sharpened into detail only when she heard herself told to stay and give assistance. she aiding the doctor, the nurse's burns were dressed. the little quivering creature, hastily undressed, was put to bed, face, head, arms, and hands covered with oil and bandaged. it was not until another nurse--telephoned for from somewhere to somewhere--had arrived, and the invalid had been given an opiate, that win realized the tingling pain in her own fingers. "why, yes, so i _am_ burned a little!" she exclaimed when the doctor asked to see her hands. "but it's nothing to matter. i can go back to work now. nurse is all right." "no, it's nothing to matter, and you can go back to work, all right," briskly echoed marlow, who was no coddler of any hands at peter rolls's; "that is, you can when i've patched you up a bit. and nurse isn't going to be bad, either. she won't be disfigured, i can guarantee that--thanks to you." "thanks to me?" win echoed. "yes, just that. perhaps you don't realize that you probably saved her life." "no. i--i don't think i've realized anything yet." she found herself suddenly wanting to cry, but remembered a day on the _monarchic_ (as she always did remember if tears felt near) and swallowed the rising lump in her throat. "well, don't bother about it. you can get conceited later. here, drink this to quiet your nerves in case you feel jumpy, and now run along. it'll be all right for you downstairs. the news will have got to your dep by this time and they'll know why you're late." win "ran along" and found the doctor's prophecy correct the news had bounded ahead of her. "i hear you've been distinguishing yourself," said mr. wellby, the floorwalker. "let's see your hands. oh, i guess they won't put you out of business, a brave girl like you." "i'm as well as ever, thank you," said win. stupid of her, wanting to cry again just because people were paying her compliments! but perhaps she hadn't quite got over last night and not sleeping at all. and then sadie's letter. things had piled on top of each other, but she mustn't let herself go to pieces. she must keep her wits and think--think--think how to get at sadie and what to do for her. dr. marlow had covered win's fingers with something he called "newskin," since it would not do for a "saleslady" to disgust customers by serving them with bandaged hands. it was like a transparent varnish and made her nails shine as brightly as those of the vainest girls who spent all their spare time in polishing. but the redness showed through, as if her hands were horribly chapped. she saw a lady who had asked her to try on a white lace evening coat staring at them. "what's the matter with your hands?" the question came sharply. "i scalded them a little this morning," win explained. "oh! i'm glad it isn't a _disease."_ the girl blushed faintly, ashamed, glanced down at the offending pink fingers, and turning slowly round to display the cloak, suddenly looked up into the eyes of peter rolls. she could not help starting and drawing in her breath. for half a second her brain whirled and she thought that she imagined him, that it was just such another vision as those of last night when she had put on the moon dress. his eyes were looking at her as they had looked then, and they were the good blue eyes of mr. balm of gilead. it could not be that he was really here gazing at her. it must be some other man like him. but no! he had taken off his hat. he was saying something in the well remembered--too well remembered!--voice. "how do you do, miss child? when you've finished with this lady, i shall be so much obliged if you can speak to me for a minute." she bowed her head--quite a polite, ordinary sort of bow, just like that of any well-trained saleslady to a prospective customer intending to wait till she was free. but really it did not mean politeness at all. it meant that she had to hide her face, and that it was taking every square inch of nerve force she had to behave in the least like a saleslady. it was seeing peter rolls suddenly--peter rolls in flesh and bone and muscle and magnetism of eyes, which told her in a devastating flash a thing about herself she had feared for months--ever since the day she turned her back upon mr. balm of gilead and the _monarchic_. she was in love with him. hideously, desperately, overwhelmingly in love with him, just as ridiculous girls always were with men they oughtn't to think of. probably he had tried to make her so at first with his friendly, chivalrous ways that hid blacknesses underneath. she had escaped, thanks to his sister. and it looked as if those horrid hints had indeed been true, otherwise he would not have troubled to persist after his snubbing. for he had persisted. some glint of blue light in the steady eyes told her that. this was not a coincidence. mr. rolls had the air of having found her at last. she must make him sorry for it. because, after her experience of the other man who had persisted--though she thought herself forgotten--why should she hope against hope that this man was different? at last the customer, who did not hurry in the least--rather the contrary--wore all excuses for lingering to shreds, she waddled fatly away, carrying the lace cloak with her; and win, not shirking the ordeal as she had done when jim logan haunted toyland, turned to peter rolls. chapter xxv a piece of her mind "miss child, i've been looking for you for months!" were peter's first words when he had her to himself. instantly she knew what her pose ought to be. not prim stiffness, not suspicious maidenly dignity, but just smiling civility, a recognition of past slight acquaintance. this would do for the beginning. this must surely show him that the tactics ena credited him with were useless here. "have you? how nice of you to say so," she braced herself to reply with gayest indifference. "well, i've been in this store for--a long time, migrating from one department to another and learning the business. i'm quite a fair saleswoman now, i assure you. are you going to buy a cloak? because, if not--this is a busy morning." "yes, i'll buy one as a present for my mother," said peter. "i should like you to choose her something. i described her to you once, but i suppose you've forgotten. she's little, and rather plump, and has beautiful white hair and a rosy complexion. but, miss child, i want to talk to you, not about cloaks, about yourself. i've asked permission, and they know who i am, and it's all right. i said you and my sister were friends. that's true, isn't it?" "oh, yes!" "i believed _we_ were friends once. and we were, too. the more i've thought of it, the surer i've been. something happened to make you change your mind about me. i was struck all of a heap at first. i didn't have the sense to know what to say or do, to try and put myself back where i had been. i let you go. and i lost you. but i'm not going to lose you again. you can see how much in earnest i am when i tell you that i haven't stopped looking for you for one single day after i realized you wouldn't keep your promise about writing my sister." "it wasn't a promise," breathed win. "i--never meant to write to her." "i thought so!" "why should i? it was very kind of miss rolls to suggest it, if i should ever want help. but i didn't want help. all i wanted was to get on by myself." "i know you mean me to understand from that, miss child, that you don't think i've any right to force myself on you after you showed me so plainly you thought me a bounder," said peter, not mincing his words or stumbling over them. "but i'm not a bounder. there must be some way of proving to you that i'm not. that's why i'm here for one thing, though there's another---" "what?" winifred threw in, frightened, and thinking it better to cut him short in time. "i want you to meet my mother and let her help you to get some kind of a position more--more worthy of your talents than this." win laughed aloud. "you run down your father's shop?" "it's not good enough for you." she flushed, and all her pent-up anger against the house of the hands tingled in that flush. "you say so because i once had the great honour of being an acquaintance of yours--and your sister's," she hurried breathlessly on. "for all the rest of the people here, the people you don't know and don't want to know, you think it good enough--too good, perhaps--even splendid! it does look so, doesn't it? magnificent! and every one of your father's employees so happy--so fortunate to be earning his wages. they're worms--that doesn't matter to rich men like you, mr. rolls. unless, perhaps, a girl happens to be pretty--or you knew her once and remember that she was an individual. oh, you must feel i'm very ungrateful for your interest. maybe you mean to be kind--about your mother. but give your interest to those who need it. i don't. i've seen your name in the papers--interviews--things you try to do for the 'poor.' it's a sort of fad, isn't it--in your set? but charity begins at home. you could do more by looking into things and righting wrongs in your father's own shop than anywhere else in the world." she stopped, panting a little, her colour coming and going she had not meant this at first. it was far removed from smiling civility, this--tirade! but, as sadie kirk would say, "he had asked for it." he was looking at her with his straight, level gaze. he was astonished, maybe, but not angry. and she did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she had not been able to rouse him to rage. his look into her eyes was no longer that of a young man for a young woman who means much to him. that light had died while the stream of her words poured out. for a moment, when she had ceased, they stared at each other in silence, his face very grave, hers flushed and suggesting a superficial repentance. "forgive me," she plumped two words into the pause, as if pumping air into a vacuum. "i oughtn't to have said all that. it was rude." "but true? you think it's true?" "yes." "you have been working here in my father's store for months, and you say i could do more good by righting the wrongs here than anywhere else in the world. that sounds pretty serious." "it is serious. whether i ought to have spoken or not." _"i_ tell you, you ought to have spoken. it was--brave of you. that's the way i always think of you, miss child, being brave--whatever happens. and laughing." "i don't laugh now." "not at other people's troubles--i know. but you would at your own." "i'm not thinking of my own. to-day of all days!" he wondered what she meant. his mind flashed swiftly back to last night and all that had happened. he could have kissed the hem of her black dress to see her here, safe and vital enough to fling reproaches at him for his sins--of omission. yet he must stand coldly discussing grievances. no, "coldly" was not the word. no word could have been less appropriate to the boiling emotions under peter rolls's grave, composed manner. he let the baffling sentence go--a sentence which framed thoughts of sadie kirk. "i should like to hear from you the specific wrongs you want righted," he said. "i know a girl of your sort wouldn't speak vaguely. you _do_ mean something specific." "yes--i do." "then tell me--now." "you came to buy a cloak for your mother." "i didn't come for that, and you know it. i came for you. but you put a shield between us to keep me off. when you have emptied your heart of some of these grievances that are making it hot--against me, maybe you won't have to put me at the same distance. maybe you'll let me be your friend again, if i can deserve it." "i don't want to talk or think of ourselves at all!" she broke out. "i don't ask you to. all that--and my mother's cloak, too--you needn't be getting down that box!--can wait. if you won't be my friend, anyhow show me how to help your friends." "oh, if you would do that!" win cried. "i will. give me the chance." despite his injunction, she had taken from its neat oak shelf a box of summer wraps and placed it on the counter behind which she stood. now, not knowing what she did, she lifted the cardboard cover and seemed to peep in at the folds of chiffon and silk. peter looked not at the box, but at her pitiful, reddened hands on the lid. the blood mounted slowly to his temples and he bit his lip. he, too, was standing, though any one of several green velvet-covered stools was at his service. he turned away, leaning so much weight on the bamboo stick he held that it bent and rather surprised him. suddenly the scene struck him as very strange, almost unreal--winifred child, his lost dryad, found in his father's store, separated from him by a dignified barrier of oak and many other things invisible! this talk going on between them--after last night! the hum of women's voices in the distance (they kept their distance in this vast department because he was peter rolls, jr., as all the employees by this time knew) and the heavy heat and the smell of oak seemed to add to the unreality of what was going on. fresias would have helped. but there was nothing here that suggested help--unless you wanted advice about a cloak. win had been marshalling her ideas like an army hastily assembled to fight in the dark. "that is a favour i couldn't refuse to take from you, even if i would," she said in a low voice, "to help my friends." "it is no favour. you'll be doing me that." she went on as if he had not spoken. "i don't know about any shops in new york except this one--only things i've heard. some of the girls i've met here have worked in other department stores. they say--this is one of the worst. i have to tell you that--now i've begun. there's no use keeping it back--or you won't understand how i feel. there are real abuses. the hands don't break the laws--that's all. about hours--we close at the right time, but the salespeople are kept late, often very late, looking over stock. not every night for the same people, but several times a week. we have seats, but we mustn't use them. it would look as if we were lazy--or business were bad. we 'lend' the management half the time we're allowed for meals on busy days--and never have it given back. the meals themselves served in the restaurant--the dreadful restaurant--seem cheap, but they ought to be cheaper, for they're almost uneatable. those of us who can't go out get ptomain poisoning and appendicitis. i know of cases. hardly any of us can afford enough to eat on our salaries. i should think our blood must be almost white! "but nobody here cares how we live out of business hours, so long as we're 'smart' and look nice. when we _aren't_ smart--because we're ill, perhaps--and can't any longer look nice--because we're getting older or are too tired to care--why, then we have to go; poor, worn-out machines--fit for the junk shop, not for a department store! even here, in mantles, where we get a commission, the weak ones go to the wall. we must be like wolves to make anything we can save for a rainy day. but any girl or man who'll consent to act the spy on others--_there's_ a way to earn money, lots of it. a few are tempted. they must degenerate more and more, i think! and there are other things that drive some of us--the women, i mean--to desperation. but i can't tell you about them. you must find out for yourself--if you care." "if i care!" echoed peter. "if you do, why haven't you found out all these things, and more, long ago?" she almost taunted him, carried away once again by the thought of those she championed--the "friends" she had not come to in her story yet. "because--my father made it a point that i should keep my hands off the hands. that was the way he put it. i must justify myself far enough to tell you that." "but--if one's in earnest, need one take no for an answer?" "i suppose i wasn't in earnest enough. i thought i was. but i couldn't have been. you're making me see that now." "i haven't told you half!" "then--go on." "you really wish it?" "yes." "the floorwalkers and others above them have power that gives them the chance to be horribly unjust and tyrannical if they like. there are lots of fine ones. but there are cruel and bad ones, too. and then--i can't tell you what life is like for the under dog! and cheating goes on that we all see and have to share in--sales of worthless things advertised to attract women. we get a premium for working off 'dead stock.' each department must be made to pay, separately and on its own account, you see, whatever happens! and that's why each one is its own sweatshop---" "i swear to you this isn't my father's fault," involuntarily peter broke in. "he's not young any more, you see, and he worked so hard in his early years that he's not strong enough to keep at it now. not since i can remember has he been able to take a personal interest in the store, except from a distance. he leaves it to others, men he believes that he can trust. not coming here himself, he---" "why, he comes nearly every day!" win cried out, then stopped suddenly at sight of peter's face. "i--am sure you're mistaken about that one thing, miss child," he said. "you must have been misinformed. they must have told you some one else was he---" the girl was silent, but peter's eyes held hers, and the look she gave him told that she was not convinced. "you don't believe me?" he asked. "i believe you don't know. he does come. it's always been toward the closing hour when i've seen him. the first time he was pointed out to me was by a floorwalker on christmas eve. i was in the toy department then. he was with mr. croft. how strange you didn't know!" "if it was father--perhaps i can guess why he didn't want us to find out. but even now i--well, i shall go home and ask him if he realizes what is happening here. somehow i shall help your friends, miss child." "i haven't told you about them yet," win said. "it was really one friend who was in my mind. there may be ever so many others just as sad as she. but i love her. i can't bear to have her die just because she's poor and unimportant--except to god. dr. marlow thinks she's curable. only--the things she needs she can't afford to get, and i haven't any money left to buy them for her; just my salary, and no more. there's one thing i can do, though! i'll learn to be a wolf, like some of the others, and snatch commissions." "don't do that!" peter smiled at her sadly. "i shouldn't like to think of you turning into a wolf. your friend is sick---" "she was told by the doctor yesterday that it was a case of consumption. i had a letter from her this morning--bidding me good-bye. you see, she was discharged on the spot, with only a week's wages." "beastly!" exclaimed peter. "there ought to be some kind of a convalescent home in connection with this store--or two, rather, one for contagious sort of things and the other not. i---" "she wrote in her letter that she'd heard of a place where consumptives were taken in and treated free," win went on when he paused. "but she wouldn't tell me where it was. and dr. marlow says there is nothing of the sort---" "oh, he can't have read the newspapers these last few days. it's been open a week." "then _you_ know about it?" "yes. you see--it's a sort of--friend of mine who's started the scheme. the house is not very big yet. but he'll enlarge it if it makes a success." "quite free?" "yes. anybody can come and be examined by the doctor. no case will be refused while there's room. i--my friend lost his dearest friend years ago--a boy of his own age then--from consumption. it almost broke his heart. and he made up his mind that when he grew up and had a little money of his own, he'd start one of those open-air places in the country free." "i believe you're speaking of yourself!" exclaimed win, her face lighting. then ena rolls's brother couldn't be all bad! "well, i'm in the business, too. this must be the place the girl is going to. she shall be cured, i promise you. and when she's well she shall have work in the country to keep her strong and make her happy. will that please you?" "yes," win answered. "but--it doesn't please me to feel you're doing it for that reason." "i'm not. only partly, at least. i'm thankful for the chance to help. and this shan't be all. there'll be other ways. please don't think too badly of me, miss child. i trusted my father, as he wished. and he trusts mr. croft--too completely, i fear." again win was silent. she had heard things about peter rolls, sr., which made her fancy that he was not a man to trust any one but himself. and she did not yet dare to trust his son. the look was coming back into his eyes which made her remember that he was a man like other men. yet it was hard not to trust him! and because it was so hard she grew afraid. "give me the address of that convalescent home," she broke her own silence by saying. "i want to write to my friend, sadie kirk--and go to see her--if she's really there. mr. rolls, i shall bless you if she is cured." petro had taken out his cardcase and was writing. "then, sooner or later, i shall have my blessing," he said quietly. "couldn't you give me just a small first instalment of it now? couldn't you tell me what changed you toward me on the ship? had it anything to do with my family--any gossip you heard?" "in a way, yes. but i can't possibly tell you. please don't ask me." "i won't. but give me some hope that i can live it down. you see, i can't spare you out of my life. i had you in it only a few days. yet those days have made all the difference." win stiffened. "i can't let you talk to me like that," she said almost sharply, if her creamy voice could be sharp. "i hate it. you'll make me wish--for my own sake--if it weren't for my friend, i mean--that you hadn't found me here. i thought--i don't see why i shouldn't say it!--when i asked for work in your father's store that none of the family would ever come near the place. i was told they never did. but it wasn't true. you all come!" "you mean my father and i?" "and miss rolls, too---" "she came?" "yes, with lord raygan, and--and i think you and lady eileen were here, too." "we were," peter said. "and so--you were in the store even then? nobody told me." "i hoped they wouldn't." it was his turn to be silent, understanding eileen's dream. raygan must have talked to her about the girl. but there would have been nothing to say, if ena had not said it first. ena had "explained things" to raygan, perhaps--and then--an old impression came back to peter. he remembered ena's protest against his friendship for a "dressmaker," and her kindness later. he remembered asking himself on the dock if ena could have made mischief. he had put the thought away as treacherous, not once, but many times. now he did not put it away. he faced it, and wondered if he could ever forgive his sister. it seemed at that moment that he never could. "will you choose the cloak for mrs. rolls?" win was asking in the professional tone of the obliging young saleswoman. "i--er--yes, i suppose so. which one do you suggest?" "any of these would be charming for--the lady you've described. she'd like it better, i'm sure, if you chose it yourself." "no, i want you to choose, please. i've already told her about you. if it hadn't been for her i shouldn't have found you so soon. she advised me to try the hands. no matter what you may think of me, there's only one opinion to have of mother. and you can't object to meeting her. you choose the cloak and i'll bring her to see you--in it." win kept her eyes on the assortment of silk motoring and dust coats which she had arranged on the broad counter for mr. rolls's inspection. suddenly a great weight was lifted from her head, as if kind hands had gently removed a tight helmet. would such a man as ena rolls had sketched in her shadow portrait of a brother bring his mother to meet a shop girl whom he fancied? it seemed not. yet men of that type were the cleverest, as she already knew. maybe he didn't really mean to bring mrs. rolls. it would be easy, from time to time, to postpone her visit. and win was very proud. she thought of ena's annoyance at happening upon her in the elevator, and how reluctantly miss rolls had taken up the cue of cordiality from lord raygan. oh, it was best--in any case--it was the only way to keep personalities out of her intercourse with the man who had once been mr. balm of gilead. "this silver gray is one of the prettiest of the new wraps," she glibly advertised her wares. "very well, if you like it, i'll marry--i mean, i'll take it. tell me how you hurt your hands." "there's nothing to tell," she put him off again, visibly freezing--an intellectual feat in such weather. "and--really, as i said before, i don't care to talk about myself." her look, even more than her words, shut peter up. the cloak saved the situation during a few frigid seconds. but as a situation it had become strained. the only hope for the future was to go now. and peter went. he went straight back to sea gull manor and to his father. chapter xxvi when the secret came out father was in the library when peter got home. one did not open the door and walk straight into this sacred room. one knocked, and if father happened to be engaged in any pursuit which he did not wish the family eye to see, he had time to smuggle it away and take up a newspaper, or even a book, before calling out "come in." to-day, not being well, he was allowing himself the luxury of a jig-saw puzzle, but as he considered the amusement frivolous for a man of his position, at the sound of his son's voice he hustled the board containing the half-finished picture into a drawer of his roll-top desk. in order to be doing something, he caught up a paper. it was _town tales_, and his eye, searching instinctively for the name of rolls, saw that of the marchese di rivoli coupled with it and a slighting allusion. a wave of physical weakness surged over the withered man as he asked himself if he had done wrong in sanctioning his daughter's engagement to the italian. "what do you want?" he greeted petro testily. he was invariably testy when indigestion had him in its claw, and his tone gave warning that this was a bad moment still petro was bursting with his subject. he could not bear to postpone the fight. instead of putting it off, he resolved to be exceedingly careful in his tactics. "i want to talk with you, father, if you don't mind," he began pleasantly. "i hope i'm not interrupting anything important?" "i am supposed to be left to myself in the mornings," said peter senior, martyrized. "though i don't go to the store, i must read croft's reports and keep in touch with things." "it's about the store i'd like to talk." peter was thankful for this opening. he perched hesitatingly on the arm of an adipose easy chair, not having been specifically invited to sit. "why, what have you got to say about the hands?" defiance underlay tone and look. "it was in this very room i promised you i'd keep my hands off the hands," peter quoted. "but i want you to let me take the promise back." "i'll do nothing of the sort!" shrilled peter senior. "what do you mean?" "i need to work. i've tried other things, but my thoughts always come back to the hands. i'm proud of your success you know. i want to--to batten on it. and i want to carry it on. i have ideas of my own." "i bet you have, and damned poor ideas, too," snapped the old man. "i'm not going to have them tried in my place while i'm alive." "let me tell you what some of them are, won't you, before you condemn them?" his son pleaded, refusing to be ruffled. "no. i won't have my time wasted on any such childishness," growled peter senior. "you ought to know better than to trouble me with every silly, trifling idea you get into your head." "to me this is not trifling," peter argued. "it's so serious that if you refuse to take me into your business--i don't care how humble a position you start me--i shall begin to make my own way in the world. i can't go on as i am, living on you, with an allowance that comes out of the hands, unless you give me some hope that i can soon work up to having a voice in the management." "i suppose what you are really hinting at is a bigger allowance under a different name," sneered old peter. "now you're turning socialist--oh, you don't suppose i'm blind when i come to your name and your quixotic schemes in the newspapers! you don't like the red-hot chaps raving about 'unearned increment,' or whatever they call it." "no, it isn't that," peter said simply. "i don't much care what people say, so long as i can help things along a bit; though, of course, i'd rather it would be with my money than yours, no matter how generous you are about giving and asking no questions. i don't ask for more, or want it. but i do want to feel that--forgive me, father!--i do want to feel that on the money i handle there's no sweat wrung out of men's bodies or tears from women's eyes." peter senior had sat only half turned from his desk, as if suggesting to peter junior that the sooner he was allowed to get back to work, the better. but at these last words, unexpected as a blow, he swung violently round in his revolving chair to glare at the young man. "well, i'm damned!" he ejaculated. peter sincerely hoped not, but felt that silence was safer than putting his hopes into words. "this comes of turning socialist! you insult your father who supports you in luxury---" "i don't mean to insult you, father, and i don't want to be supported in luxury. i want to work for every cent i have. i want to work hard." "i never thought," peter senior reflected aloud, abruptly changing his tone, "to hear a son of mine spout this sort of cheap folderol, and i never thought that any one of my blood would be weak enough to come crawling and begging to break a solemn promise." "it means strength, not weakness, to break some promises--the kind that never ought to have been made," peter junior defended himself. "i'd break it without crawling or begging if i thought you'd prefer, except that it would be no use. unless i had your permission, i couldn't get taken into the hands." "well, you don't get it. see?" retorted the head of the hands as rudely as he could ever have spoken in old days to his humblest subordinate. "then, father, if that's your last word on the subject," said petro, rising, "this means for you and me, where business is concerned, the parting of the ways." the old man's sallow face was slowly, darkly suffused with red. "you're trying to bully me," he grunted. "but i'm not taking any bluff." "you misjudge me." petro still kept his temper. "i'd be a disgusting cad to try on such a game with you, and i don't think i am that. i'm more thankful than i can tell you for all you've done for me. you've had a hard life yourself, and you've secured me an easy one. you never had time to see the world, but you let me see it because i longed to--when i saw you had no use for me in the business. you let me give money away and, thanks to your generosity, one or two schemes i had at heart are in working order already. there's enough saved out of my allowance for the last few years to see them through, if i never take another cent from you. and i never will, from this day on, father, while you run the hands on present lines." "you're a blank idiot!" snarled the old man; but a strained, almost frightened look was stretched in queer lines on his yellow face. he was thinking of ena and of the newspapers. he could hear the dogs yapping round his feet. "young peter rolls breaks away from home. earns his living with his own hands, not father's hands. what he says about his principles"--or some such rot as that would certainly appear in big, black headlines just when ena and her magnificent _marchese_ were searching the columns for gush over the forthcoming marriage. it would spoil the girl's pleasure in her wedding. old peter was furious with young peter, but began angrily to realize that the matter was indeed serious. he desired to be violent, but fear of ena dashed cold water on the fire of his rage. against his will and against his nature he began to temporize, meaning later to revenge his present humiliation upon his son. "who the devil has been upsetting you with lies about the hands?" he spluttered. "i'm afraid we must take for granted that what has 'upset' me isn't lies." peter let his sadness show in face and voice. "i don't wonder you're surprised and perhaps angry at my coming to you and suddenly throwing out some sort of accusations, when year after year i've been receiving money from the hands as meek as a lamb without a word or question. i don't defend myself for lack of interest in the past or for too much now. maybe i'm to blame both ways. but please remember, father, you said that unless i distrusted you, i was to stand aside. after that i was so anxious to prove i trusted you all right, that i hurried to promise before i'd stopped to think. since then i've been made to think--furiously to think--and---" "i was brought up to believe there was _no_ excuse for breaking a promise," peter senior cut him short severely. there was petro's chance to score, and--right or wrong--he took it. "then things have changed since the days when you were being brought up," he said, with one of those straight, clear looks old peter had always disliked as between son and father. "because, you know you promised ena you would give up going to the store except for important business meetings once or twice a year. and you haven't given it up. you go there nearly every night." peter senior physically quailed. his great secret was found out! no use to bluster. somehow young peter had got hold of the long-hidden truth. he was, in a way, at the fellow's mercy. if petro chose to tell ena this thing she would fancy that every one except the family knew how old peter's grubbing habits had never been shaken off; that with him once a shopkeeper, always a shopkeeper, and that behind her back people must be laughing at the difference between her aristocratic airs and her father's commonness. the old man's stricken face shocked peter. he was as much ashamed of himself as if he had kicked his father. "i oughtn't to have told you, i know," he stammered. "anyhow, not like this. i'm sorry." peter senior gathered himself together and feebly bluffed. "you needn't be sorry," he blustered in a thin voice at the top of his throat. "what do i care whether _you_ know or not? there's no disgrace in looking after my own business, i guess! to please ena, i've made a sort of secret of it, that's all. i never 'promised.' i only let her and other folks it didn't concern suppose i lived in idleness, like the lords they admire so much. no harm in that! as for you, you're welcome to know what i do with my time when i go to new york. but it's none of your business, all the same, and you'd better keep still about it, or you'll regret your meddling. who told you? that's what i want to get at. who stuffed you up to the neck with all that damned nonsense about 'sweat and tears?' i bet it's the same man who tried to blackmail me with my own son about my going to the hands nights." "it wasn't a man who told me," said peter, "it was a woman--or, rather, a girl. it was _me_ she was blaming, not you. she thought i was responsible for the wrongs she and other employees suffer from. she didn't know it was a secret, your visiting the place. she simply mentioned it as a fact---" "and you, a son of mine, stood quietly listening to abuse of your father and the house that's made his fortune--his fortune and yours--from a pert young clerk in his store!" at last peter senior could speak with the voice of injured virtue. he could reach peter junior with the well-deserved lash of reproach. but no! the lash striking out, touched air. "father, i listened because i love the girl," peter answered "wait, please! let me explain. i fell in love with her on the _monarchic_. then something happened and i lost sight of her. yesterday i found her at the hands. i wanted to talk to her about love, but she made me listen to her instead. she said sharp things about the store that cut like knives. don't think i'm accusing you if the hands _is_ a sweatshop. you trust croft, and he's abused his trust. that must be it. for god's sake, give me a chance to help you put things straight." for a moment--a long moment--peter senior did not speak, and peter junior would have given much to know where his thoughts had gone. they were away somewhere--with the hands or with the girl who had made petro listen. "will you do it, father? will you give me a chance?" his son repeated. old peter started. "old peter" seemed the only name that fitted him just then. "one of my children is going to marry a marquis and the other wants to marry a clerk behind my counters," he almost whimpered. then petro knew, without telling, which direction his father's thoughts had taken. "don't be afraid that she isn't a lady," the young man humoured the old man's prejudices. "she's english and beautiful and clever and brave. she saved a woman from being burned to death to-day at the hands. she didn't tell me that story, but i heard it. god made her to be a princess. misfortune put her behind a counter in our store. oh, no! _not_ misfortune. though she's had a hard time at the hands, and shows it in her face, i believe she'd say herself that she's glad of the experience. and if through her those that have suffered wrong from us can be--" "don't talk to me any more about all this just now, my son," peter senior suddenly implored rather than commanded "you've given me a shock--several shocks. i--i'm not fit for 'em to-day, i guess. i told you i wasn't well. i'm feeling bad. i'm feeling mighty bad." his looks confirmed his words. in the last few moments since the angry flush had passed, the old man's face had faded to a sicklier yellow than petro had ever seen upon it--except one day, long ago, when peter rolls, sr., had tried to be a yachtsman in order to please ena--and the weather had been unkind. the young man was stabbed by remorse. reason told him that now was the moment to press his point home. but compassion bade him withdraw it from the wound. it was true that his father was not well and had warned him of the fact at the beginning of their conversation. petro had gone too far. "i'm sorry, father," he apologized. "i meant to stir you up, but i didn't mean to give you a shock. shall i ring? is there anything you want?" "only to be alone," replied the other. "i'll lie down here on the sofa. by and by, if i don't feel better, i'll go to my room maybe and make it dark and sleep this headache off. i don't remember when i've been so bad. but don't say anything to your mother." "you mean about your going to the hands? she knows about the girl." "no, i mean about my head. i don't care whether or no your mother hears that i go to the hands. it's ena and outside folks i care for, and them only for ena's sake. she's so proud! and when she gets home from france--" "not a word to her, i promise. nor to any one outside. but do you know, i believe mother would be glad to hear that you sometimes go to the store? she'd think it was like old times. and she loves the old times." "tell your mother anything you like. she's got a still tongue in her head." peter senior gasped out his words with the desperate air of a man at the end of his tether. "only go now--go, and let my head rest. you and i can discuss all these things later. that'll be best for us both." peter junior was silenced, though he thought he knew his father too well to draw great encouragement from an offer of future discussion. the old man assuredly did feel ill, and it would have been brutal to force him into further argument. the only thing was to go now and attack him again before the sensitive surface of his feelings had had time thoroughly to harden. young peter and his mother lunched alone together at the stately english hour of two which ena had decreed for the household. old peter had ordered a cup of hot milk and had sent word that, his indigestion being rather worse than usual, he intended to spend the afternoon lying down. this had often happened before, and mother, though distressed, was not alarmed. she would not have admitted it in words to herself, but she was happy in her _tãªte-ã -tãªte_ with petro. he had his place moved near hers. they dared to dismiss the dignified servants and help themselves to what they wanted. or, rather, petro jumped up and helped her, whether she wanted things or not. they talked about miss child, and petro related his adventure at the hands, which he had not, until the luncheon hour, been able to describe in detail. he told his mother again, several times over, how wonderful win was, and mother was not bored. she listened with a rapt smile, especially to the part about the fire in the hospital room and the girl's quick presence of mind, win having refused to confess how she had hurt her hands, petro had used the influence of his name to find out tactfully from another source, all that had happened. and he made quite a good story out of it for his mother. the latter promised gladly to go and see miss child and to wear the pearl-gray wrap, which she thought very pretty, reflecting marvellous credit on the taste of the chooser. petro did not touch upon miss child's indictment of the hands. it seemed unnecessary to distress mother just when she was interested and even delighted (not at all shocked or startled) at having father's secret broken to her. "it's more natural," she said, "that he should take an interest in the hands. more like he used to be. i often wondered---" another sentence which she did not need to finish! for a while petro's whole soul was so steeped in the joy of mother's sympathy, and in plans for the future, that he forgot the faint uneasiness which had stirred within him at father's message about the milk. something had seemed to whisper: "it's only an excuse." and his asking not to be disturbed all the afternoon, "can it mean that he's got a special reason for wanting to be let alone hour after hour?" but petro and mother had been deep in conversation before the whisper came. in the very midst of it she had asked a beautifully understanding question about win, and in answering petro forgot everything else for a time. they talked intimately in the big, unfriendly, imitation elizabethan dining-room which for once they had to themselves and then they continued their talk still more intimately in the "den." it was only the grandfather clock striking four that reminded petro of his uneasiness and of the whisper. why it did remind him he could hardly have explained, except that the clock had a very curious individuality for him. it had belonged to his great grandmother and had come down through her to his mother. even as a little boy he had felt that it was _more_ than a clock: it was an old friend who had ticked through the years, keeping time with the heart-beats of those for whom it told the passing moments of life and death. often he had imagined that with its ticking it gave good advice, if only one could understand. now, when it struck four, it seemed to petro that it did so in a dry, peremptory manner intended to be arresting, to remind him of something important that he was in danger of forgetting. this pause in his thoughts left room for the whisper to come again. it came, adding to its first suggestion: "don't you know that while you and mother were lingering so happily over your lunch, father stole away and went off to make mischief between you and the girl?" petro sprang up. he was ashamed to harbour such a thought of treachery, but it was there. he could easily learn whether father had gone to new york by inquiring if one of the motors had been taken out. but it was hardly worth while to ask questions. peter _knew_ that his father had gone, and why. chapter xxvii the battle all the morning win was in a state of strange, almost hysterical, exaltation. again and again she warned her spirit down from the heights, but it would not hear, and stood there in the sunshine singing a wild song of love and joy. wonderful, incredible pictures painted themselves before her eyes. she saw peter, impressed with her words--as indeed he had seemed to be--and remembering them nobly for the benefit of the two thousand hands within the hands. she saw herself as his wife (oh, bold, forbidden thought, which dared her to push it from her heart!) helping him reach the ideal standard of what a great department store should be, planning new and highly improved systems of insurance, thinking out ways for employees to share profits, and of giving them pensions. she, who knew what the hands suffered and what they needed, could do for them what no outsider could ever do. with peter's money and power and the will to aid, there would be nothing they two could not accomplish. their love would teach them how to love the world. she saw the grand christmas parties and the summer picnics the hands would give the hands, and peter's idea for a convalescent home should be splendidly carried out. she saw the very furniture and its chintz covers--then the picture would vanish like a rainbow--or break into disjointed bits, like the jig-saw puzzle peter senior had hidden shamefacedly in a drawer. for some moments winifred's mind would be a blank save for a jumble of paris mantles and warm customers, then another picture would form: she would see peter and herself sending sadie kirk to the mountains, where the girl would be even happier and healthier than at the new place which was "free for consumers." sadie would be win's own special charge, her mend, for whom she had the right and privilege to provide. no more work in shops for sadie! no more work at all till she was cured. perhaps a winter in the adirondacks, then such radiant health as the "sardine" had hardly ever known. meanwhile the thoughts of ursus must be turned from the girl who could never love him to the girl who already did. he and sadie had been good chums since the day when all three marched in procession toward mr. meggison's window--how long ago it seemed! the big heart of the lion tamer was easily moved to pity, and pity was akin to love. when she--win--gently broke it to him that she was going to marry peter rolls, whom she had loved before she ever saw her poor ursus (of course she had loved peter always! that was why it had hurt her so cruelly to believe ena) the dear big fellow, pitying sadie's weakness, would turn to his "little old chum" for comfort. oh, yes, everything would come right! warbled the disobedient spirit singing on the heights. then the common sense and pride in win would pluck the spirit's robe, and presto! another picture would dissolve into gray cloud. going out to luncheon (ice-cream soda and a sponge cake) somehow broke the radiant charm. common sense put the singing spirit relentlessly into its proper place, where, discouraged, it sang no more. ugly memories of last night's danger and humiliation crowded back into the brain no longer irradiated by peter's presence. win felt dully that none of the glorious fancies of the morning could ever come true, though she still hoped that her words might have some living influence upon the future of the hands. even if peter really and truly wanted to marry her (which seemed incredible), and his sister misjudged him (also well-nigh incredible), ena rolls and ena rolls's father would bar the way to any such happiness as the magic pictures had shown. it would be hateful to force herself upon a snobbish family who despised her and let her see that she was unwelcome. the girl was suddenly surprised because she hadn't seen, the moment peter's back was turned (even if not before), that the one self-respecting thing was to give up her place at the hands. it would be decent and rather noble to disappear as she had disappeared before, so that peter, when he came again (as he surely would), should find her gone. this thought made so gloomy a picture in contrast with the forbidden bright ones, that win was nearer tears than she had been in the hospital room. "laugh--laugh--if you laugh like a hyena!" she was saying to herself between half-past four and five, when other girls were thinking of the nice things they would do when they got home. win envied them. she wished the things that satisfied them could satisfy her. yet, no, she did not wish that. divine dissatisfaction was better. she must keep that conviction before her through years which might otherwise be gray. for now she was quite sure that nothing beautiful, nothing glorious, nothing even exciting, could ever happen to her. and it was at this very moment that she received a peremptory summons to mr. croft's office. "it'll be about the fire, maybe," the nicest girl in the department encouraged her. "i shouldn't wonder if they're going to give you a reward. if there was anything wrong, the word would come through meggison sure." win smiled thanks as she went to her fate; the girl was kind, not of the tigress breed. but she couldn't guess how little any paltry act of injustice from the hands would matter now. miss child had never before been called to the office of the great mr. croft, but she knew where it was, and walked to the door persuading herself that she was not in the least afraid. why should she be afraid when she intended--really _quite_ intended--to leave the hands of her own accord? there was an outer office guarding the inner shrine, and here a girl typist and a waxy-faced young man were getting ready to go home. it was now very near the closing hour. the waxy-faced youth, a secretary of mr. croft's, minced to the shrine door, opened it, spoke, returned, and announced that miss child was to go in. he even held the door for her, which might be a sign of respect, or of compassion for one about to be executed. then, as the girl stepped in, the door closed behind her, and she stood in an expensively hideous room, looking at a little, dried-up dark man who sat in mr. croft's chair at mr. croft's desk. but he was not mr. croft. he was peter rolls, sr. win recognized him instantly and knew not what to think. luckily he did not keep her long in suspense. "you miss child?" he shortly inquired, holding her with a steady stare, which from a younger man would have been offensive. "i am, sir," she said in the low, sweet voice that peter junior loved. even peter senior was impressed with it in spite of himself, impressed with the whole personality of the young woman whom petro had said was "made to be a princess." she looked a more difficult proposition than he had expected to tackle. "know who i am?" he continued his catechism. "you are mr. rolls." "what makes you so sure of that, eh?" "you were pointed out to me one evening last winter, when you were inspecting the shop with mr. croft." "nobody had any business pointing me out. who did?" "i'm afraid i've forgotten," said the girl, more calmly than she felt. "it was so long ago." "you seem to have been dead certain he was right." "i took it for granted." "that's dangerous, taking things for granted. i advise you not to do it, miss child." still he stared as she received his advice in silence. not a feature of the piquant, yet proud, arresting face, not a curve of the slim figure, did his old eyes miss. "i guess you haven't forgotten who pointed me out," he persisted, after a pause. "now think again. _have_ you? it might pay to remember." "i do not remember, sir." she threw up her head in the characteristic way which the other peter knew. "sure nothing could make you remember?" "i'm sure nothing could." "very well, then, we must let that go for the present. now to another subject. i hear you showed a good deal of pluck this morning in putting out a fire." "oh, after all, it may be only that!" win thought. she ought to have been relieved. but she was not certain whether relief was her most prominent emotion. the girl did not quite know what to make of herself, and the man was not giving her much time for reflection. "the little i did was done on the spur of the moment," she said. "i don't deserve any credit." "well, i may be inclined to think different when it comes to settling up. that depends on several things. we'll come to 'em by and by. you're english, ain't you?" "yes." "h-m! you look as if you ought to have titles running in your family. have you got any?" win fancied that this must be her employer's idea of a joke, but his face was grave, and even curiously eager. "not one," she answered, smiling. "no connections with titles?" "why, yes, we have some cousins afflicted in that way," she lightly admitted, beginning to be faintly amused as well as puzzled. "almost every one has, in our country, i suppose." "what sort of title is it?" "oh, my father's second cousin happens to be an earl." "an earl, is he? that stands pretty high, i guess, on your side. any chance of your father inheriting?" this time win allowed herself the luxury of a laugh. what a strange old man! and this was mr. balm of gilead's father! she was still in the dark as to why he had sent for her. but it must be on account of the fire. his curiosity was very funny. in any one except peter's father she would have considered it ridiculous. maybe he wanted to work up a good "story" in the newspapers. very likely it could be turned into an "ad" for the hands if the cousin of an english earl had saved a fellow employee from burning up, and it would be still more thrilling if the heroine might some day turn into a haughty lady winifred something. she shook her head, looking charming. even old peter, staring so intently, must have admitted that. "there's not the remotest chance," she replied. "our cousin, lord glenellen, has six sons. four are married and having more sons every year. i don't know how many there are. and i'm sure that they've forgotten our existence." "well, there ain't much show for you in that connection!" mr. rolls reluctantly abandoned the earldom. "what's your father, anyhow?" "a clergyman," said win. "a poor clergyman, or i should never have seen america." "i suppose you'd have married some fellow over there. what did you do for a living on your side?" "i hadn't begun to do anything till i engaged with nadine--the dressmaker, you know--to be one of her models on board the _monarchic_ so as to get my passage free. i thought i should be sure to make a fortune in new york." "yes, i guess that was your point of view. you're frank about it, ain't you?" "one may be about a lost illusion." "there's more than one way for a girl to make a fortune. maybe you and i can do business. so you were one of those models when you first met my son?" win would not have been flesh and blood if that shot had not told, especially after the old man's funny catechizing had lured her amusingly away from suspicion. she quivered, and a bright colour stained her cheeks. nevertheless those peering eyes found no guilt in her look. "yes," she answered bravely. "he bought a dress from us for his sister." "one excuse is as good as another for a young fellow. what else did he do?" "gave us patent medicine. we were all dreadfully seasick." "you don't mean to tell me he fell in love with you when you were seasick?" "i don't mean to tell you that he fell in love with me at all, mr. rolls." "i guess you didn't mean to. but, you see, i made you own up." "there was nothing to tell." "well, the murder's out, anyhow. and that brings us back to a point i want to make. now that affair of this morning. you say you're entitled to no credit. but i've been thinking i'd like to make it up to you by giving a reward." "i couldn't think of taking it!" cried win. strange that he should break off suddenly from the subject of his son (which, apparently, he had intended pursuing to some end), and jump back to that of the fire! he must have a motive--he looked a man to have motives for everything. she felt that he was laying a trap for her, if she could only find it. "wait a minute. give me time to make myself clear," he went on. "i'm not talking about medals or lockets or silver cups for good girls. i mean a thumping sum, a big enough stone to kill two birds. folks not in the know would think that it was for saving life. those _in_ the know (meaning me and you, and nobody else) would understand that it was for saving my son. no disrespect to _you_. i want to put it delicately, miss. saving him from a _mistake_." win had always thought "how dare you?" a very silly expression, no matter what the provocation. yet now she was tempted to use it. only her subconscious sense of humour, which warned her it would be ridiculous from peter rolls's "saleslady" to peter rolls himself, made her bite back the words that rushed to the end of her tongue. "you have a strange idea of putting things delicately!" she cried. "you offer me a reward if i--if i--oh, i can't say it!" "i can," volunteered the old man coolly. "and i'll tell you just how much i offer. maybe that'll help your talking apparatus. i'll give you ten thousand dollars. wouldn't that be something like making your fortune in new york?" "if it were ten millions it would make no difference," the girl flung at him. "i---" "say, you set a high value on my son peter. but if he marries you, my girl, he won't be worth any millions, or even thousands, i tell you straight. he won't be worth a red cent. you'd better pick up my offer while it's going, and drop peter. maybe with ten thousand dollars of your own, one of your young cousins, the earls, might find you worth while." never had win even dreamed that it was possible for a human soul so to boil with anger as hers had now begun to boil. she wanted to scald this hateful old man with burning spray from the geyser. at last she understood the rage which could kill. yet it was in a low, restrained voice that she heard herself speaking. "please don't go on," she warned him. "i suppose you don't quite realize how hideously you're insulting me. a man who could say such things wouldn't. and only such a man _could_ misunderstand--could think that instead of refusing his money i was bidding for more. i wanted to say that you could save your son and your pocket, too. neither are in danger from me." "that ain't the way the boy feels about it," peter senior slipped the words in slyly. "if he did, i wouldn't have sent for you." this was the last drop in the cup. "what?" cried the girl, towering over the shrunken figure in the revolving chair. "_your son asked you to send for me_? then he's as bad, as cruel, as you are." a red wave of rage swept over her. she no longer knew what she was saying. her one wish--her one object in life, it seemed just then--was to hurt both peters. "i hate him!" she exclaimed. "everything i've heard about him is true, after all. he's a false friend and a false lover--a dangerous, cruel man to women, just as i was warned he was." "stop right there," broke in peter's father. "that's damn nonsense, and you know it. nobody ever warned you that my boy was anything of the kind." "i was warned," she beat him down, "that it was a habit of your son to win a girl's confidence with his kind ways and then deceive her." "then it was a damned lie, and no one but a damned fool would believe it," shouted peter rolls, sr. "my boy a deceiver of women? why, he's a gala-what-you-may-call-it! he'd die any death sooner than harm a woman. i'm his father, and i know what i'm talking about. who the devil warned you? some beast, or some idiot?" "it was neither." "who was it, then? come, out with it. i dare you to. i'll have him sued for slander. i'll---" "it wasn't a he. it was a woman who ought to know at least as much about him as you do." "there's no such woman, except his mother, and she worships the ground he walks on. thinks he's a kind of up-to-date saint george, and i'm hanged if she's far wrong. why, since peter was a boy he's never cared that"--and a yellow thumb and finger snapped for emphasis under win's eyes--"for any woman till he got silly over you." the girl laughed a fierce little laugh. "you tell me this? you defend him to me? is that policy?" peter senior suddenly looked foolish. he had straightened himself to glare at the upstart. now he collapsed again. "no, it _ain't_ policy," he confessed, "but i guess it's human nature. my blood ain't quite dried up yet, and i can't sit quiet while anybody blackguards my own flesh and bone. you tell me who said these things about him!" "i will not tell you." "don't you know i'm liable to have you discharged for impudence?" "you can't discharge me, for i've already discharged myself. i'd rather starve than serve one more day at your horrid old hands." "horrid old hands, eh? i can keep you from getting a job in any other store." "i don't want one. i've had enough of stores. i am not afraid of anything you can do, mr. rolls. though they do call you 'saint peter' behind your back--meaning just the opposite--you haven't the keys of heaven." "you're an impudent young hussy." "perhaps. but you deserve impudence. you deserve worse, sir. a moment ago i hated you. i--think i could have killed you. but--but now i can't help admiring something big in you, that makes you defend your son in spite of yourself, when it was policy to let me loathe him." "'loathe' is no word to use for my boy," the old man caught her up again. "i don't want you to marry him, no! but, whatever happens, i can't have you or any one else doing him black injustice." "then, 'whatever happens,' i'll admit to you that never in the bottom of my heart did i believe those things. i didn't believe them to-day, but i--you were so horrible--i had to be horrible, too. there! the same motive that made you defend him against your own interest has made me confess that to you now. but you needn't be afraid. i don't think in any case i could have married him knowing how his--his family would feel. still i might, if he'd tried to persuade me; i can't be sure. i might have been weak. as it is, though--after you've insulted me in this cruel way, i believe nothing would induce me to say yes if he asked me. and he never _has_ asked me." "never has asked you?" echoed peter senior, dumbfounded. some one had begun to knock at the door, but he did not hear. neither did winifred. each was absorbed in the other. insensibly their tones in addressing each other were changed. some other ingredient had mysteriously mingled with their rage; or, poured upon its stormy surface, had calmed the waves. they were enemies still, but the girl had found the man human; the man, because he was man, found himself yielding to her woman's domination. petro said god had made her a princess. she was only a shop girl, and the vain old man wanted her out of his way--intended to put her out of his way, by hook or by crook; but all the same in look and manner she was his ideal of a girl queen, and he could understand petro being a fool over her. "he never has asked you? but i thought---" (_tap, tap,_ for the second and third time.) "i know what you thought. you wouldn't listen when i tried to explain." (_tap, tap, tap_! no answer. and so the door opened.) "it isn't only that your son hasn't asked me to marry him, he hasn't even told me he cared." "but he does both now," said peter rolls, jr., on the threshold. as he spoke he came into the room with a few long, quick steps that took him straight to win, as if he wanted to protect her against his father if need be. and timidly, yet firmly, he was followed by mrs. rolls, wearing the new gray wrap. "i'd have told you long ago if i'd had the chance," he went on. "i told father this morning that i'd loved you ever since the first minute i saw you, and that you were the only girl who ever was or ever would be. i don't know what he's been saying to you, but i felt he meant to--to--see what you were like. so i came. and nothing matters if you can care a little and have faith enough in me to---" "that's just what she doesn't do and hasn't got!" interpolated peter senior. "the girl's been calling you every name she could turn her tongue to. said she was warned against you by some woman--she wouldn't tell me who it was---" "i know who it was," put in his son. "you do? we'll send her a writ, then---" "we can't. she isn't in the country just now." "i did say the most hateful things," win admitted, "because your father made me so angry. and--_he defended you_ against me! he said nobody but a fool could ever for a minute have believed such things were true. and he was perfectly right. can you forgive me?" "why, i love you, you know," said peter. "and whether you ever believed anything wrong of me or not, i--i almost think you love me a little now to make up. you couldn't look at me like that if you didn't, could you? it wouldn't be fair." "i mustn't look at you at all, then," win answered, pushing him gently away as he tried to take her hands. "please let me go. i can't---" "_i_ wouldn't let you go, if he did, my dear," said a gentle voice that had not spoken yet. "i guess a girl that saves people from themselves when they're on fire, burning up, and don't know in the least what they're doing, would be just the kind of new daughter we would like to have now when we have to let our own leave us. why, you would be worth your weight in gold at our house. isn't that so, father?" for once mother had finished four consecutive sentences in her husband's presence. but this was an unusual occasion it seemed to her that its like could never come again, and that here was her chance of a lifetime to stand by petro. "h-m!" grunted peter senior. "the girl ain't a coward, anyhow. she stood up to me like a wildcat. said she hated me. said she wouldn't take peter if i paid her to--or words to that effect. well, i didn't exactly offer to pay her for doing that, rather the other way around. but when she had the gorgeous cheek to up and say, after all, that she _liked_ me for defending you, why, i--well, i don't know how it was, but all of a sudden i weakened to her. she _got_ me same way as she got you, peter, i suppose. maybe it was with one of her laughs! anyhow--look here, miss. if you'll take back _your_ words, i'll take back _mine._ cut 'em right out." "which words?" win cautiously wanted to know. "the whole lot, while we're about it. i guess a sister-in-law who's got earls for cousins ought to be good enough for a _marchesa._ you've _got_ me, i tell you! and you can have peter, too, if you want him. do you?" "i do," answered win--and laughed again, the happiest, most surprised, and excited laugh in the world. "then we've got each other--forever!" cried petro. "and, father, you and i will have each other, too, after this, as we never had before. you shall bless this day as i do, and as mother will." "all right," said old peter. "we'll see about that. anyhow, shake hands." petro shook. "and you, too, girl." winifred hesitated slightly, then held out her burned fingers. peter senior gave them deliberately to his son. "there you are!" he exclaimed. "now we're all three in the business." "and this is the way we're going to run it in future," said petro. "with love." the end 